by Lauren Carr
“Let’s not release my inner bitch.” Sparks came to Jessica’s violet eyes.
“See?” he laughed. “You just pressed it again. You need to condition yourself to the point that when you get into a life and death situation that you can move beyond the shock, which is what paralyzes most people, to press your bitch button, which puts you on the offense.”
“Why not defense?”
“You want to be on the offense when it comes to survival,” Murphy said. “When I press my bastard button, all niceties, all manners go out the window. When it comes to life and death, there are no rules. They don’t play by any rules, so neither do I. You shouldn’t either.” He wrapped his arms around her. “Then, when it is all over, you can go back to being my sweet Buttercup.”
He kissed her. Resting her head on his shoulder, she gazed up at him while brushing her fingertips across his bare chest. “Seeing you in action tonight, I hope I never press your bastard button.”
Thinking of his meeting the next morning, she said for a third time, “They can’t blame you for them killing Emily Dolan.”
“I’m a Phantom, Jessie,” Murphy said. “No one is more highly trained than I am. Phantoms receive the most specialized training available—even SEALS and Black Ops. I was best equipped to save Dolan, who was our only lead in this case and the only possible lead that Cameron had in finding out who ordered Nick’s murder …” He sucked in a deep breath. “I could have saved her, but chose instead to push that responsibility onto someone else in order to save you myself. That was a mistake. I screwed up.”
Together, they stared up at the ceiling in silence.
Jessica could anticipate his reaction before the words came from her mouth, but she was desperate to help him. “Maybe I could call Natalie—”
Murphy sprung up off the pillows. “Admiral Patterson’s wife! No!”
“Sure, the whole idea of it not being ‘who you know’ but ‘what you know’ is ideal,” Jessica argued, “but the fact is, it is who you know that matters. Natalie and I have become friends. Why, just yesterday, we spent a few hours here drinking a couple of pitchers of margaritas—”
In his exhausted state, overwhelmed with all the information he had thrown at him during the day, Murphy had to shake his head. “Admiral Patterson’s wife? Nata—margaritas? What are you talking about?”
“Her and Paige Graham showed up asking me to go to lunch with them,” Jessica said. “They were going to the marina for lunch and Natalie knew I lived right here, so they stopped by. But we ended up not going.”
“Why not?” Curious about where this conversation was taking them, Murphy laid back down on his side beside her.
Seeing that she was succeeding in taking his mind off the next morning’s meeting, Jessica rolled over onto her side to face him. “After meeting Paige Graham, the last thing I wanted to do was spend an hour or so down at the marina with that snooty bitch. Luckily, she remembered a meeting with some council and left.”
“Who is Paige Graham?”
“Sebastian Graham’s wife? General Graham.” she replied. “Don’t tell me that with everything going on that you have forgotten about General Sebastian Graham and the President nominating him to fill General Johnston’s slot as Chief of Staff of the United States Army.”
Murphy sighed. Conversation with her had relaxed him enough that he allowed himself to stroke her bare thigh with his fingertips. “What did she do that got her on your bad side?”
“It wasn’t so much what she did as it was her complete attitude,” she said. “Yes, I know she’s in charge of the Army Officers’ Spouses Club, but she seems to think that makes her queen of everything. The only reason she’s their leader is because her husband is General Graham and General Johnston’s wife doesn’t participate.” On a roll, she giggled. “She so reminds me of girls I knew in high school who attached their self-worth directly to their boyfriends’ status.”
“I thought that went away,” Murphy said.
“We would like to think so, but it hasn’t totally,” Jessica said. “Think about it. Paige Graham is really into this club and being chair on all these charity boards—all because her husband is a big war hero and on the fast track to the Joint Chiefs of Staff. He makes her Queen Bee. I bet you she would flip out if the current army’s chief of staff, General Johnston’s wife, decided to start being active in the club.”
“She’s too busy doing heart transplants at Johns Hopkins,” Murphy said. “Some of these officers’ wives take the club very seriously.”
“Did your mother?”
Murphy stretched out his hand and shook it in a gesture of somewhat. “It’s true that it isn’t just the husband, or the wife, who joins the military. It’s the whole family. These groups weren’t intended to be social clubs with high school hierarchy attached to them.”
“It’s impossible to get a bunch of women together without that happening,” Jessica said.
“I think it depends on the women,” Murphy said. “They’re meant to offer a support system to each other.”
“How involved was your mother in the navy officers’ wives club?” Jessica asked. “Did she attach her worth to your father’s rank?”
“No, she attached her self-worth to her children’s grades,” he replied with a laugh. “There were five of us. She would be involved, but really, not as involved as it sounds like Paige Graham is.”
“Maybe because the Grahams don’t have any kids,” Jessica said. “And she doesn’t have her own career separate from her husband.”
“Don’t some women consider their family to be their careers?” Murphy asked. “Mom’s whole life revolved around Dad and us kids.”
“Did your mom go to Yale on an academic scholarship?”
“My mother’s folks owned a roadside diner out toward Kitty Hawk,” he said with a laugh. “She waited tables all through high school. She was on her way to a glamourous career of being a short order cook when Dad stopped in for breakfast on his way to the Outer Banks with some friends. He had been at the naval academy only a few weeks.” With a grin, he cocked his head at her. “Dad says it was love at first sight. They dated long distance while he attended the academy. The day after he graduated, they got married. J.J. and I were born ten months later.”
She brushed her fingers across his bare chest. “Sounds familiar—except for the twins coming along ten months later.”
“Guess it runs in the family.” He brought her hand to his lips and softly kissed her palm.
Her eyebrows furrowed and she narrowed her violet eyes while peering at him.
“What?” he asked.
“Why would someone like Paige Graham work so hard to get an academic scholarship to Yale University, graduate, and then settle for being an officer’s wife?”
“Most military people don’t live in the same area very long,” Murphy said. “Maybe they’ve had to move so often because of his career that she isn’t settled in any one spot long enough to develop a professional career. So she gave up. We moved four times before I was sixteen. Nowadays, most military wives who want a career do it on the Internet because that’s the only way they can.”
“I know,” she said with a tired sigh. “I have a suspicious mind.”
“We both have suspicious minds.” He rolled over onto his back. “It helps with what we do. What are you suspicious about?”
He didn’t need to say anything else to encourage her. She stretched out onto her stomach next to him. Folding her arms on his chest, she gazed into his face while telling him about how the two officer wives, both leaders of their respective officer spouse clubs, had arrived unannounced and unexpectantly. After getting the evil eye from Paige Graham for her less than modest attire, Jessica offered them a pitcher of margaritas for a quick cocktail and conversation with the intention of begging off lunch and sending them on their way.
�
�That was when the conversation got interesting,” Jessica said.
“You answer the door dressed like Princess Jasmine to find a four-star general’s wife standing on your doorstep, and only then did things get interesting?” Murphy replied with a chuckle.
It felt good to see him smile. “Paige Graham wasted no time bringing up Maureen Clark’s murder.”
The smile fell from Murphy’s face.
“I got the distinct feeling that she was pumping me for information,” Jessica said. “She claimed all of the women in the club were upset—”
“Naturally.”
“And that I could help them if I could feed them information about the investigation. Of course, I explained that I couldn’t.”
“Colonel Lincoln Clark was at NCIS yesterday afternoon,” Murphy said. “Of course, the army is trying to get the case sent over to CID.” He sighed. “After tonight—”
“Paige claimed his wife was disturbed,” Jessica said.
“How was she disturbed?”
“Delusional,” she explained. “Paige said she had become obsessed with General Graham and imagined a relationship where there wasn’t any—“
She stopped when Murphy sat up, forcing her to move off him. He turned to her. “What else did she say about Maureen Clark?”
“That she had withdrawn from many of the club’s activities in the last few years,” she said. “Social withdrawal is a symptom of emotional illness.”
“Colonel Clark came in yesterday to complain because he didn’t want our forensics people to take samples of his son’s DNA.”
“General Graham has quite a reputation for extramarital affairs,” Jessica said. “Paige went out of her way to say that these woman claiming to have slept with him were all disturbed and imagining it all.”
“Clark said he was trying to protect his son’s privacy,” Murphy said.
“Sounds to me like he could be trying to protect a family secret.”
Cameron’s call to Joshua went straight to voice mail. Either he was on the phone or he had left it in airplane mode. He had been known to do that when he was in court. He would turn the phone to airplane mode before going into court and then forget about it. Then he would wonder why she didn’t call him.
She was most perturbed. So far, it had not been a good trip.
Sal Bertinelli had been murdered—leaving only one clue behind. The hit was for a friend of Adrian Kalashov. But that could be anyone or even a personal favor for Kalashov himself. For all the federal agents knew, Adrian Kalashov lied to his paid assassin.
Though they were able to identify Jane Doe as Cecilia Crenshaw, the only one who may have been able to explain how she ended up on the Pennsylvania Turnpike that January night was now dead—killed less than two days after Sal Bertinelli had turned government witness.
The only other lead was also dead. Emily Dolan was a long shot, but she was better than nothing, which was what Cameron felt like they were left with.
Only days old when her mother was killed, Izzy Crenshaw had no idea Cecilia was her mother. How could she possibly know what and who was behind all these murders?
Maybe Donna Crenshaw had Cecelia killed so that she could steal Izzy as her own, in which case all of these murders have nothing to do with Izzy at all.
The thought of Izzy made Cameron feel a tug of envy in her heart.
Irving was sleeping with Izzy.
To her shock and dismay, mixed with a pinch of jealousy, when Cameron went up to the loft guest room to go to bed, Irving did not follow. Instead, he followed Izzy into her room. Even when Cameron called to him, he refused to budge from Izzy’s bed.
Now I know what it’s like.
Sucking in a deep breath, she stared down at the foot of her bed, through the open door out into the sitting room, through which she could make out the city skyline beyond.
In the comfortable bed, exhaustion was setting in. She missed Joshua. She so wanted his arms around her, telling her that everything would be okay. She wanted to feel safe.
Even if I had Irving to press his furry body against me and beg to be petted—that would be something. I wouldn’t feel like I was going through this all by myself.
Half asleep and half awake, she could make out the form of a man taking shape where the lights from the waterfront met with the shadows in her room.
No, Cameron, that is not a man. You’re tired and frustrated and you’re sleeping in a strange bed and city and—
“Cameron, we’re not done yet.” It was Nick’s voice.
The shadowy figure seemed to move towards her.
Breathing in deep breaths, Cameron tried to sit up. Was it—No, it couldn’t—
“Our girl needs you, babe. She’s crying. You need to go to her.”
Girl. What girl? We had no children.
“Don’t let her be alone. I promised her mother. Now you need to keep that promise for me.”
Cameron held her breath. Okay, I have officially lost my mind. Josh can have me committed when I get home. Lying there in the quiet of the bedroom, she could barely make out the sound of sobbing down below. The sobs were broken up by choking as if the crier was trying to conceal her sorrow.
She slipped out of the bed and into her bathrobe. Without bothering with slippers, she made her way down the stairs and quietly opened the door to the guest bedroom.
“Izzy?” she whispered.
The child gasped.
“It’s me, Cameron.”
When she made her way across the room, Cameron found Izzy curled up in the fetal position, hugging Irving against her. Sensing that the girl needed comforting, the cat didn’t object.
“Would you like some water?” Cameron offered.
“I want my mom.”
“If I could get her for you, I would. I’ll get you a drink of water.” Taking the glass of water from the night stand, Cameron went into the bathroom. When she came out with the glass of water, Izzy was sitting up in the bed, still hugging Irving, who was licking her chin.
While Izzy drank the water, Cameron sat down on the bed next to her. “I know how you feel.”
“How can you?”
“You want answers to a lot of questions about who and why someone took your mom,” Cameron said. “Well, we think, we don’t know for certain, but we think that whoever took away your mother was the same person behind my first husband’s murder. For all these years, I’ve had questions and no one to answer them. Then, just when I thought I was getting close, someone took that opportunity away from me. I feel like God had given me this big beautiful gift in someone that I truly loved and who truly loved me for who I was, unconditionally, and then the devil stepped in and ripped him out of my life and then stood there laughing at my pain.”
Izzy stared at her with wide watery eyes. “That’s exactly how I feel.” She took another gulp of the water. “How long ago did your husband die?”
“Thirteen years ago.” Reminding herself that Izzy was most likely the lost baby Nick was seeking when he was murdered, Cameron gazed into the light brown pools of Izzy’s eyes in the small face amongst the mass of unruly curls.
“Do you still cry yourself to sleep at night?” Izzy asked.
“Not every night,” Cameron said. “The pain isn’t gone. It’s always there. But now, it is livable. I have come to love again. That makes the pain easier to deal with.”
“Murphy’s dad?”
“Yes,” Cameron allowed herself to smile. “He hasn’t replaced Nick. There will always be a place in my heart that only Nick could fill—just like Josh has a hole in his heart that only Murphy’s mother could fill. But the hurts have healed up enough that we were both able to love again and move on with our lives, and that will happen for you, too.”
“You’re not alone anymore.” A fresh pool of tears came to her eyes.
C
ameron allowed herself to brush Izzy’s curls, moist with tears, from her face. “No, I’m not alone anymore.”
“I’m alone,” Izzy whispered.
Cameron wrapped her arms around her and kissed her on top of her curly head. “No, you’re not, dear.” She was surprised when Izzy returned the hug without hesitation. “You’ll never be alone. I promise you that.”
As if to add his voice in agreement, Irving rose up on his hind legs, to grasp Izzy’s arm and pat her tear stained cheek with his paw.
Chapter Seventeen
Unable to sleep, Murphy got up at four-thirty and woke up Spencer to go for a morning run. He was through with his yoga and meditation long before the sun rose. With a sense of resignation, he showered and took extra time to pay attention to every detail while putting on his white dress uniform. No need to tick off the Joint Chiefs of Staff with a crooked ribbon or a dog hair on his trousers.
Jessica slept through it all.
Before he left, Murphy looked down at her and wondered how she got any rest the way she tossed and turned all night long. It was only through artful dodging that he had managed to escape any blows to his body.
Marriage does take some getting used to, but the challenge is worth it.
Kneeling down, he brushed a thick lock of dark hair off her cheek and pressed his lips to hers.
With a moan, she opened one violet eye. “You’re up.”
“Thought I would go have breakfast at Pentagon City before going to the meeting,” he said in a whisper.
“What time is it?”
He turned the clock on the nightstand around for her to read. “Six-thirty. You go back to sleep.”
She reached out for him. “Everything is going to be fine, Honey Buns.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m going to call Susan first thing to ask her to interview some of Maureen Clark’s friends and relatives. You got me thinking last night. Colonel Clark was adamant about not getting a sample of his son’s DNA. We did think it was weird. Suppose Maureen wasn’t imagining things about a relationship with General Graham. Suppose it was real and Graham only told his wife that Maureen had imagined it all.”
