Code Name: Ghost (A Warrior's Challenge 1) (5 page)

“
Mais oui, Madame
,” Redding said, but
it sounded more like “maze wheeze,” offering up his attempt at
French with a definite American twang.

“
Capitaine, vous allez devoir travailler
d'accent,
” she said, grinning at him.

Redding chuckled. “Okay, you got me, I’m a
little rusty. Now,” he said, clapping his hands together, “get
yourselves down to dock Bravo. It’s about a ten minute walk. The
Captain of the harbor patrol boat is John Themes. Good guy. He’s
been around as long as God, and he knows the Port inside and out.
He’s going to give you a tour so you can get an aspect from the
water. Go.”

“Yes, sir.” Gord gave him a salute, and a
lousy one at that, she thought.

“Oh—and ah, keep your eyes open for
SEALs.”

“Seals, sir? Seals aren’t exactly a novelty.
We’ve seen plenty before.”

“Not this kind.” He grinned at her.

Kayla, Gord and Barry reached the docks
within ten minutes. With the warm San Diego sun beaming down on
them, she looked forward to this familiarization trip. They stopped
to locate Bravo dock once they’d cleared a row of buildings on the
waterfront. Men in wet suits scuttled about on one of the fingers
leading from shore. Smaller training vessels bobbed beside the
pier. She recognized most of them, a CRCC, Combat Rubber Raiding
Craft, an eleven-meter RHIB, Rigid-Hull Inflatable Boat, good for
extreme weather and high speed to move the SEALs with a low
profile, and the MK V, Mark Five, good for medium range ocean
transport, and often used for coastal patrols.

“There’s Bravo dock,” Gord said, pointing
off to their right.

“And I think that’s the harbor patrol boat,
halfway down the dock,” Barry added.

“Let’s go say hello.” She led the way, and
in single file they traipsed down the sharp metal nonskid gangway.
The tide was out, steepening the angle. Larger vessels with deeper
drafts sat close by, requiring a deeper depth. Stepping onto the
hardy planks of the dock, she breathed in the sea air and it
reminded her of shaking hands with an old friend. She never could
run far from the sea, always working near it. It had to be in her
blood, but she simply didn’t spend time on it, just next to it. A
cruise was a novelty.

At least fifty feet of weathered but
sea-worthy patrol boat lay against the jetty. Within a couple
seconds, a man appeared from the wheelhouse.

“Afternoon, I’m Captain Themes. Welcome
aboard!” he said, sporting a weathered complexion from a lifetime
on the sea and a broad smile. He jumped over the side and greeted
them with a handshake. “Watch your step, ma’am,” extending his hand
to help her onboard.

“Thanks for having us, Captain.” She jumped
to the gunwale and then the deck.

“So, you folks are from the Base Command
Center and Captain Redding says you need an in-depth tour of the
Port, so that’s what we’re going to do. Grab a lifejacket and get
comfortable. Ma’am…”

She held up her hand. “Not ma’am, no more
ma’am. I’m Kayla Banks.” The Captain grinned at her. “This is Gord
and Barry.”

He nodded at each of them. “Go on into the
wheelhouse and meet my crew. They were kinda wondering who you
were,” he said, giving her a friendly once-over.

She nodded and left Captain Themes with Gord
and Barry to meet the patrol boat crew.

* * * *

Gord watched the Captain while a flutter of
protectiveness pulsed through him. “I bet,” Gord said dryly, easily
reading the attraction in his eyes.

Themes unglued his gaze from Kayla’s rear
end, and raised his brow good-humoredly. “Beautiful woman. She gets
lots of attention, no doubt.”

Gord waited until Kayla entered the
wheelhouse and was out of earshot. “Not really.”

He shook his head not understanding. “Why
not?”

“Dunno. That’s just Kayla,” he lied.

The Captain’s attention swayed to watch
Kayla as she shook hands with his crew. “How long have you known
her?”

“I’ve worked with her for fifteen years, and
nine years for Barry here.”

“She’s a nice lady,” Barry added. “Although,
you don’t want to piss her off.”

“Independent woman, huh?” Captain Themes
asked.

“Yup, most definitely,” Barry stated. “And
she bites if she has to.”

“Husband?”

“Nope. She’s never really shared her
personal life with us,” Barry said. “She lives to work. Kayla
always covers us if we need time off.”

Captain Themes offered a quick smile. “Well,
you guys get comfortable and we’ll drop the lines. I’m going to
show you every crack and crevice of the port. You’re going to need
it working in Base Command.” Themes strode toward the bow and waved
to someone in the wheelhouse, probably signaling they were dropping
the lines.

“Nice guy,” Barry said, stepping into the
wheelhouse. “But he’s barkin’ up the wrong tree if he thinks he’s
gonna grab Kayla’s attention.”

Gord gave a short laugh. “No shit. I’ve
known her longer than you, and he doesn’t have a hope.”

“I don’t get why,” Barry asked, taking a
quick glance around the roomy, worn galley.

“And you don’t want to, believe me, man. It
isn’t something she’ll talk about, so don’t bother asking,” he
added, a harsh line seaming his lips together.

“What? You do know something. What-up?”
Barry tugged once on his elbow to stop him, but didn’t look at him,
instead watching a deckhand let go the stern line out the back
hatch.

“Barry, she’s starting fresh. We all are.
Leave it at that.” The taut command in his voice hopefully enough
to tell his friend the subject was closed.

“Come on, man, you sound like there’s a deep
dark secret or somethin’. Kayla’s my friend, too. She’s like a big
sister to me, least she gives me shit like one.”

“That’s because you’re an asshole and
deserve it,” Gord said, grinning at his friend. Barry had joined
them a few months after Kayla had been released from the hospital.
Ten years had passed since the incident that had almost taken her
life. She didn’t speak about it, nor did anyone who watched a
determined Kayla with a heart of gold wither in front of them until
it was too late.

Nothing would make Gord forget those long
days when he sat beside her in the hospital, talking to her,
reading to her, watching for any sign that she was ready to come
back to them. It was a living nightmare, he never wanted to
experience again. Days turned into weeks, but eventually Kayla
opened her eyes. She crawled, then she walked, and finally ran,
joining the world of the living again. Time—doesn’t always heal all
wounds. Kayla built a wall around herself. She only trusted one
man, the man who kept him company in the hospital. The man who held
her hand, furiously praying, badgering and pleading for her to open
her eyes. Many times, Gord would walk into the room and see him
with his head resting against her heart, crying. He would quietly
back out, giving them privacy.

Guilt is an ugly poison, attaching itself to
an injured heart and regretful mind, but the man who wept over a
silent Kayla didn’t deserve it.

The warrior spent every moment he had with
her when he wasn’t deployed. The man was on a mission when Kayla
woke up, and he was the first person she asked about when they
removed all the tubes and equipment.

“So, you’re not going to share,” Barry said
giving him a rueful expression.

“No, I’m not.” He glanced over his shoulder
seeing Kayla in conversation with the crew circling her. Two at
least, had a hungry look in their eyes. “Think we better go save
her from those guys. They’re startin’ to look like a pack of
wolves.”

“Gonna be a nasty letdown for them.” Barry
stopped him with a questioning look. “How come you never—you
know?”

He shrugged. “Cuz someone else loves her,
and doesn’t let anyone near her. Besides, she’s like a big sister
to me, too, and that’s just gross.”

“Are you talking about that Lieutenant
Commander she knows? The one who appears out of the blue
sometimes?”

“That’s the one. Come on.”

* * * *

They toured for about an hour and half and
then a vessel hailed them on the Port working channel. “Harbor
Patrol, this is T-One Alpha, stop your vessel. We’ll be boarding on
the starboard side, assemble all persons on deck, over.”

Captain Themes picked up the handset of the
VHF radio, keying the press-to-talk button. “What’s the problem,
boys?”

“What’s wrong?” Kayla asked, but Captain
Themes just shrugged.

The voice on the radio came back sharply.
“Please do as instructed, Captain. Your vessel will be boarded and
searched, over.”

His eyes widened and then he flashed a look
at her. “Want to have a little fun?”

How could being boarded and interrogated by
the Navy be fun? She glanced behind her. “What kind of fun?”

“It’s the SEALs, they’re exercising, and
using us.” He brought the mic to his mouth and said, “Don’t think
I’m going to stop today, boys, got a special cargo.”

“Stop your vessel now,” the voice commanded
sharply over the radio, “or you will be boarded as an unfriendly.
Intel says you’re carrying illegals. Your vessel will be searched.
Will you comply, over?”

“Give it your best shot, boys, and by the
way, if the illegals get to the water before you find them, you’re
buying me three rounds tonight.”

Five seconds of silence passed on the radio
and then, “Deal.”

The Captain hit the stems full ahead. “You
can’t outrun a RHIB,” she said, seeing two rigid-hull inflatables
gaining on them fast off their port and starboard quarters.

“Nope, this old girl can only make about
fifteen knots, but we’re gonna give them a run for their money.
Care to make it harder?”

She grinned. “Always up for a challenge,
Captain.” She gave Gord and Barry a wink as a little thrill shot
through her. “What do you want us to do?”

“Hide, and then when they board, try to make
your way to the water.”

“You want us to jump in?” Gord asked,
laughing at the same time.

“It’s just water, lad, you’ll dry off.”

“It’s May guys, come on—how cold can it be?
This isn’t British Columbia,” she scoffed.

The RHIBs caught up fast, even with the
harbor boat giving her captain all she had. The guys scrambled, and
she scanned the wheelhouse quickly. A set of deep teak cabinets
doubled as a navigation table and created a buffer between the
galley and the navigating area. “What do you think, can I fit?”

“Go for it. I’ll try to get them outta
here.” They both watched as the first SEAL boarded the vessel.
“Hurry.”

Kneeling, she shimmied backwards into the
cabinet. The Captain knelt down in front of her, feeling like a
trapped rat, she gave him a crooked grin. Themes gave her a wink
before shutting the door and encasing her in darkness. The vessel
slowed down and then the lazy sway of the sea lobbed against the
hull while they set to drift.

A lot of shouting began as the SEAL team
boarded. How the hell they all understood each other yackin’ out at
the same time she didn’t know, but then again she could do the same
thing, listening to several comms at the same time and
understanding everyone.

“Where is she?” a gravelly voice called out,
entering the wheelhouse.

“Think you got the wrong boat, boys,”
Captain Themes replied.

“Take him,” the voice said.

“Have a seat, Captain,” another voice
ordered gruffly. The creak of old wood told her someone settled on
the bench behind her.

“Where are the illegals?” a different voice
barked.

“Small boat really, if you can’t find ‘em
maybe they’re not here,” the Captain drawled.

“Two men and one woman. Where did you hide
them?” Silence followed, Themes not giving in. “Captain, I’m sure I
saw a couple sharks swirling around out there. Swimming right now
would not be good for your health,” the guy added.

“Hey, I’ve done nothing wrong, sir.”

Kayla covered her mouth to muffle a laugh.
Even though it was only an exercise these guys were playing for
real. Hoo-rah she mouthed the SEAL chant, at least she thought that
was the chant. Now, how the heck was she going to get out of
here?

“Take him on deck. Search the vessel,"
someone ordered. She held her breath, realizing the guy barking the
orders stood right in front of the cabinet.

“There’s not many places to hide on this
vessel, Commander.”

The Commander’s voice filled the wheelhouse.
Low and dangerous he said, “She’s one little woman, ya think she’s
swimming back? Find her.”

One little woman? Screw him. One little
Canadian
woman, and that was like ten normal gals. She
waited, listening—and then cracked the door when she couldn’t hear
any more movement. Un-wedging her butt past the cabinet frame felt
like uncorking a wine bottle, reminding her she had to put a few
more miles of walking in each day. She slithered across the floor
and peeked around the corner. Heavy boots thumped across the deck
above her. Peering down the short, steep steps into the forward
cabin, she saw it was clear. Radios broke squelch all over the
vessel as the team spoke to each other searching for them.

“Got an illegal,” someone squawked over the
radio.

Gord or Barry had been found.

Carefully, she slid down the stairs to the
forward cabin. There had to be an access to the chain locker in
there. She saw the hatch and carefully cracked the stem to open it.
“Please don’t squeak,” she whispered. “Yes!”

A waft of old iron from the anchor chain
struck her nose, mingling with the scent of burnt diesel from the
vessel’s engines. A familiar smell, one she loved. Looking into the
inky darkness of the chain locker, she saw a pinhole of light
beamed from the hatch leading to the upper deck. Stepping through
the hatchway, she carefully closed the heavy steel door behind her.
Hopefully, no one got the idea to let go the anchor while she was
in here.