LITMIR.BIZ

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shook his head. “Nothing.” He lay back, pulling the sheet up over his lower half, covering the evidence of his arousal. “Get out.”

      “On my way.” She scooted to the end of the bed and was about to get up when she paused. “Were you ever in the military, Dave?”

      “Yeah,” he said, his voice harsh. In a softer tone he added, “A million years ago.”

      “Ever consider that you might have PTSD?”

      “So?”

      “They have therapy available for soldiers with PTSD.”

      “Do they have therapy for those who died to save the rest of their unit?” He snorted. “Show me the therapy that’ll bring them back.” Raising his head, he glared at her. “I said get out.”

      Nicole raised her brows. “Touchy, aren’t we?”

      She slid off the bed and padded barefoot back to the couch, where she lay, her thoughts revolving, not around her own predicament but around what Dave had said.

      He must have seen his buddy killed in battle, trying to save his life. How did someone get over something like that?

      She raised her fingers to the tender skin around her neck. Obviously, Dave hadn’t.

      Not that it mattered to Nicole, but perhaps there was more to the slovenly dive boat captain than she’d first surmised.

      “Dave?”

      “What?” he said, his tone flat, hard and uninviting.

      “Who was he?”

      “Who was who?”

      “The guy who took the bullet for you?”

      For a long moment he didn’t respond.

      Nicole assumed he wouldn’t and settled in, curious, but understanding the subject was a difficult one for the man.

      “Bradley. Tom Bradley. And it was a grenade.”

      “May he rest in peace,” she said softly. She sent a silent prayer to the heavens that Tom Bradley truly did rest in peace, and by doing so would give Dave Logsdon permission to also live in peace, free of his demons.

      With Dave in the room nearby, his strength and loyalty to a fallen comrade radiating through his dreams, Nicole rolled onto her side, closed her eyes and slept the sleep of a dead woman. Tomorrow was certain to bring plenty of challenges and, if her pursuers caught up to her, maybe even the opportunity for someone to pray for her eternal rest.

Chapter 4

      Dave laid awake the rest of the night, thoughts roiling around his mind like a propeller spinning out of control. As the sun rose over Cape Churn, he climbed out of his bed, slipped into a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and boat shoes. He did no more than run his hand through his hair, splash water on his face and pass on shaving.

      Who did he have to impress? Not his uninvited guest. That was certain. When he passed through the main cabin, he moved quietly, not ready to face the woman, not without a gallon of coffee in his system.

      She lay stretched out on the couch cushions, her long blond hair splayed across her cheek. Dressed in his oversize T-shirt, sleeping peacefully, she appeared to be more innocent than the kick-ass woman who’d fought him in her black leather the night before. Who was she? Other than a member of the supersecret organization Creed Thomas and Casanova Valdez belonged to, Dave didn’t have a clue. They’d called it the SOS. He wondered what SOS stood for.

      Dave reached out and brushed the strand of hair off her cheek, tucking it behind her ear, her skin warm to his touch.

      She stirred, blinked open her eyes, realized it was him and closed them again without uttering a word. Bunching the pillow beneath her, she slept on. Two days on a motorcycle, after a stressful operation, and being followed had to have taken its toll. A long, slender, naked leg slipped from beneath the blanket, bumping up his heartbeat.

      Dave struggled with himself to keep from reaching out to adjust the blanket over her, instead admiring the leg, the shape, definition and smooth silkiness of her skin.

      When he realized how long he’d stood there, studying her, he turned abruptly and climbed the steps up onto the deck.

      “Good morning, Dave.” Olie Olander waved at him from farther along the dock where he handed a Styrofoam ice chest to a couple of men in a fishing boat. After they thanked him and settled the chest into the boat, they started the engine and took off.

      Dave came to a stop beside Olie. “Morning.”

      Olie studied him. “Good or bad?”

      “Just morning.” Since coming to Cape Churn, Dave hadn’t let himself get excited about much. Whenever something good happened, something bad came along to counteract it. By keeping an even keel, he avoided rollercoaster emotions. Neither too happy nor too sad. He refused to let himself dwell for long in either emotion. Deep down, he carried the memory of his friend, Tom. That was enough to remind him that the world was full of terrible tragedies.

      “Sal’s got a fresh pot of coffee in the marina.”

      “That’s where I’m headed.”

      Olie joined him, walking alongside across the wooden planks of the dock. “Have some friends over last night?”

      Dave shrugged. “A couple.” Sal and Olie lived in the apartment above the marina’s bait shop. They saw just about everything. If it happened at the waterfront, they knew about it.

      Not sure of how much he could share about who’d been to his boat the night before, Dave opted for as little as possible. He’d trust Sal and Olie with his life. They treated him like the son they’d never been fortunate enough to have. And he loved them. If any of what Tazer had told him was true, just by being on the same dock as her could put them in danger. The less they knew, the less they would inadvertently spill to passing strangers.

      Olie opened the door to the bait shop. “Does one of them belong to that motorcycle you stored in the shed?”

      Dave paused on the threshold. He couldn’t get much past the Olanders. “Belongs to a...friend.”

      “The one you carried onto the Freedom’s Price?” Sal asked softly.

      He couldn’t get much by these two older people. “She had too much to drink.”

      Olie nodded, still holding the door open for him to proceed into the marina’s store and bait shop. “Sal, you got any of that coffee left?”

      “Fresh pot.” The little woman with the care-worn face and hair dyed a rich brown to cover all of the gray ran a washrag over the counter. “Good morning, Dave. No charters today?”

      “Not until later.” He helped himself to a cup of coffee and sat on the stool on the other side of the counter from Sal to sip the steaming brew. As the hot coffee traveled down his throat, the warm rich aroma swirling around him, Dave could almost pretend all was right in his world.

      “I made some fresh biscuits for breakfast. Care for some?”

      Sal always made more than she and Olie could eat, and, as with every morning, Dave accepted her hospitality. “You know I love your biscuits. Please.”

      She lifted a basket covered in a bright red-checkered cloth from behind the counter. When he reached for a biscuit, she pushed the basket toward him. “Oh, please. Take all of them. Your guest might like some.”

      Dave stared across at Sal. “Thank you.”

      “Oh, give up, Sal. You know you’re dying to ask who she is.”

      Sal’s face reddened. “I wasn’t going to ask, but since Olie opened his big mouth... Who is she? Someone we know?”

      “No. She’s an old friend I

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