In Close Quarters. Candace Irvin

his dark length again, this time leisurely. “Somehow, I’m not surprised.”

      She was teasing him. Karin Scott was teasing him. The realization ricocheted off his brain and headed straight for his heart, snapping a grin back up his throat before he could prevent it. Jade, she teased. Reese, as well. She had even teased Reese’s mother within minutes of meeting her—this he knew, for he had been there. But Karin had never, ever, teased him.

      Until now.

      He sobered.

      She was upset indeed if she could not remember she disliked him. But at least she would trust him. For now, he would settle for this.

      Relief washed through him as he stepped around the counter to give her room to work. On the ride to her apartment, he had not been certain he could convince her to confide in him. If she had refused, there was naught he could do to force her.

      Even with his suspicions.

      He would have been left with little option but to call Reese once his plane had landed and ask him to phone Karin back—from his belated honeymoon. Not his first choice.

      TJ crossed the carpet and stared at the couch and matching chairs. Though they appeared comfortable enough, he was reluctant to sit. They were so white. Admittedly he was not one for decorating. But even he could see the room needed color—any color. Desperately.

      And what was that odor?

      It was faint, so faint he could not quite place it. In fact, he had not even noticed it until Karin had taken her whisper of vanilla back into the kitchen with her. He glanced across the room as a grating whir cut through the air.

      Beans?

      She did not cook, but she ground her own coffee beans?

      TJ bit back a low whistle. He turned to face the wall unit and stared at the whitewashed doors as the minutes dragged by. What secrets did those doors conceal? Her music collection? The final notes of the jazz instrumental that had been playing when he arrived had long since died out. What else would he find in there? Beethoven, Mozart, Bach? Or would she surprise him with salsa?

      Doubtful.

      Whatever lay behind those doors, he would wager it was white. The Beetles’ White album most likely.

      “TJ?”

      He spun about, wincing as he nearly upset the twin mugs of coffee in her hands. At least the mugs were yellow.

      Pale yellow, but it was a start.

      She held one out and nodded to the chairs. “Have a seat.”

      He accepted the mug and took the couch, instead, in the hope that she would join him.

      She did not.

      He squelched his disappointment as she lowered herself into the chair next to him, then settled himself as far back as he dared and took a sip from his mug. He glanced up as the distinct flavor of vanilla swirled over his tongue, taking the edge off the familiar bite of coffee.

      “Do you like it?”

      He nodded.

      “Good.” She slid a coaster across the table.

      He stared at the white disk a moment, then rested the mug on his thigh. At least if he spilled it there, the stain would not show. He waited until she had taken a few sips of her own before prompting her. “Reese? You were to tell me why you wished to speak to him?”

      Setting her cup down, she sighed as she retrieved a square of paper from the pocket below the row of ribbons on her uniform shirt. She unfolded the sheet and passed it to him.

      He took it and read the short, typed sentence.

      Class twos are walking.

      Dios mío, he was right.

      Somehow he managed to do naught but lift a brow as he glanced up. “Nothing to do with me—or my agency?”

      She stiffened. “Not necessarily.”

      He shook his head. “Cariño, since when does the theft of class-two prescription narcotics not involve the Drug Enforcement Administration?”

      “When it’s a joke.”

      He flipped the note over, taking care not to contaminate it with further prints. It was blank. Someone had gone to the trouble of concealing his or her identity. If this was a joke, he was not laughing. He stared at the slender fingers knotted in her lap. Nor was she.

      He placed the sheet on the table. “This note, who sent it?”

      “I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. It’s a joke.”

      No, it was not.

      Unfortunately he would also wager this sparse message was connected to the thickening files on his desk—and the autopsy reports Joaquín had dumped there. But why had this woman been singled out for involvement, and why anonymously? He glanced at the sheet. “You received this how?”

      “It was in my in-box.” She retrieved her mug. “You don’t know this, but I’m not attached to the ship anymore. Not as of this morning, anyway. I was accepted into the Navy’s anesthesiology program. Only, when I checked into the main hospital this morning, I learned my residency starts two weeks from today, not today.” She paused to draw another sip from her coffee.

      He waited patiently.

      This much he knew from their mutual friends. But he was not about to confess he had been attuned to Jade’s every word at dinner this past evening, waiting for the woman to mention what her friend was up to. Thankfully Jade had done so without his asking. But she had failed to reveal enough to satisfy his constant thirst for information about this lady.

      Of course no one could satisfy this need but Karin herself.

      Until now, however, she had volunteered naught.

      It did not help to know precisely why she had refused to date him in the months before her ship departed. Nor did the knowledge that he had only himself and his shameful reputation to blame. A reputation he freely admitted to cultivating in the past. But it was in the past. Surely six years of abstinence was enough to have earned even the most devout of monks his absolution?

      At first, he had thought it possible.

      Until the engagement party.

      Though he himself had never truly expected to find forgiveness for his sins, he had been astonished at the depth of his own reaction—to hers. The shock, the horror. These he had anticipated, had even prepared himself for. But not the other.

      The disappointment. In him.

      Logically he should have realized this would happen. And perhaps, in some way, he had. But until that moment she had turned to him and asked him of his past, he had not truly understood how deeply another’s pain could cut. More deeply than he had ever thought possible.

      When he had recovered, she was gone.

      She had caught a ride north, back across the border with another agent. And the pain had begun anew. But this ache was different. For it was a product of the waiting. His heart already snared, there was naught left for him to do but bide his time. Patience was his only recourse. Two months he had waited, the ache growing stronger with each passing day, with each meeting he and Karin shared as they helped to plan their mutual friends’ wedding. But through none of them had he noticed a difference. Not so much as a fissure in her resolve.

      Until two weeks before her ship deployed.

      On the eve of his marriage, Reese had spoken to her. He would have been furious with his friend except the next day Karin had finally accepted his invitation for dinner, right there at the wedding. Right there in the church. But then, hours later, following their sole dance at the reception, she had rescinded. No argument, no explanation—nada. She simply said she had changed her mind and would not be changing it back. Ever.

      Why?

      “TJ?”