Personally, he didn't care anymore or let others' opinions shape his decisions. Running life solo worked better in his job as he'd learned well with Eva. He'd found his place in the world outside his father's influence. He hoped Darcy could find the same.
He expected she would. The General might be overbearing, but Max doubted the old guy had ever leaped from behind corners to knock her on her butt. Reflexes boy. Don't ever let the enemy catch you unaware.
Max dumped thoughts of his father out of his head. Must just be seeing Darcy and her dad together that was screwing with his mind.
She pulled herself into a stance that couldn't be mistaken as anything other than military attention. "With all due respect, sir, unless I miss my guess, this one's outside your scope of command. There's a bigger picture here and if there's something I can contribute, then by God, I'm not budging off this island." She met her father's gaze dead-on. "Sir."
The two wills, father and daughter, battled so strongly Max wasn't sure who would win. He had to tip the odds for the General, no matter what Darcy wanted, no matter that it chewed his conscience.
Max stepped forward. "Damn it, Darcy, that bigger picture is about your flying world, too. Leaks like this can affect every flight plan for the Cantou conflict coming out of planners on this island."
He pulled out the stops and voiced what needed to be said to make her leave. "You wanted to be a part of the war effort. Well you were a part by getting me here whether you knew it or not. Time to see the big picture then and now. You're a military pilot. You look out for your wingmen and do what's best for your country. And right now, your country needs you to get the hell off this island. You're hampering my investigation."
Darcy's lips may have stayed closed, but her eyes shouted across the room. You bastard.
The General turned, gratitude stamped on his craggy face. Apparently, flowered dive shorts no longer mattered. "Thank you, Keagan. Well put."
Max stayed as silent as Darcy. Who would have thought he'd ever side with the starched shirts he'd so long disavowed? But weighing the options for keeping Darcy safe, Max accepted he would have to stand in the old man's shoes.
For a guy more accustomed to Teva sandals, those polished leathers made for a damned tight fit.
Darcy yanked herself from nightmares full of blood and sea snakes. She refused to allow herself to scream.
She gasped in drags of antiseptic air, grappling for the chain on the hospital light. Her hand finally swacked it, grabbed, jerked. Light illuminated the room. And the man sitting in the corner chair.
It was him.
One leg hooked over the arm of the chair, Max watched her through narrowed eyes. His revelations from earlier rolled over her. The damned irony of it that she'd been a part of the war effort all along.>Her father jerked open the door and called into the corridor, "Keagan, could you step in here? It's time for that talk."
She tensed. All the memories of their encounter on the beach and their fight afterward marched over her. What would they say to each other once her father left?
Max stepped into the open doorway. Backlit, he filled the frame with his broad shoulders and magnetism. Darcy's mouth dried. Man, she could use that cup of crushed ice perched on the sink corner right about now.
Then Max stepped into the light.
Her tongue turned to pure cotton.
He stood in the harsh glow of the fluorescent hospital lights, familiar and so very different at the same time. She recognized the outward man in his Tevas, flowered dive shorts and raspberry-red T-shirt. Hacked-off sleeves showcased his diver-down tattoo with that hint of a scar tracing from his shoulder.
The set of his face, the glint in his eyes, however, was completely new. All the events of the past weeks gelled together...his undeclared Glock, his odd dive pattern, why his dolphins still hadn't been released even with so many trips out...
Why they'd been attacked.
Darcy reevaluated that new glint in this man she suddenly realized she didn't know at all. The mindset, however, she recognized well since she'd seen it stamped on so many before him—her father, her crew, every one of those countless faces populating her world since childhood.
She'd wanted Max because he represented something so very different from her father, her co-workers and yes, even herself—government protectors by training, trade and blood.
Looking into his eyes, she knew. He wasn't so different at all.
Max Keagan was one of them.
Chapter 11
Max schooled his features to stay blank, tough as hell to do even after eight years of CIA undercover work. Darcy's look of comprehension—disillusionment—stabbed clean through him.
She was a smart woman. No doubt, she'd put enough pieces together to realize he wasn't simply Dr. Max Keagan. Now necessity, not to mention safety, dictated she learn the rest.
Or at least enough to keep her safe.