A restlessness that inched her so close he could read the stitched lettering on her patches. Her arm declared her squadron's motto of Anything. Anywhere. Anytime.
With her soft-scented body a reach away, the words curled through his brain with shades of meaning he didn't want or need now. "Well then, I'll get back to—"
"Are they both girls?" Darcy pointed to the other transport crate. "Or is that one a boy?"
The woman had a knack with questions, and for a man used to being the one who excavated answers, the experience set him on edge. "Females, both of them."
"What're their names?"
"Lucy and Ethel."
"Lucy and Ethel? And?" Darcy waved a hand for him to continue. "Spill it. There's got to be a story there."
So many people wanted to talk about themselves, he never had trouble keeping his own life closed away by asking the questions. Few pushed past his lifelong reserve.
Certainly no one since Eva.
Max forced his breathing to stay even. "I liked old sitcoms as a kid. Lost in Space. Gilligan's Island. I Love Lucy." Enough about him. Time to turn it around. "What was your favorite show as a kid?''
"Hogan's Heroes, of course. While Dad was stationed overseas, we could only get old sitcoms on the base network." Her eyes clouded and she studied her boots until Lucy shooshed again. Darcy's head popped up, her ready smile crinkling her nose again. "But we're not talking about me. Come on. Don't stop now. Why did you settle on Lucy and Ethel rather than, oh, maybe Ginger and Mary Ann or Judy and Penny Robinson?"
Max considered shutting her down with a curt response but couldn't bring himself to douse the animated twinkle in her eyes.
What would it hurt to answer a question that had no bearing on his mission? She would be returning to her home base in days, anyway. "Lucy had this loud cry that made me think of those Lucy tears. You know, that wide-open-mouth cry." He palmed the fiberglass side. "She's temperamental, but she's affectionate. Ethel is the practical one."
He glanced down the belly of the plane where his assistant sprayed the other dolphin. Perry enjoyed disguises, the bow tie being his latest inspiration. Not a field agent, just CIA support personnel adding technical expertise, Perry helped with medical maintenance and setting up the physical environment for the dolphins.
A damned important job, especially with the dolphins' impending release after they completed the underwater search. Max pinched the bridge of his nose absently.
Darcy's eyes narrowed. "Hmm."
"Hmm what?"
"You're frowning."
"I'm concentrating." Or trying to, anyway.
"It's not that kind of frown."
"Frowns come in types?"
"Sure they do. You study nuances of communication, don't you?" Her body language left no room for misunderstanding as she twirled a lock of her hair. "Well, there are definite nuances to frowns. There's the mad frown. Furrows in the brow dropping low over the eyes. Mouth drawn tight."
Darcy demonstrated with an enticing dichotomy of naivete meets femme fatale. She circled her lips with her finger until Max ached to replace that finger with his own mouth.
Lowering her hand, Darcy pointed across the plane. "Tag over there's giving your assistant one of those frowns right now for almost bumping the load-ramp controls."
Uninterested in looking at Perry or Tag, Max folded his arms over his chest and let her talk. Not that he seemed to have much of a chance of stopping her, anyway. "Okay, I'll buy into that one. What about other frowns?"
"Then there's the megaworried frown. Long furrows on the brow. Jaw thrust forward just a bit." She scrunched her face into a scowl, this time forgoing the attention to her lips, thank God. "The frown my dad gave me this one particular time right before I headed out the door."
"Been there. Seen that one on my old man's face enough times during my teenage years."
"I was twenty-two."
"Hell, Lieutenant," Max said, welcoming the distraction from full lips and flight-suit zippers. "Where were you going? Mars?"
"Pilot training."
There was a story there, no doubt, and he didn't want to hear it. Hearing it would bring her closer, make her more real. Not smart, chump. "All right, we've got the mad frown." Max counted one and two with his fingers. "And the worried frown."
"There's another one."
His instincts blared a warning. Ambush ahead. "Another one?''
She nodded slowly, then hesitated until he thought she might not answer after all. Finally her eyes gleamed with a battlefield determination Max suspected she'd inherited from her old man.
"An interested frown," she continued. "The kind you give someone when you're checking them out but you're not quite sure what to think yet. The forehead still furrows, brows pull together. Head tilts to the side. The mouth isn't tight this time. It's more relaxed."
Darcy lifted a ringer to her lips, not quite touching, and swirled the air around them again. She wore that checking-out frown long after her hand fell away. Well beyond the time needed for a simple demonstration.
Max prayed for air. Breathing became a damned near impossible task. He might as well have been one of his dolphins, forced to regulate every pocket of oxygen entering and leaving his body.
He was totally turned on and she hadn't even touched him.
Then her face cleared, forehead smoothed, lips moved. He made himself listen.
"You were wearing that second frown when you looked at Lucy. The overprotective-dad kind of frown when he's worried about sending his kid out." Her brown eyes hinted at a concern far more dangerous than the "interested frown."
The woman was perceptive. And nosy. And he was letting too much show.
Max pivoted toward the tank under the guise of securing a tie-down chain. "It's a tricky transition for dolphins."
"I'll bet you're going to miss them."
"Miss them?" A Navy brat, he'd said hundreds of goodbyes. Pack up and move on. He'd learned early to shrug off the past, to blend into a new setting quickly but never grow attached. Hell, he'd been training for transitory undercover work since the playpen. "It's time for them to go."
The words sounded harsh even to his own jaded ears, but better for her to meet the real Max straight up. He was feeding her enough half-truths about himself. He didn't need to pretend in this arena.
"How will you set them free? What's the process? I did some cruising on the Web when I received this assignment. Most sites said it's tough to reacclimate a dolphin that's been in captivity more than three years."
He grasped the safer topic with both hands. "That's true, but Lucy and Ethel weren't tank dolphins so we're hoping the transition will be smoother. There are fewer risks of them transmitting infection back into the wild that would harm other cetaceans. Lucy and Ethel have spent their captive years in sea pens— netted-off lagoons and bays."
Open ocean operations.
And they always came back.
He wanted this chance for their release, but his concerns about their adaptation strayed to a different path.
He knew they could hunt and protect themselves. But how would they unlearn years of patterned behavior? Not to mention complete loyalty to him. "It's still an iffy situation, but we're gonna give it a shot."
"Hmm."
"Hmm, what?"
"You're still frowning. Why are you doing this if it bothers you?"
"It's not my choice to make." More truth since the dolphins belonged to the government. His hand slid from the tank to his side.
She shoved away from the bulkhead. With one finger she traced his damp handprint on the fiberglass panel. Slowly. Dipping along each curve. "So you did your research in sea pens. Something about communication?"
He nodded. Watched her finger outline the image of his. Clenched his fist. Swallowed hard. "Uh-huh."
"Lucky for you the Air Force could step in on this one. But then I'll bet you probably have a lot of interaction with the folks at the Pt. Loma naval marine research facility since they're close to the university."
His gaze snapped from her hand to her face. Danger, Will Robinson! Danger!
How had they gone from discussing old television shows and overprotective fathers to Pt. Loma, the government home of his dolphin training operation?
The woman had all but seduced him from his job without laying a hand on him. Hell, two more seconds and who knew what she might have him spilling. He had to get her off the subject. Now. No time for finesse.
He opted for the first diversion that came to mind.
Max arranged his expression into that checking-out frown, not at all a difficult proposition. "Wanna go out for a drink tomorrow night?''
Sure.
Darcy winced at her inane reply to Max's invitation earlier.
Even eight hours later as she stood on the flight line at Andersen AFB, Guam, she still wanted to exchange her answer for something...snappier. So much for her grand plan of being like her sister, Alicia. But talking with Max had been interesting, then distracting, and before long she was coming on to him for real, being herself.
Boot propped on the load ramp, she watched Max direct the unloading of Lucy and Ethel. The fiberglass crates moved on rollers toward two flatbed trucks.
Palms rustled in the breeze, the ocean visible just beyond the trees. The morning sun crept over the horizon in a shimmering orange ball, warming an already muggy day. Seduced by the sultry tropical breezes, she could almost forget Guam was the scene of so many bad memories.
Darcy plucked at her grimy flight suit, Max looking too darned fresh. The slicker gone, he'd cuffed his chambray sleeves to work with the loadmasters. He steadied the crate during the crane transfer, muscles straining against his well-worn jeans until her toes curled in her boots.
This sexy, fascinating guy had asked her out and the only answer she'd scrounged up was, Sure.
Not, I'll have to get back to you once I've checked the flight schedule.
Or something elusive but witty like, We always gather at the Officers' Club. I'm sure we could find an extra bar stool for you.
Or even just a mature, straightforward, That sounds great. How about I meet you at the Officers' Club around seven?
Nope. She'd gone all shivery like some high schooler standing beside her locker with the quarterback.
Sure.
In the distance, wild boonie dogs howled a mocking salute. Not a great omen for her drink date.
Max pulled a clipboard from Tag's hands and flipped through the pages, scrawling notations. His pen stopped, hovering on the papers.
He looked up, straight at her, and Darcy forgot all about confrontations with her commander and dreaded calls to her father. For a moment she could have sworn she found an echo of her own confusion in Max's eyes. Not that she actually could have seen it since he stood a good twenty or so yards away.
But, oh, what if she had? The notion teased at her, warming that inexperienced "sure" part of her more than the morning sun rising overhead.
Perhaps with all that time spent in the hallowed halls of academia, he might not be as savvy as he looked. His dedication to his job and sea mammals was obvious. What if his social life stunk as much as her own, thanks to work?
Her fling fantasy with a beach-bum, genius lothario morphed into a new scenario. Maybe he was shy.
Confident in his academic realm, but as awkward as she was when it came to relationships. That would explain why he'd suddenly blurted out an invitation after seeming reluctant to talk.
Darcy's flagging confidence upped a notch. She didn't imagine for a minute the guy might actually be a virgin, especially after the slow-simmer looks he'd given her. But maybe, just maybe, she'd found someone she could trust enough to be herself with, dopey "sure" sorts of answers and all.
