by Geri Krotow
But in those sermons Karen had also learned that God loved her. That she should always be truthful.
She’d been truthful when she married Leo. She’d loved him and couldn’t wait to start a life away from her hometown. It was fate that she’d met him at that Mardi Gras during her senior year at Tulane. Otherwise, she would’ve had to go back home and become a schoolteacher as her mama had planned since she was born.
Instead, she’d seen the world. Had a baby—the most precious gift ever. Stefanie wasn’t the easiest teenager to raise but what girl was at sixteen?
Those early years with Leo and the navy she’d had to learn that her needs came second to Leo’s career. The needs of the navy had top priority. That was fine. For a while.
But during this extended time ashore, she’d put down some roots. She’d found a volunteer position that turned into a paying position. She was making a difference.
Her role as the consummate officer’s wife had shifted and she was able to focus more on herself.
And she’d finally discovered what she’d known was missing all along—the piece of herself she’d never been able to put a name to. She was in love with Daisy.
Daisy suggested Karen see a counselor to wade through the years of pain that not living what she called her “authentic life” had bestowed on her. Karen fought the counseling at first, but then realized it was time to get real. Doing so, she was blessed with finding freedom and the ability to love herself, appreciate who she was.
But, in oh-so-typical Karen fashion, she’d screwed up, big-time. She’d had to prove to herself that it wasn’t just because Leo was the only man she’d ever had sex with. That she needed a little time with a different partner.
She’d needed a different partner, all right. A woman.
Her coffee burned in her stomach. Her selfish self-sabotaging behavior had cost her the beautiful relationship she’d built with Daisy.
If only she hadn’t pulled her stupid stunt while Leo was TDY last week. Now she could be a murder suspect. Worse, she could have implicated him if anyone found out about her and Daisy. They’d think Leo acted on jealousy.
But she knew he was innocent of any wrongdoing with Perez. He had no clue about her extramarital affair. He’d tuned her out long ago.
* * *
“I NEED TO SEE the last of the work Petty Officer Perez signed off on.” Ro stood in front of the high counter that served as the nerve center for the maintenance department. She was surprised at how alert and focused she felt, after having less than a few hours of sleep in Miles’s arms.
“He worked on aircraft from all the squadrons, ma’am. Is there one date or aircraft in particular you’re interested in?”
The maintenance limited duty officer, Lieutenant Junior Grade Patsy Jordan, gave Ro a wary once-over. It was clearly none of Ro’s business what Perez had been working on, since she was intel and had nothing to do with aircraft maintenance. But she needed to see those records to confirm or deny what Master Chief Reis had told her and Miles at dinner.
That Commodore Sanders was a liar, fraud and cheat.
“No, just whatever he worked on over the past three to six months. The wing keeps copies of all the squadron records, too, right?”
“Not necessarily. We do encourage the mechs to keep copies of whatever they do, and we try to hang on to copies of anything the wing gets involved in. But each squadron keeps its own records.”
Ro gritted her teeth. There was no reason for Patsy to be so obtuse, except that she disliked anyone who worked “upstairs.” It was inevitable—when you worked in the bowels of the hangar through all seasons and kinds of weather, it was easy to resent the office types who were always in air-conditioned spaces and never got their hands dirty except from their dry-erase markers.
Ro wanted to tell her to “bite me” but that wouldn’t get her or the investigation anywhere.
“Okay, Patsy. Can you get me copies of what you have, please? Per order of the commodore.” Ro held her breath.
“Whatever you need.” Patsy turned back to her files.
Technically she was here on the commodore’s orders, of course. Just doing her part for the case. But if Patsy decided to check it out and have her boss ask the commodore about it, that would get Sanders’s early warning radar up and running.
If what Master Chief Reis said was true.
And if it was true, the commodore was murder suspect number one. If he’d killed Perez to save his career, he wouldn’t be happy about anyone who was on to his crimes. She and Miles could be in the line of fire.
Stop it. Focus on the facts.
Her mind drifted to the memory of Miles’s lips on hers. It was a brief flashback, yet it shook her. She wasn’t used to being so easily distracted.
Patsy stood by a huge file cabinet behind the counter. Ro watched as she pulled out a total of eight large files.
She shivered. Patsy already knew which files out of hundreds were pertinent. As if she’d recently perused them. Or pulled them for someone else.
“I’ll get what you need copied.” Patsy’s expression was neutral, her eyes downcast. What did she know?
“Thanks a lot, Patsy. I’ll come back in a few.” She didn’t want the maintenance control officer to think she was trying to tell her how to do her job.
“It’s going to take longer than a few minutes—this is our busiest time of day. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”
“Roger.”
Ro turned and headed out of the maintenance shop and ran squarely into Commodore Sanders.
“Whoa, Ro, where are you going in such a hurry?” He smiled at her. She saw his eyes narrow as he glanced over her shoulder to see where she’d come from. The control desk.
Crap.
“I’m headed back to Miles’s office. We’ve got a couple of appointments to line up for today.”
He nodded. “Good. I trust you’d have been up to my office if you’d found anything new?” He looked interested as he stood in the same casual way he always had—one arm against the doorjamb, the ever-relaxed aviator. But Ro sensed his antagonism.
“Yes, sir, of course. We’re still just gathering whatever info we can.”
Damn it, that wasn’t the right thing to say. She meant to throw him off her trail, politely blow him off with a brief blanket statement. Instead she’d blurted out far too much. Great.
“What kind of info are you getting down here, Ro?” He clasped her elbow and maneuvered her out of the entryway as sailors were coming in and out of maintenance control.
Was he threatening her?
Chill out. It’s not Hollywood. Take your own advice.
“Nothing major, sir. I’m just validating the day and time I had that last conversation with Perez. Boring stuff.”
She swallowed. She wasn’t technically lying as she would no doubt be able to verify the time she’d had that chat with Perez. At least the watch shift he’d been working.
Sanders let go of her elbow. He released a long sigh.
“I’m sorry I’ve put you in such a position, Ro. I know you’d rather be studying message traffic and preparing for the squadrons’ training cycles.” He shook his head. “And your shiner—” he gestured at her multicolored black eye “—is more than you should have to pay for being an intel officer.”
“No problem, sir. We’re a team—we all do what we have to.” She managed a smile. God, please let him believe that I mean it.
Sanders patted her shoulder. “I know I can count on you, Ro.” He had his good-humored demeanor back as he turned toward the door. “See you later.”
She let out her breath and wanted to weep with relief—even more so when she peered past the commodore and saw that LTJG Patsy Jordan was nowhere in sight.
She should have let Miles get the copies of th
e records, after all. He would’ve charmed cranky Patsy, and the commodore wouldn’t have had any reason to think something was up when he saw Miles down here. Miles’s main office was upstairs but he had a desk in the weapons shop on the hangar deck.
Hopefully he was in the weapons shop. She had to talk to him before the commodore did.
* * *
MILES SPENT AS MUCH time as possible on the hangar deck as he loved to be around the hum of constant work, the excitement of upcoming missions. He didn’t do too much with the weapons systems themselves, but he understood the explosive nature of the live weapons in ways the flyers didn’t.
This was the reason he’d been assigned to the wing—to give him a not-so-demanding shore tour during which to heal and rehabilitate, and to give the patrol squadrons a go-to guy for training. He gave briefs on IEDs, mines and explosives of all types and shapes. His job was to familiarize the sailors, officer and enlisted, with what they’d encounter downrange. So many of them were serving next to their marine corps, army and air force counterparts that they needed to be as aware of the risks of IEDs as any infantry soldier or airman.
He instinctively knew that if he holed up in his much cleaner, more modern office upstairs he’d never gain the respect of the wing or squadron aircrews.
Not too long ago, the navy was considered the “safer” service. On board a ship was a far better proposition than being in the jungle fighting off Vietcong, or on the ground sweeping mines.
Times and weaponry had changed. He’d been needed to clear that field for a mission. They couldn’t wait for backup from the army. He used his experience to impress the importance of weapons training on the aircrew, especially the young sailors who thought they were immortal.
An instruction manual on the new patrol platform was open on his computer screen. It was imperative that he get through it but memories of Ro calling out his name when she came diverted his attention.
The P-3s were transitioning to the P-7, a jet aircraft that would be able to conduct long-range surveillance and support missions for years to come. Hell, probably for the next two or three generations, judging by how long the P-3 had remained operational.
“Miles.” Her voice made his neck tense at the same time it made him hard.
He turned his swivel chair around to face the door.
“Ro.”
She slid into the chair in front of his desk. She was breathing heavily and her cheeks were flushed. He’d loved watching her blush last night when she’d climaxed.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“What? I’m just sitting here.”
“You know what I mean.” She leaned forward. “I ran into Sanders a few minutes ago.”
Damn.
“In maintenance control?”
“Yup.”
“Do you think he’s on to what we’ve found out from Master Chief Reis?”
“Can’t tell. Not yet.” She leaned back in the chair. “I don’t want to talk about it while we’re in here.”
“Good thing.” He looked past her shoulder.
“Why?”
“Because he’s walking straight over here. What did you say to him?”
“I told him that we’re getting together now to plan our next appointments.”
“Okaaaaay. So where are we going next?” He couldn’t help smiling at her, even with Sanders on his way over. It was so hot to see her blush.
“Stop it, Miles, I mean it.” Her voice was hushed and her discomfort palpable. Sanders was a second from being within earshot.
“It’s okay.” He wished he could reach across the desk and squeeze her hand but his words and glance would have to do. He relaxed in his chair as if they were having a normal conversation.
“It sounds like we’ll have to run some more ‘errands.’”
Sanders walked into the office and closed the door behind him.
“Where are you two going today?”
“We’re just figuring that out, sir,” Miles responded.
Miles and Ro stood up.
“At ease, sit down.” Sanders waved them both back into their chairs and took a seat on a workbench stool. He nodded at Ro.
“I just ran into Ro in maintenance control. Have you two found out anything new?”
Miles felt Ro’s gaze on him. They both needed him to step very carefully. Sanders was treading too close. Miles’s gut tightened.
“Nothing we haven’t already briefed you on, sir, or that you hadn’t already told us when we started this investigation.”
“I’d hoped we’d have our ends wrapped up before the memorial service.”
Ro swiveled her torso toward Sanders.
“The date’s been set, sir?”
“Yes, this Wednesday. Service at eleven in the base chapel.”
“We’ll have the facts from the coroner by then, sir, and if we hear anything sooner we’ll let you know.”
Sanders kept tapping his toe against one of the stool’s legs. He wore a pained expression on his face.
“I got a call from NCIS this morning.” He folded his arms. “The sheriff’s department is ruling it a probable suicide, and NCIS concurs.”
Miles was grateful for his EOD training. It kept him from appearing surprised or angry. Why hadn’t Detective Ramsey contacted them?
“I thought they couldn’t do that until the toxicology report was complete.” Ro controlled her expression. Only Miles could see the pulse that jumped under her skin, on the side of her neck.
Sanders sighed. “Apparently there wasn’t enough evidence to prove someone was with him that night.”
“Have they mentioned any suspects?” Miles was actually relieved that the commodore was laying this on them now. It distracted Sanders from what Miles and Ro were planning, or not planning, to do next.
“No, and even if they had they wouldn’t tell me.” Sanders couldn’t keep the bitter note out of his voice. Miles let out a long breath. He’d be happy when Sanders left the office. The guy’s energy was draining.
“Sir, we’ll go out to the coroner and get a hard copy of the report, and we’ll stop in at the sheriff’s offices while we’re there. Maybe we’ll be able to get something out of them in person.”
“Please do.” Sanders stood up. His brown leather oxfords shone in the fluorescent lighting, bright against the concrete floor of the hangar deck. He stretched. Miles wanted to kick Ro under the desk, to keep her from gaping at the commodore’s apparent ease with the entire situation.
Miles wasn’t sure why but he knew the commodore’s nonchalance was feigned. Sanders was as nervous as a wet cat.
* * *
“WHAT’S SO IMPORTANT that it couldn’t wait until I got home from work?”
Leo frowned at Karen across the small table. She’d called him after his morning meetings and told him she had to see him downtown ASAP. She’d picked one of the local coffee shops. He looked around. There weren’t many patrons inside, and the ones who were there had probably been retired for decades.
She’d wanted privacy. Kind of.
“I have to tell you something that’s going to be very upsetting for you.” Her eyes were red-rimmed and her usual perfect poise had cracked, judging by the manner in which she picked at her cuticles. Karen never exhibited nervous habits, especially not in public.
“Do I smell booze?” He was so tired of her drinking.
“You may.” She took a shaky breath. “My drinking is another issue I’m going to have to face, but first—” She stopped.
He waited.
“Do you remember the gal I work with at navy relief?”
“What the hell does she have to with anything, Karen?” Son of a bitch, Karen really had no clue how much he did for the family, for her. To keep her in the lifestyle s
he deserved, even with her drinking. He faulted himself for her drinking, actually. If he’d been home more and paid more attention to her, maybe she’d stop.
“I’m in love with her, Leo.”
“You don’t have that big a drinking problem, Karen.”
“I’m in love with a woman.”
“If you’re really worried, there are private rehabs you can get into.”
“I’m a lesbian, Leo.”
* * *
“WHAT DID YOU say?” Leo’s eyes narrowed and his face went from tan to tomato-red. Karen recognized the warning signs of his rage. She was so grateful her counselor had suggested she do this in a public place.
“I’m gay.” It was starting to feel good, the more often she said it. Like a huge weight was lifting, as though she was growing another six inches.
“What do you mean ‘I’m gay’?” He mimicked her in his usual sarcastic manner. Getting divorced was her only way out, even if she’d been straight. Why had it taken her all these years to see it?
“I’ve known since I was in high school, but I pushed it down. You know Mama and Daddy would’ve skinned me alive, then sent me to some kind of holy-roller gay rehab camp. It was easier to just play the role of the perfect daughter.”
“We were in love once, Karen. Or were you dreaming of a woman when I was kissing your—”
She slammed her hand down on the Formica tabletop.
“No, Leo! We’re not doing it like this. I realize you’re in shock, but the days of you telling me how to live my life are over. This has nothing to do with why I’m gay. I was born this way. It’s sad, tragic, really, that it’s taken me so long to figure it out.”
She swiped at her tears.
“Leo, please believe me when I tell you I genuinely loved you. We created our beautiful baby girl together. That will never change.”
He was fighting so hard for control. She knew it was the worst time to tell him, what with the death of Perez and all. But he had to know—everything.
“So is this all you wanted to tell me?” He tensed, ready to stand up.
“No, there are two more things.” She took in a deep breath. Funny how easy this was, now that she’d started.
