recruited another engineer. Dual Chinese-Canadian citizen who got a green card and an education.”
“Who’s the engineer?”
Copeland gave him the name. “He isn’t the man we’re looking for.”
The engineer might be part of another mission. In fact, Carson didn’t doubt it. He felt a moment of regret that he couldn’t be part of it. But he was part of this mission.
“I’m happy to continue to be bait,” he said. “Draw the mystery man out.” If he’d shot at him once, he’d try again.
Copeland nodded. “That’s the main reason I asked you to meet me here. This all has to be kept secret. You aren’t part of the team anymore, but you’re my best chance at catching that man.”
“Thanks.”
“I’m not doing it because I feel sorry for you. Man up if you’re having a tough time dealing with that.” Copeland pointed to his lame leg.
Carson grinned. The commander had set him straight. “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”
“Good, because I need you. Our problem here is that if the North Koreans didn’t get the technology and we didn’t bring it home, where is it?”
The best way to find out was to expose the mystery man, whom Carson believed was the same one who shot at him, the one who would have made the transfer, but for whatever reason, hadn’t.
“What did the San Diego police have?” Carson asked.
Copeland’s face lit with the good question. “Ah. They traced the car to a rental company. Whoever rented it used false identification. A background came up with somebody who’s been dead for fifteen years. They’re looking for the car now and I’m looking into who might have traveled from Myanmar, or anywhere near there, during the time of the mission.”
Carson nodded. That sounded promising. And despite Copeland’s lack of sympathy, Carson was thrilled to be part of the team again.
* * *
Georgia’s bracelets jingled as she brushed her long hair back over her shoulder and stepped by a row of treasure-lined shelves inside a village bookstore. It was an independent bookstore and the most delightful she’d ever seen. Converted from an old house, it had nooks and cozy seating areas and walls of books. Carson had reserved rooms at an old Victorian inn a short walk from here. The inn was on a farm with white fences and cows. Very upscale and also very soothing in a country way. The village was full of boutique shops and there was even a spa. She was glad Carson wasn’t here to see her melt in pleasure.
He’d left her here and drove to Camp Lejeune to meet with his commander. A classified meeting. Carson had been part of an elite military team and his missions fought terrorism and protected national security. The notion of him in that role clashed mightily with what she expected to encounter when she and Ruby arrived in San Diego. A hero. Carson Adair. An Adair. Hero. The two bounced around in her head, and she kept pushing back the hero version. The bookstore helped. It was like therapy, being among the thing she loved most on earth—books—in a place like this with creaky old floors and the smell of candles, potpourri and ink, made it easy not to think of Carson as a big bad heroic soldier.
Georgia purchased a book amid the soft tinkle of piano music and left with a satisfied smile. Walking up the street toward the white inn, she passed a linen-table restaurant that was only open for dinner and a gift shop. As she drew closer, she saw a limo parked in front of the inn. And then she saw Carson. He stood next to the open back door, waiting for her. Standing tall and lean and handsome in dark jeans and another Henley, he looked as if he’d just stepped out of an ad for a yacht.
She saw him notice her outfit, from the silver flower earrings to the silver boots that went with her gray knitted cardigan over a white T-shirt and dark low-rise jeans.
“Hi,” she said, and then feared there was too much enthusiasm in the greeting. Big bad soldier. Hero.
“Hi.” He grinned. “Let’s go get ice cream.” He opened the door wider and stepped out of the way to allow her inside.
She slid onto the leather seat and he got in after her.
“How did your meeting go?” She looked down his muscled torso to his long, thick legs. If not for his injury, he could probably run really far for a long, long time. He probably had when he was in the military. But he still had stamina for other activities...
“Good.”
His brief answer diverted her attention. “Just good?” That’s all she’d get?
“We’re a long way from finding out who shot at me.” He looked down at the small shopping bag she’d put beside her with her purse. “Did you buy something?”
“There’s a bookstore in the village.” She restrained her excitement and stopped herself from going on to say what a fabulous bookstore it was. She could talk about books all day and probably bore him to death. Unfortunately, she couldn’t keep the beaming smile off her lips.
“Exactly why I chose this place.”
Because she was a librarian, and he knew she’d love it here. He’d known about the bookstore.
“I do love to read. I collect them, too.”
“Antique books?”
“Yes. It’s a challenge finding first editions at reasonable prices. But when I do...” She raised her eyes heavenward, enough to indicate the joy she felt when she found something special.
“What did you buy?”
Still smiling, she parted the tissue paper the clerk had wrapped her book in before putting it into the bag. It smelled like the store. She handed him the hardcover, a novel about a young girl who ran away from home and overcame countless obstacles. An underdog story. Her favorite.
“Not something I would have chosen but good for you.” He handed it back to her.
“What would you have chosen? Machiavelli?”
He chuckled. “Something Jack Reacher.”
She tucked the book back into its nest of tissue paper as the limo stopped in front of a gourmet ice-cream shop. It was every bit as quaint as the village she’d just left. How much more of this was he going to inflict upon her? And what was he trying to do? Win her over or just prove her wrong?
The driver opened the door. Carson got out and took her hand to help her out. She felt a little ridiculous. Not only was she unaccustomed to this, she was capable of getting out on her own. But he was going out of his way to be a gentleman. He even held the door for her as they entered the ice-cream shop.
“Ah, Mr. Adair,” the mid-forties man behind the counter said with a big smile. “You finally came back to North Carolina for a visit?”
The man knew Carson, which made him a regular here, which also pricked her curiosity.
“Yes, for a few days.”
“The Marines give you some time off?”
“Yeah.
