LITMIR.BIZ

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did he mean by that? Before she could ask, the attendant returned for their dinner order.

      “Do you mind if I choose?” he asked Georgia, showing her the menus.

      She shrugged. He was playing some sort of game with her, and she discovered she didn’t mind. And he liked being able to choose on his own. He could try to prove rich people weren’t all snobs and the middle class had it all wrong. She wasn’t going to buy it. “As long as it’s not slimy or has tentacles, I’m okay with that.”

      “Right in line with my taste.”

      With another one of his sexy grins, he read the menu and then waited for the attendant to return. Then he ordered the filet mignon with grilled asparagus.

      Georgia let him have his fun, telling herself it was harmless as long as she was immune to him. And it could be worse. She could be on his private jet.

      When the attendant left, he said, “To pick up from earlier, I wasn’t speaking from experience. No one’s ever cheated on me, and I’ve never cheated on anyone. It’s up there with robbery and animal cruelty for me.”

      It was so nonchalant that she had to stop and think about what he was saying. Why was it so important to him that she know he’d never been cheated on? Because of her perception of him? Maybe he didn’t want her to think that rich people didn’t have morals. It wasn’t his fault he was part of a ridiculously wealthy family.

      “You feel strongly about it.”

      “Yes.”

      This wasn’t because of her perception of him. He really didn’t like cheaters. “You’re a real stand-up kind of guy, aren’t you?” Her surprise came out in her voice.

      “Has anyone ever cheated on you?” he asked.

      “No.” But that brought up thoughts she’d rather didn’t enter her conscience. She turned away from him.

      He angled his head as though trying to see her face. “Something I said?”

      “No.” She shook her head, shaking off the dark thoughts along with it.

      He watched her a moment and then didn’t ask her any more questions. He gave her space. He’d nudged, but he knew when to back off, and she appreciated that. More than he could possibly know, and more than she’d tell him.

      The champagne arrived, strawberries floating on the surface. Georgia took a glass from the attendant. The woman left and she met the play of mischief that had returned to Carson’s eyes.

      “Is this what you do when you fly on your family jet?” she asked.

      “No. Never.”

      Never? She didn’t believe that. “This is just for me, huh? Have you ever treated a woman to champagne in a plane?”

      “No. Never.”

      She laughed softly. “I don’t believe you.”

      “I haven’t. I’ve been in the military. If I’d have been here all this time, maybe I would have. I didn’t use the jet in the military.”

      So, she was his first. She clinked her glass with his. “Here’s to trying new things.”

      “To new things.”

      She sipped some champagne. It was delicious. Sweet with a touch of dry.

      “Is it the best you’ve ever had?” he asked.

      She had to be honest. “Yes.”

      “Good. I’m going to give you a lot of those.” He focused on the pages on the table before him, as though what he’d just said was an everyday thing.

      “I don’t want you to spend money on me, Carson. I can pay my own way on this trip.”

      “Hmm.” He nodded. “I know. But you aren’t going to.”

      She twisted on the seat to face him more fully, still holding her glass. “No, Carson.”

      He turned his head. “Relax, Georgia. I want to spend money on you. You need someone to spend money on you.”

      Their meals arrived, and Georgia refrained from arguing with him. The dishes were gorgeous. She could forget she was on a commercial plane.

      She dug in, savoring the flavor of the meat and loving that Carson had thought of this.

      Carson stuck a forkful of meat in his mouth, all very not in a posh manner. He was more of a mountain man the way he ate the meat.

      She laughed but had to set him straight. “I don’t need any of this. I’m happy with my humble existence. In fact, I prefer it.”

      “You need to eat.”

      “You know what I mean.” She spread her hand over her plate and lifted her champagne glass.

      “Nobody needs it. But it sure is nice. Don’t you agree?” He waited while she debated how to answer.

      She couldn’t lie. “It is nice.” But what was nice about it—first-class or him?

       Chapter 4

      Stepping up to the old redbrick building with rows of narrow windows and a flag waving out front, Carson entered the lobby of the Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune and told the receptionist he was here to see Major Sergeant Copeland. He’d left Georgia at their hotel. When he finished here, she was going out with him for ice cream, and not just any ice cream.

      Copeland appeared moments later, his green suit decorated with rows of badges, ribbons and medals above the left breast pocket and rank insignia on his arm. Carson walked toward him, ever aware of the limp he couldn’t hide.

      “Lieutenant Adair.” Copeland shook his hand. “Good to see you up and moving. You healed well.”

      “Better than expected.” Better than not walking. He had to keep telling himself that.

      “Come with me.”

      Copeland wasn’t a man who wasted words. Carson followed him down a hall, certain that the man would someday rise to lead MARSOC. Through a secure door and down another hall, they entered a windowless office area. A woman worked behind a desk there, her pictured badge marked with her security level in a code the military base had chosen.

      Through another secure door, they entered a conference room. There was a table to seat eight, a safe, a shredder and two computers at a desk in the back. A state-of-the-art computer monitor hung from the wall and there was a phone in the middle of the table. There were some papers lying out and some high-resolution satellite images.

      “We had the local police in San Diego send us over what they have on the shooting attempt,” Copeland said, reaching for the papers and handing them to Carson. “I’ve had our guys looking into it and passed the information over to our marine in South Korea.”

      Carson began to skim over the first report. “Is it Morris you’ve got over there?”

      “Yeah.”

      Morris was one of his teammates. Only three of them had made it out alive on their botched mission.

      Copeland saw the grim change in him. “They all miss you. Hell, I miss you. You were one my best soldiers, Carson.”

      Unwilling to talk about it, Carson moved to the table where the photos lay. There were several of North Korean facilities that must be used for weapons research and development. The photos didn’t show much, only changes in vehicles parked there, but the same vehicles showed up, nothing new and no increase in number.

      “As you can see, there’s been no sign of unusual activity there,” Copeland said. “Nothing to indicate they’ve stepped up engineering efforts. There’s been no change in government

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