Breaking Protocol Page 6

  * * *

  An hour and a half later, and finding himself right back to the place where he’d started, Carter leaned breathlessly against the trunk of a slanting palm until his breathing slowed to normal. He’d pushed himself farther and harder than he had in a long time. The exhaustion felt good, even if the reason behind it didn’t.

  He dropped to the sandy soil with an explosive sigh and plucked a thick blade of sea grass from the base of the palm. As he absently twisted the coarse grass between his fingers, he gazed across the surrounding stretch of beach and pondered his current state of mind. He’d always thought of himself as a clear-thinking, rational man, and he usually was. Except where Piper was concerned, he amended. Whenever anything concerning her was brought into the equation, he lost all sense of rationality and perception, and the lines between his sense of right and wrong turned fuzzy and blurred.

  Another disgruntled sigh escaped as he waved aside a swarm of annoying gnats flitting around his sweaty face. None of this was Piper’s fault, he conceded. Piper was just being Piper. She’d always played by her own rules. Her behavior was normal—by Piper’s standards, anyway. She wasn’t acting any differently than she ever did. It was he who’d changed, and he wondered what he had to do to get their relationship back to the way it had been in the beginning.

  After a great deal of soul-searching and whole lot of brain-racking, Carter was finally convinced he knew what he had to do. He pushed himself up, brushed the sand from his legs and trudged back to the beach house, determined not to let his feelings get in the way of doing his job. In order for him to do that, he had to keep his distance, because avoiding temptation was always easier than overcoming it.

  Chapter Five

  Carter couldn’t stay away any longer. He’d waited until the very last moment as it was before heading to Piper’s bedroom. If he’d had a choice he would have used it, but the storm was gaining momentum and he’d run out of options. It was time to head down to the shelter. Alone. With Piper. Trapped in a confined space. Oh, God.

  Without waiting for permission, he knocked and announced his presence as he entered. “It’s Riggs, get up.”

  Not that any words had been necessary. From the moment he’d touched the doorknob, he counted on facing the barrel of the 9mm. He wasn’t disappointed. Her reflexes were as good as they came. He just wasn’t pleased that she was always demonstrating them on him.

  “Damn it, Piper! Put that thing away.”

  “Sorry,” she said, without sounding the least bit sincere in her apology. “All that wind noise makes it hard to differentiate what’s what.”

  He nodded in understanding but made the mistake of giving her a second glance as he did so. She slept nude, he knew that, and still the sight of her sleepy-eyed and draped with nothing but a tangled sheet knocked every sensible thought from his head.

  It had been a long while since he’d had the pleasure of an intimate relationship with a woman—not since before the helicopter crash. He hadn’t been physically capable for months; multiple reconstructive surgeries, broken bones, and painful, demanding rehab had taken all of his energies, draining him both mentally and physically. Then, when he was finally able to return to work, the task of catching up and reconnecting with the agency had been tedious and all-consuming. Any life beyond work had been out of the question during those first exhausting weeks. He’d simply had neither the inclination nor the energy left at the end of the day to pursue anything more than a quick dinner, a hot shower, and falling into bed, all of which he did very much alone.

  He ached to hold a woman in that way again, more specifically the one sitting only a few feet away dragging a pillow from behind her back to cover the very parts he wanted to touch and explore to his heart’s content. Pushing those dangerous thoughts aside, he turned and rummaged through a dresser drawer to help hasten her process of covering up.

  Hugging the pillow against the body parts she assumed he found offensive, she set her weapon aside and scooted to sit on the edge of the bed. “Did you come in here for a specific reason or just to see if I’d shoot first and ask questions later?”

  “All that noise is a major storm front bearing down on us. We need to get downstairs.”

  She watched him do anything and everything to avoid looking at her as he searched through a dresser drawer for something for her to wear. How hard could it be, she wondered, considering the limited selection from which he had to choose?

  “Jay-zus, Riggs,” she said with a husky yawn. “You’ve got to learn to lighten up. You act like I’m the first naked woman you’ve ever seen.”

  “How many naked women I have or have not seen is hardly the point,” he told her as he slammed one drawer shut and yanked open another one. “Do I need to remind you our relationship is a working one, not a personal one, which makes your manner of undress inappropriate and unwelcomed?”

  “Do I need to remind you that this is the ‘privacy of my own room’ and you entered uninvited?”

  Digging around drawer number three produced a pair of black cotton knit short shorts and a hideous black and lemon yellow-striped tank top.

  He tossed the clothes in her direction.

  Piper buried her face in her modesty pillow to keep from laughing. She’d never been a clotheshorse, not even as a teenager, but she knew what she liked and she knew what looked good on her. The only thing that outfit was going to do for her was attract a swarm of worker bees searching for a new queen.

  She glanced again at his dreadful choice. Aside from the fact that they weren’t her taste, they weren’t her size. “Riggs, I don’t think—”

  He abruptly cut her off. “For once in your life, don’t think, don’t argue, don’t analyze...just do it.”

  She shrugged and rolled her eyes. “O-kay,” she said with a large dose of smart-ass on the side. If this was what he wanted her to wear, then this was what she was going to put on, even if it took a shoehorn and a bucket of goose grease to do it.

  She knew she was being a “little shit,” a term her big brother often called her whenever she behaved like this, but she didn’t care. She was tired and cranky from being startled awake after having only just fallen into a sound sleep, and she didn’t feel like being the least bit cooperative.

  She tossed the pillow aside and tugged the tank over her head. Just as she suspected, it was too small. Good thing the fabric had some stretch, otherwise her circulation could be seriously compromised. The female he’d commandeered this particular top from was obviously a junior officer, if not in rank than assuredly in size. The shorts, too, were a tad snug for comfort; they hugged her hips and bottom as tightly as any pair of panties she’d ever bothered to wear. That he didn’t think to give her any underwear was probably the least of her problems because there wasn’t enough room for the skimpiest of thongs.

  Turning toward her, Carter choked back an inappropriate response and quickly left the room, only to return waving a handful of white cotton like a flag of surrender. Pitching the wad of material in her direction, he said with no-nonsense authority, “You need to put this on, too.”

  Holding it up for inspection, she discovered a beautifully tailored long-sleeved men’s dress shirt. She recognized it as one of similar white dress shirts he always wore in the office. Not exactly beachwear, but she imagined he’d packed for a broad range of situations.

  She wistfully eyed the crisp fabric. It was the kind of shirt a woman slipped into after tumbling around naked with its owner. She really didn’t think that was the look the man was going for. In fact, judging from his most recent reaction, she was certain of it.

  She raised a dubious brow and questioned, “Are you sure this is what you want me to wear?”

  He raised his hand to halt any further objections. “Spare me the commentary and put the fucking thing on,” he snapped as he turned to leave.

 
“Yeah, well, that was kind of my point,” she muttered as she peeled off the tank—no way was she going to wear both garments—and slipped her arms into the luxurious cotton sleeves. Comfort had always been her most ambitious fashion goal, and Carter’s oversized shirt was haute couture by her standards.

  He faltered in the doorway and glared at her over his shoulder. “What was?”

  “What was what?” she asked as her fingers adeptly rolled the crisp French cuffs past her wrists to mid forearm. She had to admit the finely woven fabric felt remarkably sensual, shifting softly against her warm skin.

  Finished, she cast a glance at her reflection in the wicker-framed mirror hanging over the dresser. Oh yeah, she thought, it was just as she suspected. The shirt combined with her sleep-tousled hair made her look like she’d just experienced a satisfying romp in the sack. What a damn shame it was all a pitiful illusion.

  “What point, exactly, were you trying to make?” His voice held a deadly calm yet there was no mistaking the insistence also present in his tone.

  “I was just agreeing that this is a fucking shirt, or more specifically an after-fucking one.” Piper stood and held out her arms, slowly turning to give Riggs a thorough inspection.

  * * *

  Carter closed his eyes and willed his traitorous body back to the nearest thing to normal, whatever that was anymore, all the while thinking how much less dangerous it would be to take his chances with the outside elements.

  Dawn was still hours away and a quick glance through the gap left by one slightly off-kilter bedroom shutter revealed nothing but ominous blackness. Carter didn’t need a visual confirmation to know the ocean was an angry, churning mass of high-cresting waves crashing relentlessly into shore, edging its way nearer and nearer to the beach house. The wind whipped and howled all around, causing the trees and bushes to rustle and crack with every fierce gust. A nearby palm anxiously smacked its frenzied fronds against the shutters as if it were necessary to remind them the storm had officially arrived.

  “Let’s go,” Carter stated, leading the way.

  * * *

  Piper didn’t need any further encouragement. She slipped her feet into a pair of practically new, though no less ugly, green rubber flip-flops she’d discovered during one of her searches and followed Riggs through the main living area and down the steep and narrow interior staircase to the ground level. Having never had any reason to go down there before now, she looked around for the first time.

  The beach house was a raised frame structure with the living quarters built above an open space where an assortment of patio furniture and other outdoor equipment was stacked and stored. The other half of the space was separated from the storage area by a pale green painted concrete wall. Carter pulled open a sturdy steel-plated door painted the same soothing sea foam green and stepped aside to give her first access to what she realized was another whole living space.

  She peered into the dimly lit, barracks-like quarters with caution and curiosity.

  “This looks like old photos I’ve seen of bomb shelters.”

  “It likely once was,” he told her as he pushed the door closed. “When I made the rental arrangements I was told this place was built in the late fifties.”

  “Why build something like this here?”

  “The Cold War made people do crazy things.”

  She whirled around upon hearing the weighty door settle soundly into its frame with a resounding metallic clunk, effectively sealing them off from the stormy world outside. The ensuing silence was almost more than she could bear. The cozy confines of the room did nothing to dispel the uneasiness gnawing at her very core. It crept its way into every prickling pore and made her shiver. In an effort to drive away the chill, she rubbed her hands up and down the smooth cotton fabric covering her arms to warm the trembling flesh beneath.

  “Why build it in the first place? I mean, what were the chances of this little island ever being a nuclear target?” Piper said. “Besides, I’d rather be at ground zero than survive in the aftermath.”

  Riggs nodded. “I agree, but panic and ignorance can be powerful motivators when faced with annihilation.” He cast an approving glance around the space. “But you have to admit, the place makes one hell of a storm shelter.”

  She wasn’t nearly as convinced. “If you say so.”

  Piper perched herself on one of the lower bunks as Riggs moved around the space, inspecting supplies, turning on lights and the battery-operated radio. The weather channel droned incessantly, making it easy for her to tune out and ignore the monotonous chatter. A backup generator sat quietly in a far corner, patiently waiting for its call to active duty if the regular power supply was ever interrupted. It didn’t look new. She sure hoped it was up to the task.

  “I just assumed this was a government safe house.”

  “No, it’s a private rental.” Then he asked, “Hungry? How about I rustle us up some breakfast?”

  “Nothing for me, thanks,” she said as she eyed him thoughtfully. She’d prefer him yelling at her again over this impersonal barrier he was erecting.

  “You sure?” he questioned. “There are all sorts of tempting canned goods, from peaches to pate.”

  “It’s still the middle of the night,” she reminded him, wondering what it was going to take to get him past this nonsense.

  He glanced at his watch. “You’re right. What was I thinking?”

  She gave him a tight smile. “Beats the hell out of me,” she said. But she’d be willing to sign over a year’s salary to find out.

  “Guess there’s nothing left for us to do but go to bed.” He inhaled sharply, as if the action could suck back his words.

  Piper’s eyebrows shot up with surprise.

  “I mean, get some sleep. I’ve been tracking the storm for hours. I’m exhausted.”

  “Of course,” stated Piper with a smirk. “I never thought otherwise.” She shrugged in compatible acquiescence as she kicked off her flip-flops and swept her feet off the painted concrete floor. Much to her surprise, the mattress was cushy and comfortable. Curling onto her side with her back to the wall, she tucked her hands under her head and started taking a more thorough inventory of the room and its survival amenities to pass the time, since sleep wasn’t something that came easy under the best of circumstances.

  Although several ventilation fans worked continuously to keep the air circulating, she still found everything about the room, including the air, stale and oppressive. The musty smell of seldom-used space clutched at her heightened senses and clawed at distant, better-left-forgotten memories. She squeezed her eyes shut, pushing the painful recollections away, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge their existence. Against all attempts to shut them out, a few vivid flashes—a frightened little girl cowering in a dark, dank space so her brother’s killer couldn’t find her, too—found their way past her defenses.

  Taking a sharp breath, she asked, “How long will we have to be down here?” Her heartbeat quickened in anticipation of his answer.

  “Hard to say,” Riggs replied, oblivious to her agitated state. “These types of storms can be unpredictable. It could make a sudden turn and skim us or, if it hits head-on, it could be hours or even days before we get out of here.”

  Her heart pounded harder just thinking about the possibilities. “Hours” she could handle. It was the latter scenario that made her want to claw her way out right then and there. She wasn’t sure if she could hold it together for days.

  Carter kicked off his shoes and hoisted himself onto the bunk directly above her. The springs groaned under his weight and continued to complain until he finally settled his big frame into the mattress.

  Piper shifted her gaze upward, watching for any sign of structural instability. In all her fantasies, this was not how she’d imagined having Riggs “on top.”

  T
hen he sighed with obvious contentment. “It’s kind of cozy down here, don’t you think?”

  “Cozy?” Her voice raised several octaves, prompting her to sit up. “What’s cozy about a place that’s nothing more than a mausoleum with slightly better furnishings and occupants that for the moment are still breathing?”

  “Hey, this is Buckingham Palace compared to some of the quarters I shared in the navy.” He sounded almost hurt by her inability to share in his enthusiasm.

  She pushed off the cot, keeping her head down so as not to bang it on the overhead bunk, and then she paced, since that seemed like the most logical thing to do under the circumstances.

  “You don’t get it, Riggs. I was born and raised in Texas, land of wide-open spaces and endless sky. I can’t stand being cooped up like this. I feel like I’ve been buried alive down here.”

  “We’re not ‘down’ anywhere, Piper,” Riggs pointed out. “We’re at ground level.”

  She wrapped her arms around her middle in an all-out effort to settle the crazy churning in the pit of her stomach. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

  * * *

  Carter carefully considered his anxious roommate as he propped his fist against the side of his head. There was no denying her panic was genuine regardless of the reasons behind it. “P.J., this is a big room. You can’t possibly be claustrophobic.”

  “I’m not,” she stated. “It’s not the space. It’s that I hate that there’s something out there preventing me from leaving in here, that’s all.”

  “You remember that cave in Afghanistan?”

  “Which one?” she questioned, turning to take another lap around the room. “There were several as I recall.”

  “The last one,” he said. “The one we were forced to hide in for two days before Special Forces could get us out.”