TO HOLD AN EAGLE Page 7

  "That's it."

  Her voice was flat now, inflectionless, and Linc was reminded of that cool, formal facade that had, for a few brief moments as they had been headed into port, hidden the shivering, frightened woman beneath.

  "I see. You just … went over the side?"

  "Yes."

  "And they didn't stop because they … what? Didn't know?"

  "Exactly."

  Somehow she had retreated beyond his reach. In the space of moments, instead of breaking, she had found the strength to erect barriers that were going to take some significant tearing down. She had tried to build those walls before, he had recalled, but she had still been too frightened to maintain them then. The fact that she could now, told him two things. First, she was feeling stronger, and safer—she must have decided that he wouldn't hurt her now.

  And secondly, more important, she had done this before. Often. Those kinds of barriers took practice, lots of practice. He knew, too well. He knew how long it had taken him to build them between himself and the uglier side of his work … and between himself and what was happening to him those long and endless days when he'd been in the hands of the Viet Cong.

  So, he mused, what kind of life did she lead that required such walls? He didn't—couldn't—believe she was truly unbalanced. Her actions had been those of desperation, not insanity; there had been logic in them. The logic of a very frightened person, true, but logic just the same.

  He wanted to know, needed to in fact; that internal quirk that made him good at his job, he supposed. But for some reason it wasn't his main need right now. And she would run if he pushed now. He wasn't sure how he knew, but he'd learned long ago to trust the sixth sense he'd developed over the years. She would find some unguarded moment and simply walk away. And short of locking her up, there was really no way to stop her. Unless, of course, he turned her in for breaking into his boat.

  Right, Reese. Sure you will. Turn her in because she was cold and hungry and alone, and had nowhere else to go. He knew he wouldn't—couldn't—do it. She'd done nothing to deserve it. She'd done nothing at all … except jump off a boat into the deep, implacable Pacific.

  So, Reese, he muttered inwardly, what now? You just let her walk away, let the puzzle stay unsolved?

  There was a time when the unsolved puzzle part of his dilemma would have been uppermost in his mind. But somehow things had gotten turned around, and the thought of her walking away bothered him more than he cared to admit.

  It wasn't until she moved that he realized how long he had been simply standing there, staring at her. She stood up, gathering the folds of the towel around her as if it were an elegant evening gown.

  "If you don't mind," she said with regal politeness, "I'm going to get dressed. I suppose a bathing suit is acceptable attire in this area." She met his gaze then. "I apologize for the damage to your boat, Mr. Reese. I will pay for it."

  Mr. Reese. So she had snooped, Linc thought, but he never turned a hair. He just continued to look at her as she moved past him, wondering just how strong her protective facade was. The trembling of the hand that held the towel told him; the barriers themselves might be formidable, but right now the supports holding them up were more than a little shaky.

  "Chandra—"

  She stopped, looking back over her shoulder. A slim, naked shoulder that seemed far too fragile to carry the load she was obviously laden with. The shoulder he wanted to touch, just to see if the skin could possibly be as silken smooth and soft as it looked.

  "I will be out of your way in a moment, Mr. Reese. I'm sure you have better things to do than deal with a … crazy woman. And I have to be on my way."

  "To where?"

  The hand that had been trembling clenched around the thick towel, as if she'd only now realized it and was trying to keep him from noticing.

  "To a friend's…"

  "Knock it off, Channie."

  He'd meant it to be an order, but somehow it came out sounding soft and gently compassionate. It shook her, and he could almost see her desperately trying to prop up the barriers again.

  "I beg your pardon?" she said, her faint voice a bare echo of her earlier, regal tone.

  "We both know you don't have anywhere to go. If you did, you'd have gone already."

  "I … she wasn't home—"

  "I think I already told you you're a lousy liar. Don't try it, Channie. I've been lied to by experts."

  She took a deep breath, her eyes fastened on his face. Then, after a long moment, "Why?"

  "Why what?" Linc said, disconcerted by the unexpected question.

  "Why have you been lied to by experts? Why do you have a gun on your boat? Why do you keep track of the last time someone—how did you put it?—got the drop on you?"

  Suddenly he knew how she felt—if not why—when she had been looking at him as if he were a familiar creature that had done something totally unexpected. The barrage of questions had knocked him off balance, and he smiled ruefully.

  "You may be a lousy liar, but you're pretty good at distractions."

  She just looked at him steadily. As he had been looking at her. Waiting. Stalking. And suddenly, involuntarily, he laughed. Really laughed, as he hadn't in a long time. He unfolded his arms, straightened up, and shook his head.

  "You learn fast, too," he said.

  She looked bemused, whether by his words or by the sound of his laughter, he couldn't tell. "No," she said, a little mournfully, "sometimes I don't learn very fast at all."

  Her tone made Linc's stomach knot once more, but he said only, "Okay, I get the point. You have your secrets, I have mine, is that it?"

  "Something like that," she said, and for an instant it was there again, the faint trace of a teasing undertone. God, he wondered what she was like when she wasn't running scared.

  You're better off not knowing, Reese, he told himself. Not when she's already got you feeling like somebody's lowered the boom on you.

  "And I suppose your secrets include your last name, even though you know mine?"

  "I…" Her voice trailed off as she looked at him, shrugging helplessly.

  "That's what I thought. All right, Chandra whoever you are…" He took in a deep breath, wondering how badly he was going to regret this. "You might as well stay here until you get things worked out."

  She stared at him. "Here?"

  "Here," he repeated, wondering if this had been inevitable from the start, if Con had been right and Shy had them both pegged. Drag out the white hat, Reese. He sighed inwardly.

  "Even if that friend of yours existed, you sure as hell couldn't go there like that, in that swimsuit of yours."

  "Why? This is the beach—"

  "Because," he said flatly, cutting her off, "it's sexy as hell and you'd get jumped the minute you left this dock."

  "Sexy?" She gaped at him. "It's not in the least bit sexy. It's plain, and a one-piece and not skimpy at all! That's why I—"

  She broke off sharply, but Linc was certain her words would have been "That's why I bought it." That puzzled him, given her cool reaction to her own nudity when he'd found her in the head.

  "Lady, on you, it's sexy. Take my word for it."

  He turned and walked to the aft cabin she'd been using, ducking under the low roof and going to the small, mirrored hanging locker that took up one back corner. Opening it, he dug inside and came out with a pair of small, white denim cutoffs, a red and white striped T-shirt, and a pair of rubber thongs. He came back and held them out to her.

  She looked from the clothes to his face, and he couldn't read her expression at all.

  "Put them on," he said. His mouth twitched as he glanced at the swell of her breasts beneath the towel that was threatening to slip. "For my sake, if not yours."

  "Were you once a Boy Scout, too?"

  There was no mistaking the return of the coolness in her tone, but the reason for it escaped him. Damn, he didn't understand this woman.

  "Yes," he said, almost as coolly, "a Sea Scout, to
be exact."

  "Of course. Always prepared."

  It got through to him then. "They're Shy's," he explained, not sure why it mattered that she know that. "She always keeps some clothes aboard."

  "I… Oh."

  She looked flustered, and Linc guessed that she'd thought he kept female-size clothes on hand at all times. For what? Unexpected guests? Expected guests? But he couldn't guess why she cared, anymore than he could figure out why he'd bothered to explain. Impatient with himself for more reasons than he cared to analyze right now, he gestured with the clothes once more.

  "She's a few inches taller than you, but pretty lean, so they shouldn't be too bad."

  Chandra hesitated only another moment, then took the clothes. "Everybody's taller than me," she said, and this time there was nothing but wryness in her tone.

  Linc chuckled. "Nah," he said. "Must be some people shorter than, what, five-one?"

  "And a half," she answered, obviously automatically. He smiled.

  "See? I knew a guy once who was only five-one. Used to really bother him till he figured out it gave him an advantage in his work."

  "His work?"

  Linc nodded. "He was a cat burglar. Got through the smallest damned windows and vents…"

  Chandra groaned, but beneath the sound Linc could hear a hint of amusement, and he was pleased with himself all out of proportion to the small reaction. She'd thought it a joke, and he wasn't about to tell her it was true; Joey Preston had been the tiniest, wiriest, and most brazen burglar he'd ever come across. Unfortunately for Joey, he wasn't the smartest, and had one day dropped out of a navy storage depot air-conditioning vent almost literally into Linc's waiting arms.

  "Go change," he instructed.

  As she took the clothes and walked away, Linc wondered if the navy shrinks at Bethesda had a term for guys like himself, who couldn't walk away from a puzzle. Guys who had this soft spot for the underdog that, no matter how deep they buried it, always seemed to take control at the wrong time. He suspected they did.

  He also suspected it was something along the lines of "sucker."

  His sister.

  Chandra tugged the striped shirt over her head and thrust her arms through the short sleeves.

  That beautiful woman in the photograph was his sister. A sister so beloved that he hung her picture where he would see it every day, and named his boat—two boats—after her. What must it be like to have someone love you like that?

  She tugged on the white shorts, zipped them, and found that while they were loose they were by no means baggy, and she was able to wear them without worrying about rigging up some kind of a belt. His sister must be one of those long, slim, graceful types, she thought with a sigh.

  She might call out the coast guard and order them to search, or take off and hunt me down herself, but she won't be sitting around worrying.

  His words echoed in her head. Words she'd thought a ruse then, words she knew now were true. Just as she knew the pride and love with which he'd spoken them were real. She wondered for a moment if the reason she'd doubted the words before was because she couldn't believe anyone could truly feel that way.

  His sister must also be one of those women Chandra had always admired; one of those competent, efficient women who didn't let life—or the men in her life—toss her around like a rag doll.

  Or, she thought bitterly as she fastened the snap of the cutoff jeans, like one of those little fashion dolls with the perfect synthetic hair, perfect plastic face, perfect plastic life. Her mouth twisted wryly. Those dolls, at least, had a life of their own, if only in the imaginations of their human playmates. Which was more than she had. Which made her anything but the kind of woman Lincoln Reese would admire.

  Lincoln Reese. Linc. She tried the name out in her mind. It fit him, she thought. Strong and solid, yet kind. Unbelievably kind. Even when he had been at his fiercest, trying to get answers out of her, she had never really been afraid he would hurt her. Afraid, yes, but never of that. Somehow she had known she was in no physical danger from him.

  She picked up the rubber sandals and looked at them. They would be big, but she thought she could keep them on. Shiloh must have small feet, too, she mused. She sat down on the shower bench to slip them on and check the fit.

  A noise from the cabin made her jerk suddenly. In that instant she was back, crouched on the floor of the little head, naked, quivering in fear. She shook her head to clear away the memory, but it wouldn't go. What a pitiful sight she must have been, she thought dully, trying to hide behind a towel she could barely hold because she was shaking so violently, staring up at the man towering over her.

  She tried to calm her ruffled nerves with a fierce self-lecture. Of course he towered over her, she told herself sarcastically. Just about every man does. It's just that he seems even taller, bigger, somehow…

  Her fierce mental tone faded as she remembered that moment in another light. Even as she'd crouched there in terror, she'd been more aware of Lincoln Reese than any man in her life. Aware of the thickness of the sandy brown hair that went so well with his gold-flecked, hazel eyes, and how the short sides made his strong jaw look even broader, more masculine. Aware of the strength and breadth of his shoulders, and how it was emphasized by the tapering of his body to narrow hips and flat belly. Aware of the length of his legs, and how the long, lean muscles melded into the taut curve of his buttocks.

  With a little rush of shock, Chandra realized she was shaking. Again. Only this time it was not from fear, it was from the startling realization that she was reacting in a way she'd never known to this man who had saved her life. And that by being so aware of him as a man, she was somehow more aware of herself as a woman. No one had ever made her feel this way. Certainly not Daniel—

  She cut off the name before it could fully form in her mind. She couldn't deal with that. She knew she couldn't, and if she tried, she would merely turn back into that shuddering, helpless creature she'd been when Lincoln Reese had found her huddled in a corner on the floor.

  She made herself stand up, and methodically hung up the towel that had been wrapped around her. It had covered her then, unlike when he'd caught her with it clenched in her trembling hands, too frightened to move it to hide her nudity. She knew he'd seen her. He'd even reacted; she'd seen the sudden flare of heat in his eyes, and she was far too familiar with that look to mistake it. But she'd been wrong about what he'd been thinking then; it hadn't been her nudity he'd wanted, but rather to be sure she didn't take flight again. And he'd made no move to touch her, then or since.

  She knew most men thought her beautiful; it meant nothing to her. It made men treat her as if she had no more depth than that perfect, little, plastic doll. It made them want her body, but care less than nothing about what went on in her mind. It made her believe that Daniel was right, that her first, best use in life was to be ornamental—and silent, because no one cared what she thought, only what she looked like. And maybe he was right, she thought wearily. Maybe there really wasn't anything worth looking beneath the surface for.

  She turned and stepped to the head's door. Linc Reese might seem different, Chandra warned herself as she reached for the latch, but he's obviously all man, and men, at least where she was concerned, were predictable. And when he found there was so little behind the pretty exterior, he would realize what other men seemed to know on sight—exactly what purpose she served in life.

  It took all of what little nerve she had left to open that door and step into the cabin. Linc was putting away the dishes he'd just cleaned, and looked over his shoulder at her. After a moment, he smiled.

  "They fit okay?"

  "Fine." She quickly looked away. He was breath-stopping when he was intent and serious; when he smiled he nearly stopped her heart as well. "I hope your sister won't mind."

  "She won't." An odd smile crossed his face. "I don't think she'll be needing them."

  "Why?"

  "Let's just say I don't think she'll be doing much sa
iling for a while."

  "Oh."

  "Figure out what else you need. I noticed a store a couple of miles from here."

  Chandra stared at him. "I… You know I don't have any money."

  "We'll worry about that later."

  Of course, she thought. As if he were here in the small cabin, her father's oft-repeated words echoed in her mind. Everything and everyone has a price, girl, and the sooner you learn that the better. There was always a price. Never mind what it would be for a few necessities; she owed this man for her life. She owed him whatever he might ask.

  "Channie?" he said, watching her with brows furrowed. "Are you all right?"

  It made her feel so funny when he said that name. She guessed he was doing it because she'd told him her school friends had used it, and he wanted her to trust him. The funny thing was, even though she knew that, it was having exactly the effect he wanted; she found herself wanting to trust him, to trust that the gentleness she saw in the depths of those hazel eyes was as real as the strength that was so evident in his taut, fit body.

  "I'm fine," she managed after a moment. "It's just… You don't have to buy me anything."

  "What about a toothbrush?"

  "Oh." She'd stolen some of the toothpaste she'd found in the head and used her finger this morning, but it hadn't been very satisfactory.

  "Besides," he said with a shrug as he put away the last plate, "I need some shampoo and razor blades. Something really wrecked my last one."

  Chandra's eyes widened. "I didn't! I almost did, but—"

  Linc was grinning at her, and it stopped her words dead. "I know. It was me, shaving for the first time in a week. I always get kind of lazy about that when I'm not working."

  "Oh," she said, feeling foolish once more.

  "So, we'll get you a razor, too," he said nonchalantly, as if he discussed details like this with women every day. For all you know, he does, Chandra told herself sternly as he went on. "And any other, er—" the nonchalance slipped a little "—female stuff you need."

  "Thank you."