Saving Amber - Zoe Dawson Page 0,55
my little sisters had wanted nothing to do with crabs, although Nova did the books for my dad. She’s a whiz with numbers. It was the Coast Guard Search and Rescue that was her main interest. She went to the Coast Guard Academy and got commissioned and admitted to flight school, but Neve went directly in. Nova wanted to fly, so she was doing the officer haul.”
“That’s pretty cool. A swimmer and a flier?”
“Nova is an amazing pilot and Neve is a fearless swimmer and diver. Are you and your sister close?”
Amber looked away, her eyes going immediately pensive, her mouth pulling down a bit. Oh, there was some tension there. “Sort of, but we have our differences.”
He rose, grabbed his plate and set it in the sink, then poured himself another cup of coffee. She twisted around in her chair.
“Why is that?”
Silence. Then she turned back around.
He brought the carafe with him and topped off her mug. She busied herself with adding the right amount of cream. Amber avoided his gaze, something she’d never done. She was always Ms. Direct.
He reached over and lifted her chin. “You don’t want to talk about it. I get it. We don’t have to. It’s your business.”
Amber made a face and then folded her arms, huffing out a breath. “She was popular and beautiful, and I was completely not. I was tall, lanky and athletic. Always the girl boys were after…to be on the basketball team.”
“They must have been blind and stupid.”
She shook her head and wrinkled her nose. “It all sounds so petty when I say it out loud.”
“Hey,” he said, covering her hand. He tried not to care that she laced her fingers through his. “You feel the way you feel. Can’t help that, right?”
She shrugged. “I was so jealous. I had to work twice as hard to get noticed. I guess that made me competitive.”
“I kinda like that about you.” He squeezed her fingers. “And, as for your lanky, athletic body. I’m not seeing any problems there. But, if you want, I could take another look. Might take me some exploration and research though to make a final decision.”
Dancing lights blossomed in her eyes and she nudged him with her knee under the table. “Men, such animals.”
“Well, you also have something else going for you.”
“Oh, yeah? What is that?”
“You make great pancakes.”
She was laughing when her cell rang, but the amusement faded after she answered, listened for a few seconds, then said, “Thank you.” She hung up the phone. “They have a match on the ballistics. Mayer’s rifle killed James. That is pretty conclusive to me and really no way to dispute it that I can see. No evidence to suggest anything else.”
“What about the autopsy on Mayer?” Tristan asked.
“Ready in about an hour. Let’s head over to the colonel’s office and fill him in. As soon as I get word on the death of Mayer, which I suspect was simply hypothermia, I will be briefing my boss and then head out to the Reno airport tomorrow.” She scowled.
“What’s wrong, Amber?”
She hesitated, then said, “Nothing.”
Tristan drove in silence over to headquarters and they briefed a tight-lipped, unhappy Colonel Jacobs, who was disappointed in the terrible tragedy. Mr. and Mrs. Connelly had collected their son’s body and was in the process of getting it shipped to DC.
“Why DC?”
“They’re burying him at Arlington. They debated on it but decided that James deserved a full military funeral and to lie with his comrades in arms instead of in their home state of Kentucky.”
Tristan’s eyes stung, and his throat tightened. He rose abruptly. “Sir, may I be excused?”
The colonel looked at him, then away. “Dismissed.”
Tristan left the room, and as soon as the door closed behind him, he rubbed at his eyes, feeling both weak and hollow. He walked briskly to the conference room and shut the door. The face of the young Marine who had been on guard duty with him the night the consulate had been attacked and overrun flashed in his mind. “Dammit,” he swore softly and under his breath.
Arms came around his waist and Amber pressed against his back. He wanted to push her away just as much as he wanted her to hold him tighter.
He was so unaccustomed to being comforted—as alien to him as giving up.
He tipped his head back and clenched his jaw. It was not a good time for memories. Or for remembering. But that didn’t stop the emotions piling up in his chest.
Forcing himself to