Dragon (Dirk Pitt 10)

"I wanted to apologize before Tim and I leave for the West Coast," she said seriously.

"Tim?"

"Dr. Weatherhill."

"You've worked together before, I assume.

"Yes."

"Will I see you again sometime?" he asked.

"I don't know. Our missions may take us in different directions." She hesitated a moment. "I want you to know I feel badly about the trouble I've caused. You saved my life, and because I took up extra space in the last submersible, you almost lost yours."

"A good massage and we'll call it even," Pitt said, flashing a tired smile.

She looked down on his outstretched body. "For living underwater for four months, you have a good tan."

"My gypsy blood," he slurred in a sleepy voice.

Using finger pressure of the basic shiatsu technique, Stacy pressed her fingers and thumbs into the sensitive areas of Pitt's bare feet.

"That feels great," he murmured. "Did Jordan brief you on what we learned about the warheads?"

"Yes, you threw him a curve. He thought you had walked out on him. Now that Tim and I know exactly where to target our investigation, we should make good progress at pinpointing the bomb cars."

"And you're going to probe the West Coast ports."

"Seattle, San Francisco, and Los Angeles are the ports where the Murmoto auto carriers dock."

Pitt went silent as Stacy worked up his legs, combining shiatsu with Swedish kneading methods. She massaged his arms, back, and neck. Then she lightly slapped him on the buttocks and ordered him to turn over, but there was no response.

Pitt was dead asleep.

Sometime during the early morning hours he came awake, feeling her body wildly entangled with his.

The movements, the sensations, the soft cries of Stacy's voice, came through the mist of exhaustion like a dream. He felt as though he was soaring through a thunder and lightning storm before it all faded and he plunged into the black void of deep sleep again.

"Surprise, sleepyhead," said Congresswoman Loren Smith, trailing a finger down Pitt's back.

Pin's mind brushed away the cobwebs as he rolled onto his side and looked up at her. She was sitting crosslegged in barefeet on the empty side of the bed wearing a flowered cotton knit top with a crew neckline and sage-green sailcloth pants with pleats. Her hair was tied back with a large scarf.

Then suddenly he remembered and shot an apprehensive look at the opposite side of the bed. To his lasting relief, it was empty.

"Aren't you supposed to be doing wondrous deeds in Congress?" he asked, secretly pleased Stacy had left before Loren arrived.

"We're in recess." She held a cup of coffee out of his reach, tempting him.

"What do I have to do for the coffee?"

"Cost you a kiss."

"That's pretty expensive, but I'm desperate."

"And an explanation."

Here it comes, he thought, quickly focusing his thoughts. "Concerning what?"

"Not what but who. You know, the woman you spent the night with."