Her Master Defender Page 8

  He shifted his lean, sexy hips, looked away, then back at her, struggling with his knowledge against pleasing her. “I must be a twisted son of a bitch, but that face does something to me. The weather should hold and I can clear us for a helicopter ride. How are you on snowshoes?”

  “Damn good.”

  He smiled and her heart nearly stopped. He should do that more often— Wait, no, he shouldn’t do that at all. She would have to jump him, rejection or not. “But I would prefer cross-country skis.”

  His brows shot up. “Would you?”

  “Vermont girl. Some days that’s how I got to school. It’s fun.”

  She was rewarded with another one of those smiles. Hot damn. She’d have to get him to do that more often.

  Her cell rang and she looked down. Pete again. She pushed Ignore.

  Chapter 6

  The helicopter set down in the same spot, and without the threat of weather Amber was able to take her time. She went back to the tented area and brushed off the snow. Tristan, laden with skis and poles, set everything beside her as the helo took off, blowing stinging snow in their faces.

  She started to unroll the tent flaps. God, she needed this cold, bracing air slapping her skin to keep her focused. She needed a return to some semblance of rational thought. Maybe she had been responding to being dumped. Maybe she had fallen into that kiss because she needed the validation that she was still desirable. But then he’d had to explain that the corps came first and she’d been hurt all over again. Why couldn’t she for once in her life be someone’s number one? Maybe she wanted that too bad, and she recognized that quite easily as her weakness. She craved a man who understood her, found her just as attractive when she was being a bitch as when she was being a sweetheart.

  She wanted to be priority number one.

  Pete’s rejection had hurt her, but not her heart, mostly her pride.

  Tristan hadn’t said a word since they got out of the helicopter.

  She cut him a look. He continued to ready the equipment. She was really good at reading people. She got vibes off them. When she’d been at Quantico, she was sure one of the trainees was off. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was as if she got an itch under her skin whenever the trainee was around. She was getting that same itch here, now. Something was off about Connelly’s death—she just hadn’t figured it out yet.

  As a JAG it was her job to assess situations, people, and either set up the best defense or go hard on the offense. Those skills had been baked in.

  Tristan wasn’t happy, that was clear by the set of his face and his methodical movements, but she wasn’t here to please him. She was here to investigate a suspicious death. “I know you think this is a waste of time, but if I can get any clue from going over everything more than once, it will be worth it.”

  He speared the ski poles into the ground with more force than was necessary. “I was out of line, Amber. I’m not an investigator. I’m a marine and I teach these boys how to shoot at an angle and survive in the cold.” Bemused, all those words delivered with a tightly clenched jaw, she stared at him for a moment, shocked at his answer. Damn, he was cute when he was grumpy, and she was beginning to believe there was a lot more to his belligerence than just being grumpy. Trouble was she wanted to know why, but she was completely sure he had no intentions of telling her.

  For the first time in an adult situation with a man whom she really wanted to sleep with, she craved more. Okay, she wasn’t one to indulge in many one-night stands, but it had happened.

  It didn’t feel like this.

  Nothing felt like this and she’d just met the man.

  She smiled in the face of his grouch. “Ah, don’t beat yourself up too much, Michaels. I’m sure you’re good at what you do or you wouldn’t be here.” She crouched down. Pulling out her phone, she brought up the crime-scene photos. She studied them for a moment, then knelt in the snow, the cold permeating her winter pants and chilling her skin.

  She sent her eyes over the area, and this time she didn’t have Garza and Mendez breathing down her neck and trying to feed her information about this being a friendly-fire incident. She wasn’t going to come at it from any angle other than the facts.

  She held up the camera, then pulled off her glove, digging into the snow with her finger until she’d inserted it all the way down to her knuckle.

  Pulling it out, she got on her side and looked at the layering of blood in the snow. It hadn’t taken long for the biting cold to numb her finger. She slipped the glove back on. There was no pooling, no volume. No indication that copious amounts of blood had saturated this area. She got up, climbed around the tent and hiked up a few feet. She peered down at the resting place, then looked back up the hill.

  “Tristan, could you please go stand where you were before you found his body?”

  He nodded and took off, climbing a fair ways up the hill.

  She looked up the hill, standing forward and then turning and standing with her back to Tristan. She looked down the hill and took a breath. It frosted the air. James Connelly would have seen the targets from here with the naked eye. He would have known where he was and he would have realized he was in the line of fire. No doubt remained.

  James wasn’t shot here.

  She looked right and left and thought about in what direction someone would have approached to deposit his body. This person would also have to have known these mountains.

  She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted for Tristan to come back.

  As he loped down to her, the snow crunching beneath his boots, she said, “Are there signs posted that this is an area of live rounds?”

  “Yes. We always post so that anyone approaching would be aware we’re conducting training exercises here.”

  “That’s what I thought.” She shaded her eyes against the sun, the glare even more punishing off the blinding white snow. “If James had been standing here with his back to you, he would have seen the targets. He would have known where he was, and if he was facing you, he would also have seen you.”

  “And I would have seen him.”

  She nodded. “I’m convinced that James didn’t die from friendly fire but was placed here. The ‘why’ I don’t know and the ‘when’ we’ll have to hope the doctor examining him can determine as close to an accurate estimate as possible.”

  She trudged through the snow to the tent and let down the flaps securing them to the poles. Setting her boot into the binding of one ski, then the second, she looked up at Tristan. He donned his skis and shouldered the backpack that carried water and his radio to communicate with the helo at the rendezvous time.

  “Which direction?” he asked.

  “Let’s go west first. I studied a map of this area last night. The terrain is less steep and would be easier to maneuver.” She planted her poles and slid her skis along the snow. He took good care of his equipment. The resin on the bottom moved as if it was oiled.

  He set a hand on her arm before she could jog off. “When I say we go back, we go back.”

  “Tristan...”

  “No arguments.” Breaths rolled from him in short frosted puffs. “One point six degrees from death,” he said. “At 97 degrees, you lose cognitive functioning. That’s all it takes and it spirals fast from there. Any shivering, I want to know.”

  “You make me shiver,” she said, and he cocked his head to the side and gave her an even grouchier look.

  “Amber...this is serious.”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “Very serious.”

  His lips tightened, his eyes going to her mouth. “At 97 degrees you’ll start to shiver. That’s very bad. At 95 it’ll get violent. With every one degree drop in body temperature below 95, your cerebral metabolic rate falls off by 3 to 5 percent. When your core temperature reaches 93, amnesia competes fo
r consciousness. Apathy at 91 degrees. Stupor at 90. Then it’s lights out, sweetheart,” he growled.

  “Okay, I hear you. If I have any of those symptoms, I will let you know.”

  He held her gaze. Then finally he let her go.

  “Hypothermia is a very real threat here. It’s why I insisted you wear clothing that wicks the sweat away and why I brought the water along. You will do as I say when it comes to your safety in the cold. Not to mention, if at any time you start to experience a headache, tell me. Altitude sickness is another worry.”

  An hour of fun later, Amber, who did yoga, ran, played basketball with Vin and Beau, and sparred with the best at NCIS, was winded. Tristan, on the other hand, wasn’t even breathing hard.

  She followed him through the snow and he was right. This was futile. They hadn’t found squat. She was irritated, frustrated, and felt completely out of shape.

  He slowed and stopped. Pushing up the goggles covering his eyes, he said, “Are you doing okay?”

  She bristled. “I can keep up with you any day.”

  “I have no doubt of that, but this isn’t any altitude. You’re feeling winded because there’s less oxygen up here. I’m used to it and my lungs have compensated. Yours haven’t.”

  She looked around. They were currently in a thick stand of trees, and everything was white, completely blanketed in snow.

  “I know you’re disappointed. I am, too. I really want to know what happened to James... Corporal Connelly.”

  Her gaze returned to his. She heard the emotion catch in his voice, and the way he looked made her think of a whipped dog. He was feeling responsible for his death. That was pretty clear. “Tristan, this isn’t your fault. You’ve been cleared of any neglect. I think—”

  “It doesn’t matter what you think! I was responsible for him. I was his instructor. I can’t shake the feeling that...”

  “What?”

  “That this is my fault, somehow.”

  “Why would you think that? You couldn’t stop him from going AWOL or for breaking protocol.”

  He flipped around to face her. “I was his lifeline. His guardian.”

  “He was a seasoned soldier with two tours under his belt. A scout sniper, one who was adept at finding a target, taking the killing shot and evading his enemy. Are you going to tell me that you think you needed to babysit him?”

  He dug his poles into the ground, hanging his head. “No. James didn’t need babysitting, but I wished I had gone that extra mile.”

  “What? And done what, not go to the barracks and not chased down his whereabouts, not reached out to him by calling his cell?”

  “How do you know I did all that?”

  “You might be a grouch and testy and contrary, but I could tell right away that you handled James differently. You had a special relationship with him. He got to you somehow. I don’t know much about you and I don’t expect you to be forthcoming, because, well, I’m leaving soon and we are just two ships passing in the night, but that’s what I think.”

  “Were you a shrink in another life or something?”

  She smiled at the half teasing, half serious tone. The kind of tone that said he was surprised at the depth of her insight. “Something like that. I was in the JAG Corps.”

  “Don’t remind me you’re a lawyer, too.”

  “Oh, you don’t like lawyers, either?”

  “Not especially. In my experience they speak out of both sides of their mouths.”

  “Is there anyone you do like besides James?”

  He smiled. “I have a healthy respect for Colonel Jacobs. I love my family. I’m stuck with my former teammate Rock, and...despite your professions and me losing tough-guy points...ah... I like you. Against my will.”

  “Oh, no. Losing tough-guy points? Those are hard to get back, right? Shoot, you’d have to go out and earn another medal or something.”

  His voice was subdued. “How do you know that I earned any medals?” He pulled off the backpack and unzipped it.

  She accepted the water bottle he offered. “You’ve got it written all over you, sir.”

  When she went to take it out of his hand, he held on to it and, startled, she met his eyes. “Drink it all. Every drop. You feeling cold?”

  “No. Not at the moment,” she said. How could she when he was generating so much damn heat.

  “So, family? How many brothers and sisters?”

  “Is this an interrogation?” he said, bringing a bottle of water to his lips and drinking half down in a few huge swallows.

  “No, Tristan, this is called dialogue between two adults. It can happen spontaneously or it can be like pulling teeth. You can guess which one I’m experiencing right now. I will really begin my torture when I start asking you where you went to school, et cetera. Do I need a court order and search warrant for that?”

  He had just brought the bottle to his mouth again and was in the process of gulping the rest of the water, but he choked, sputtered and spit out the liquid. Coughing, he wiped his mouth on the back of his spiffy wick-sweat-away sleeve of his tight-fitting jacket that did nothing but remind her what kind of chest and shoulders he had beneath his clothes. She could only wish she had his personal search warrant signed, sealed and delivered. Her hands itched to mold over all that stunning muscle.

  “Cute.” He shook his head and sighed. “Brother and twin sisters.” He took out another bottle, zipped the backpack and shrugged back into the straps. After unscrewing the top, he guzzled over half the contents, his strong throat working. “Nova will graduate soon from Coast Guard flight school and Neve is a Coast Guard rescue swimmer. She’s also a mixed-martial-arts instructor. They really take after my mom and it’s easy to see our heritage in them. They were a surprise pregnancy, but my dad was over the moon to have daughters. They’re twenty-five. My brother, Thane, is two years older than me and is an instructor at the Naval Academy in Annapolis and he looks a lot like me. We got more of the white genes.” He said it softly, as if there was more of a story regarding his brother. And, good God, there was another man that looked like him running around?

  “That instructor thing runs in the family, huh?”

  “I guess it does.”

  “And your parents?”

  “My dad is a fisherman, no military background, and my mom is a schoolteacher. She also kicks asses for a living.”

  Amber laughed and he smiled, looking away again. “She must teach high school.”

  “All the more power to her. I couldn’t handle it. I’d have the whole damn pissant class down on the deck doing push-ups. They would be too tired for snotty teenage comebacks.”

  She giggled again at the way he delivered those words with his grumpy attitude. “So, that’s where you get it. From your mom?”

  “My ass-kicking attitude?”

  “No, the teaching thing, but I’m sure she taught you a thing or two.”

  “I guess. I never really thought about it too much.”

  So, he could be charming, which wasn’t exactly helping. When Tristan Michaels let down his guard, he certainly made for one handsome, distracting package. She shivered and it had nothing whatsoever to do with the cold.

  “What about you?” he asked.

  “I’ve been known to kick a few asses.”

  His bark of laughter lit up his face and made his eyes all twinkly blue. Major shivers, or maybe she should say master-sergeant shivers. He brought that smile to bear on her. Lethal.

  “C’mon, Dalton, give.”

  “A sister named Sammy, but she only knows how to be a pain in the ass.”

  “Oh,” he said, giving her a wry look. “Seems like that might run in the family.”

  “Ha!”

  “I’ve honed my skills.”

  That word sank in.

>   “Honed.”

  “What?” Tristan said, frowning, confused by her change in conversation.

  “James. He was honed. Would he have broken protocol and come looking for you on this mountain alone?”

  “No.”

  “If he had gone AWOL and changed his mind, he wouldn’t have come looking for you without his weapon.”

  Tristan bit his bottom lip, his midnight-blue eyes unfocused. Then he looked at her. “No, he wouldn’t have.”

  “So then that begs the question. What was he doing up here without his weapon?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I intend to find out.”

  “I have no doubt, Amber.” His sure response did something really mushy to her heart, bolstered her ego and made her feel that at least one person on this planet didn’t treat her as if she was incompetent. “You ready to head back?”

  “Not really. I was hoping to get answers and now I have more questions.”

  “You just don’t have all the facts yet.”

  This time she shivered. Her body was cooling from the hour-long trek here. She’d seen no sign of churned-up snow, blood...or...anything. Just snow, snow and more snow. She was at a complete dead end in this case. She would have to wait for the autopsy to see if she could get any leads there, though she didn’t expect they’d find any DNA.

  “Come on. I’ll race you back,” she said, after handing him the empty bottle to put into the backpack.

  He tucked it inside and said, “You’ll lose, sweetheart.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  “Amber, it’s not a good idea to fool around...” But she turned and took off. She heard him swearing behind her as her long strides slashed through the powder, only the swish of her skis audible in the pristine white.

  Then she heard him coming up on her. She twisted around to determine where he was and saw him close. Exhilarated at the chase, she laughed and surged ahead, her lungs pumping. She was only slightly winded, thinking she would show him who couldn’t keep up.

  She skied around a tight bend, the beginnings of a switchback that led straight down with a tricky turn at the end. She started confidently down, but as she hit the bottom of the slope, her ski tip caught on something and sent her flying and sprawling into the snow, getting a face full of freezing flakes.