Always Faithful

by Caitlyn Willows

  She reached through the bars to grab her mother’s arms. “Please, promise me you’ll let me take care of this my way.”

  Uncertainty written on her face, her mom nodded.

  “Good.” Rowan forced a smile. “Ian should get back from his camping trip sometime Friday.”

  “Unless they drive the Cub Scout master crazy before then.”

  Rowan’s fake smile faded. “I want you to get Ian and leave Twentynine Palms right away.”

  Mom gave a barely perceptible sigh. “Aren’t you being a bit ridiculous? For one thing, I need to be here to support you. For another, I have a good job and don’t intend to leave it.”

  “Especially when it could wind up being our only means of support if I get court-martialed out of the Marine Corps and sent to jail?”

  “Being realistic never hurt. How many times have you said that yourself?”

  Rowan bit back tears. “But, Mom, you don’t understand—”

  “I understand all too well. I’m not going to run away and hide Ian while you fight this battle alone. You need us both here to support you. Plus, it’s time to face up to the past. You knew that when you asked for Phillip’s help. When he learns he has an eight-year-old son, you’ll be lucky if he doesn’t find a way to put you in jail himself.”

  Rowan let the tears fall. Her mother was right. With or without Phillip, she was damned. She was relying on his professionalism to save her and, in exchange, expected his undying hatred.

  “I won’t hide Ian for you, Rowan. The boy needs his father. No matter what Phillip may have done, you should have found a way to tell him from the start. You should have—”

  “Stormed the walls of Castle Stuart. Yes, I know, but I didn’t. What do you intend to do? March Ian to him the instant Phillip appears?” Rowan rubbed at the tears that continued to make tracks down her dirty face.

  She saw her mom’s golden eyes, so like her own, glimmer with irritation. “I didn’t say that, but I certainly can’t disguise or hide Ian while Phillip is here. My God, Rowan, the boy is the image of his father—or had you forgotten that?”

  Forgotten? Not for an instant. Ian was the constant reminder of the emptiness in her heart.

  “Phillip will find out soon enough,” her mother said. “If not from someone in your office then surely the minute he gets a look at your record book.”

  Rowan cursed her own stupidity. How could she have forgotten about her military records? True, Phillip would discover her lie, but it had to be from her first. She had to have the chance to explain things before he read about Ian in her personnel file.

  The door opened once more. Rowan turned and offered a weak smile. It was Captain Connors, looking tired and a little rumpled.

  “Sir, I thought you had called it a night.”

  “Just wanted to check on a few things at the office first. A fax was waiting for me. Captain Stuart accepted. He’ll be here in time for your confinement hearing tomorrow.”

  Rowan sagged against the cell bars. “Thank you, sir. There’s one more thing I need before he gets here. A favor, sir.”

  “Sure, what’s that?”

  “I need you to remove something from my military record book.”

  Chapter Three

  Entering a California Desert Conservation Area.

  The faded brown sign flashed past at seventy miles per hour, and on cue, the dry heat slammed into Phillip. He shook his head over the irony of the situation. His car was in the shop because the air conditioner didn’t work and he hadn’t had time to fix it. So, what does the government give me to drive? A vehicle with a broken air conditioner. Typical government efficiency.

  Should have left well enough alone.

  At least in his ’65 Mustang he could have put the top down.

  A bead of sweat trickled down his back. At this rate, he’d be drenched by the time he reached Twentynine Palms.

  Phillip peeled his arm off the edge of the door. He was lucky to be working on this case at all. His colonel had been reluctant to let two attorneys from his legal office go at the same time. Sending Laura as a prosecutor was one thing. The counsel in Twentynine Palms were too familiar with Rowan, but anyone could defend her.

  It had taken an hour of fast-talking to convince his colonel of how important this case was to Phillip’s career. Finally, the man had relented. Phillip could go. In the event the colonel might change his mind, Phillip hadn’t hesitated to make a hasty departure.

  Just thinking about the opportunity brought a rush of adrenaline that made his heart race and his body tense with anticipation. He hadn’t felt this way about his work in a long time. This trial would put him over the top. His career would be golden from this time on—if he could prove his case. Rowan’s case.

  He also admitted to a certain curiosity. What would Rowan look like after nine years? What kind of person had she become?

  He glanced at his watch. In less than two hours, the military magistrate would decide whether or not to transport Rowan to the brig in Miramar to await trial. With a murder charge, there usually wasn’t much of a decision to make.

  Phillip doubted this Captain Connors was experienced enough to prevent it. From what he could find out, Connors had been out of Naval Justice School less than a year. No wonder Rowan had asked for more experienced counsel.

  He thought of Rowan imprisoned—the overwhelming fear she would experience once cooped up—and he refused to allow that to happen. Nope. No pretrial confinement for his Rowan.

  Phillip stopped himself short. She wasn’t his Rowan, and hadn’t been for a long time. He needed to remember that. Whatever they’d had in the past had to remain there. Objectivity was paramount to victory.

  He jammed down on the accelerator and turned onto the exit for Twentynine Palms. The mountain pass beckoned beyond, its rocky landscape dotted with sage and mesquite. City smog and haze melted away, leaving a sky so blue it hurt his eyes.

  Plunging into the portal to the high desert, he leaned in to the curves as the little white car chugged with slow determination upward through the pass. At the end of the ridge, the first small desert community greeted him. Had this been a pleasure trip, he would have enjoyed exploring the area’s wildlife and hiking trails.

  Phillip shook his head. When was the last time he had taken a moment for pure enjoyment? It was always work, his career, getting ahead. He had even fought to keep from being stationed in Twentynine Palms because it lacked the profile he was seeking. Now, seeing the abundance of nature in these pristine surroundings, he wondered if maybe he had made a mistake.

  ‘Are you crazy, Stuart? The heat must have turned your brain to mush. Twentynine Palms? Try the Pentagon. Now there’s an assignment.’

  A covey of quail—male, female and a long string of chicks—darted across the road, and Phillip smiled. “Cute.”

  He shook his head over his foolishness and pushed the car up the steep grade that challenged him.

  The vehicle sputtered and lurched. Forward momentum slowed to a crawl. An old man in a battered pickup truck zipped past him.

  “This is absurd. A snail could move faster than this heap.” Phillip smacked the steering wheel with his fist. “Come on, you piece of trash. Move!”

  With a sickening feeling of dread, he watched the needle on the temperature gauge swing to hot. Seconds later, an ominous cloud of steam squealed from under the hood.

  Phillip eased to the shoulder, jammed the emergency brake into position and flicked on the hazard flashers. He rested his sweaty forehead against the steering wheel.

  “I’ll bet there isn’t a drop of extra water in this vehicle.”

  In reply, the right front tire popped.

  “What else?”

  Phillip rummaged through his briefcase and pulled out his cell phone. “At least the battery isn’t dead.”

  He punched on the power and gave a humorless snort. “No signal. Of course.”

  He jerked open the door. The hinge protested. “Yeah, I know.”

>   After shoving the door closed, he trudged up the road.

  * * * *

  Rowan rubbed the feeling back into her wrists. Standard procedures called for cuffs, but she was sure her guard had put them on extra tight, expecting her to complain. She wouldn’t give him the pleasure. He hovered over her as if waiting for her to make a run for it now that she was unencumbered. Although his constant presence was annoying, Rowan kept the irritation to herself.

  “Wait outside,” Captain Connors told the guard.

  Grudgingly the Marine left, shutting the door behind him.

  “The confinement hearing will be in a few minutes. The delay was unexpected. Sorry we couldn’t get to it sooner.”

  “Is Captain Stuart here yet?”

  “I was expecting him an hour ago, but he still hasn’t shown. Something about car trouble. Not that it matters. You know you can’t choose your own counsel for a pretrial confinement hearing.”

  Rowan wrapped her arms around her midriff. “I know. I just—”

  “Would feel better if he were here?”

  When she didn’t answer, he leaned forward, his forearms braced on his desk.

  “At least now I understand why you wanted him to defend you. Now that I’ve seen your files, tell me this much, attorney to client… Am I to expect a charge of fraternization to be added to the list?”

  Rowan forced herself to look him square in the eyes. “No, sir. It happened a long time ago. Just two civilians, not enlisted Marine and officer.”

  “And you haven’t seen him since?”

  “Or spoken to him.”

  Captain Connors sank back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. “I’m growing less fond of Phillip Stuart with every minute that passes. How could a man ignore his child?”

  “It’s fairly easy when he doesn’t know he has one,” she replied.

  “Good Lord. You’ve got time bombs all over the place, don’t you?”

  That was a fact she couldn’t deny. “There’s no need for him to be bothered with it now. He shouldn’t come in contact with Ian.”

  Connors’s face grew stiff. “This is wrong, Rowan. In my opinion, it was wrong from the start. A man should know he’s a father.”

  “What am I supposed to say now, sir? ‘Oh, hello, Phillip, long time, no see. Thanks for coming to my rescue. Oh, by the way, we have an eight-year-old son.’ I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t try to prosecute me himself.” She caught herself and realized she’d gone too far, speaking to an officer in such a sarcastic manner.

  Connors ignored her outburst and toyed with his pen, rolling it back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. He disapproved. Fair enough. But she needed him in her corner.

  She swept her wispy bangs away from her forehead. “He won’t leave here without knowing. I know how I’ll tell him and I know when. I’ve got it all figured out. Once this is over, I’ll tell him, even let him meet Ian if he wants. This has to be done in a controlled manner and at a time of my choosing.”

  “You mean once you don’t need to be in his good graces anymore,” Connors said.

  “That’s a little harsh, sir, but surely you can see the sense in waiting. Why be distracted by personal matters when…”

  He lifted an eyebrow, clearly questioning her motives.

  Rowan wiped her sweaty palms on her dusty camouflage trousers. “Don’t judge. You don’t know what happened. I had my reasons. At that moment, they were the right ones. All I ask is that you help buy me some time until this is over.”

  The captain tossed the pen to his desk. “I’ll do what I can. Colonel Scott wants to see you before the hearing. Trust me. You’ll have to do some talking to buy his silence.”

  “You told him?” It sounded more like an accusation of betrayal than a question.

  Connors lifted one brow. “How could I not? You know as well as I do that if you want to keep Colonel Scott on your side, you don’t keep secrets.”

  He called for the guard. For a moment, Rowan thought the man would put the metal handcuffs on her again. Instead, he motioned her on. It didn’t matter. She was still a prisoner—of her own lies.

  * * * *

  Phillip paid the cab driver and hauled his bags out of the taxi. He was hot, sweaty, angry and unimpressed with the two long, concrete buildings housing the Staff Judge Advocate’s Office. They looked like adobe bomb-shelters.

  Over an hour late.

  He stomped toward the front door, ready to shout the structure to the ground if Rowan was on her way to the brig. No receptionist greeted him. No signs directed him. A military clerk passed, ignoring him. Another approached, ready to do the same. Phillip stepped into his path, planting his captain’s bars in the man’s line of sight.

  “I’m looking for Captain Connors.” His voice was gritty with dust and barely above a croak.

  The Marine drew back, blinked twice then pointed. “He’s down the hall, sir, in Military Justice. Want me to get him?”

  “No. I’ll do it myself.”

  Phillip’s heels rapped a staccato rhythm as he marched a determined line down the hall to glass-partitioned walls. A thin captain with wire-rimmed glasses glanced in his direction. The young Marine beside him backed up a step, eyes wide. The captain’s jaw dropped a fraction. He recovered more quickly than the clerk.

  “Captain Stuart, I presume?”

  “Well, I’m certainly not Dr. Livingstone. Where’s Staff Sergeant McKinley?”

  “We’re getting ready for the hearing.”

  “Good, then I’m not too late. She is not to go into pretrial confinement. She suffers from acute claustrophobia.” I have the scar to prove it.

  “I have everything under control.”

  “I sincerely hope so, Captain Connors. Because if you don’t, I guarantee I’ll have her out of the brig tomorrow and we’ll do the hearing all over again the right way. Do I make myself clear?”

  Connors leveled a cold stare at him.

  “Abundantly. I have Staff Sergeant McKinley’s record book for your review. If you’ll sign here”—he shoved a logbook forward—“you can take it to the empty office down the hall and look through it.”

  Phillip shoved the book back. Is the man blind? Has he lost his sense of smell? Couldn’t Connors see that I’m melting away like a snow cone in July?

  “I’m not signing anything. Have the clerk make a copy for me. Right now, I need a driver to take me to my room. I’ll be back after the hearing.”

  With a jerk of his head, Connors motioned the clerk into action.

  As they walked to the car, the young man shot looks at Phillip from the corner of his eye.

  “Something wrong, Corporal?” Phillip snapped.

  “No, sir.”

  “Then quit acting as if I’m about to bite your head off.”

  “Yes, sir.” The corporal locked his gaze forward and kept it there.

  They drove up the hill from the Staff Judge Advocate’s Office, passing lines of concrete buildings that were all identical in size and shape—long, low and grimly efficient.

  The base bustled with activity. The loud pulse of helicopter rotors mingled with the hum of military equipment and automobiles. Phillip watched Marines load gear into trucks and stack boxes of equipment for transportation into the desert. Another training exercise was about to begin. The Marine Corps was all about action.

  The driver pulled up in front of yet another concrete building labeled ‘Bachelor Officers Quarters/BOQ’.

  “This is it, sir. The room should be ready. Want me to check?”

  “That won’t be necessary. Pick me up in about fifteen minutes.” Phillip got out and retrieved his bags from the backseat.

  The room was ready as promised. The first right thing to happen all day. He thanked the young woman from the front desk when she escorted him there. Once alone, he dropped his bags on the bed and turned the air-conditioning unit up as far as it would go. With arms braced on either side, he let the cool air envelop him.

  “God, I could stan
d here for hours.”

  But he only had minutes that seemed like seconds.

  Phillip pushed away and peeled his sodden uniform from his sticky skin. With any luck, he could return to the office before the hearing was over.

  A quick shower, a fresh uniform and he was back at the curb by the time the driver returned.

  No side-long glances accompanied their ride to the office this time. A good thing, since he was in no mood to be ogled. Once there, Phillip was shown to the empty office that would be his to use for the duration of the case.

  ‘Spartan’ was a good way to describe the small room. Judging from the gym locker and the lingering scent of stale workout clothes, it appeared to double as a changing area. No window existed to clear the air and he made a mental note to at least find an air freshener of some kind.

  A copy of Rowan’s military record book lay in the center of the desk. He knew he should spend some time reviewing it but nerves wouldn’t let him. He had to know how the hearing was progressing.

  A prisoner escort stood outside a door at the end of the hallway. As Phillip approached, the guard snapped to attention and made a crisp salute.

  “As you were.” Phillip nodded toward the door behind him. “How is it going in there?”

  “Don’t know, sir.” He lowered his voice. “As far as I’m concerned, after what she’s done, she should be taken into the desert and left to die.”

  Phillip took a menacing step toward the man. “If I ever hear you making any more threats toward my client, you’ll be the one on trial. Do I make myself clear?”

  The Marine stiffened at the rebuke and nodded, eyes wide.

  Phillip moved back. This was taking too long. Just as that thought left his head, the door swung open.

  For a moment, he wasn’t sure what shocked him more—the fact that her once-long auburn hair was now in a pixie cut or that hideous bruise. He stared at the injury and rage boiled beneath his skin that someone had dared hurt her.