“Have you seen a doctor yet, Staff Sergeant McKinley?” He struggled to keep his voice level and calm. Lord, she’s still beautiful. Still fiery and proud.
“Medical diagnosed her with a mild concussion,” Captain Connors replied for her. “No broken bones. Nothing requiring hospitalization.”
“The hearing?”
Rowan cleared her throat. “Base restriction. No brig time at Miramar, sir.”
“Then I guess we can get started.” He tore his gaze from her face. “Follow me, Staff Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.” She fell in step beside him.
“Would you prefer to return to your barracks room to clean up first?” he asked.
“I don’t live on base, sir. I have a house out in the country. They’ll have to assign me a room for the restriction. I hope it’s not too small.”
“Try to keep the blinds open as much as possible and you’ll be fine.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Will you stop calling me ‘sir’?” he whispered. “You make me feel like my father.”
Rowan paused in the doorway of his office and looked at him from under her eyebrows. “Excuse me, sir, but I heard you barking orders at Captain Connors when you arrived earlier. You are your father.”
Chapter Four
Phillip’s gaze narrowed to two menacing silver slits. Rowan had seen that expression before and dreaded it, even though it had never been directed at her. Now it was, since she had accused him of being like his father—the very person who had trademarked the Stuart glare in the first place.
She didn’t care. He was wrong and no intimidation he could muster, no division of rank, would force her to back down.
“Just what do you mean by that, Staff Sergeant?”
Rowan set her jaw. Too late to back down now. “Permission to speak freely, sir?” Sarcasm refused to die—her defense against a familiar need for him and the aching pulse of desire that built inside her.
He waved one hand with irritation.
She thought it a pity that rules existed between them now when their relationship had once been no-holds-barred. Or maybe those rules were a blessing, keeping everything in its neat and proper place.
Her breath had caught at the sight of Phillip standing outside the courtroom. Overhearing his voice from out in the hallway earlier was nothing compared to seeing him once more.
Time had chiseled his good looks to perfection, yet those silvery eyes of his were as fiercely penetrating as she remembered. His gaze had enveloped hers, stripping away the years of separation. Her heart had quickened.
Her coworkers peered from their offices as she and Phillip walked down the hall toward his office. Whispered comments followed them. She was a fool to think they wouldn’t notice Phillip’s resemblance to Ian. It was stronger than she recalled. Her body remembered, though, and ached with a longing only he could inspire.
She flushed with awareness then forced the feeling away. ‘Want’ had no business here.
Keeping her voice low, she replied, “Running roughshod over everyone who doesn’t meet those high Stuart expectations appears to be a family trait.”
He adopted that superior air Rowan hated—the one mirroring Donald Stuart, where he peered down his nose at her and flared his nostrils.
“Treating people like porcelain has never been my style, Rowan.”
“Browbeating them into submission never used to be part of your style, either. Apparently, it is now.” She noticed the growing number of spectators peeking into the hallway. With a jerk of her head, she gestured toward his office. “I think that we should talk in private, sir. We seem to be drawing a crowd.”
Rowan stepped inside, expecting him to follow. When she heard the door click shut, she whirled around to face him. If they had been bantam roosters, they would have been circling each other, searching for an opening to attack. “You were saying, sir?”
“For heaven’s sake.”
One giant step in the tiny office brought him before her. Rowan sucked in a breath. It was too close. Good Lord, it’s much too close. She had no place to go, pressed against the desk. He raised his finger before her eyes. “When we are alone, you are not to call me ‘sir’. Do you understand me?”
Rowan lifted her chin to a defiant tilt. “Is that an order, Captain?”
“Does it have to be?” Phillip swung around, bracing his hands against the wall. “My God, Rowan, you’re my client. I’m here to help you, not argue with you.”
Rowan let herself breathe. He was right. This was absurd. She wasn’t angry at Phillip or his father but at herself because she was still attracted to him after almost nine long and lonely years.
Chiding herself for such foolishness, Rowan tried to organize her thoughts. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I suppose it’s just everything that’s happened.”
His shoulders rose and fell on a sigh. After what seemed an eternity, he faced her once more.
“And just what has happened, Rowan?” he asked.
She turned palms up and shook her head. “I hardly know where to begin.”
“I can think of one or two million places. I’m still trying to adjust to the fact that you’re a Marine staff sergeant. Last I heard, you were going to teach science.”
“Last I heard, you were going to teach physical education and spend your weekends coaching basketball games.”
“Well, I guess things didn’t work out the way we planned, did they?”
“No, they didn’t.” Tears stung her eyes but her strength and independence refused to let her cry. Her chest felt tight as she sucked in a breath, within a heartbeat of throwing herself against him and crying until she went dry. If she didn’t watch out…
Phillip cleared his throat. “Let’s get started.” He motioned to the small mauve sofa across from his desk then took his chair.
Rowan tucked her hands under her thighs to hide their shaking. She didn’t dare look at him.
“I’ve got a copy of your record book and the charges here.”
She tensed when he flipped open the folder. What if Captain Connors had failed to remove the page containing family information? She’d never known him to do anything legally questionable. Why would he start now? His desire to help her would not extend to withholding personal information. Yet if the page remained, surely Phillip would have said something by now, especially if he felt it was wrong.
“I’ve only had the chance to glance over everything. As you know, the charge is murder, second degree.”
The blood rushed from her head, yet she somehow managed a nod.
“Did you do it?”
She glanced up to find his steady stare boring into her. “How can you ask me that?” Her words sounded raw and anguished, even to her own ears.
“Because it’s my job to ask and you are my client.”
He leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk while he laced his fingers together. “Did you do it?”
“You know me. I couldn’t even kill a spider.”
“From one wannabe teacher to another—times change and so do people. Answer the damn question.”
“No.” She met his gaze across the table, daring him to disbelieve her. “I did not kill Sergeant Kemp.”
He leaned back. “Good. Now we’re getting somewhere. Start at the beginning and tell me everything. Don’t worry about leaving anything out. We’ll fill in the gaps later.”
With a nod, she started, “To be honest with you, I’m not quite sure what I’ve gotten myself in to.”
“Trouble. Murder. Remember?”
Rowan caught a glimmer of humor in his eyes and blessed him for trying to put her at ease.
“Okay, I’ll start at the top.” She wiped the sweat from her palms, noticed the dirt under her nails and hid them once more.
“There have been a hell of a lot of accidents with the military exercises this summer. One thing after another. Weird things. Helicopters crashing. Airplanes being shot at. Gear and we
apons missing. It has all happened in the same general areas—Lava training and the Expeditionary Airfield.”
Phillip rested his square chin on the point of his fingers, his gaze assessing, probing. “How do you figure into all of this? You’re in the legal department. Administration, for God’s sake. Field exercises aren’t part of your assigned duties.”
“I discovered a common theme to all the accidents when the visiting units came to our office for help. I was the one who typed out the reports. I went to my warrant officer then my colonel—even the units’ officers. No one else could see the connection. They thought I was letting my imagination run away with me. They didn’t seem to think it was odd that the incidents were all happening in the same places. They called it a coincidence.”
“So let me guess. You decided to do a little investigating of your own.”
He made it sound as though she had sold her body for money. In hindsight, Rowan had to agree it wasn’t one of the smartest things she had ever done.
“Did you know the sergeant who was killed?”
“Yes. Charlie Kemp. He’s a friend. Was a friend,” she added. “Has two little boys. Coached Little League this year.”
“How did you meet him?”
Rowan stumbled for a response. The correct answer would garner the question of what she was doing at Little League games. As nonchalantly as possible, she shrugged.
“Hmmm, I can’t recall. I meet so many people throughout the day. Probably through work.”
“Friend, cohort, suspect? Boyfriend? Lover?”
That pissed her off, but she supposed it was a fair question. “Friend and cohort. He was an MP and wanted so much to prove he was good enough to work in the Criminal Investigative Division.”
“So he joined your quest.”
“And lost his life.” Her voice tightened again. This time, she didn’t bother to stop the tears. They came for Charlie.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Take your time. We’re in no hurry.”
Nodding, Rowan rubbed her cheeks clear and hauled in a breath. “We went to the base airfield at midnight, hoping that if we could figure out who was stealing the gear, we could start tying the other pieces together. A recent string of thefts at the hangars led us to believe we were on the right trail.” She sighed. “I think we were set up. When we got to the building that houses the training equipment, we didn’t see a soul. It was eerie. At the risk of sounding like a cliché detective story, it was too quiet. I wanted to leave. Charlie said I was being silly. He drew his pistol and we went in.”
“Were you armed?”
Rowan shook her head. “When I stepped through the door, I caught the blur of a face off to my right. Then someone smacked me on the side of my head and everything went black.”
“And when you woke up?”
“I was lying on the ground near Charlie. There were people and MPs everywhere. Someone kicked a pistol out of my hand, handcuffed me and dragged me to my feet. I don’t know how the pistol got there.”
“The murder weapon.”
She nodded. “It’s worse than that, Phillip. According to Captain Connors, the pistol was one of the items listed as stolen.”
“God, Rowan. What the hell did you get yourself in to?”
She buried her head in her hands. “I don’t honestly know. I wish I had minded my own business.”
“As I recall, that has never been one of your strong points.” He yanked open the desk drawer and plopped a yellow pad of paper and pen onto the desk. “All right, let’s go over this again. We need to have the scenario as tight as we can make it. This time, I want specifics. Who did you talk to about this?”
Rowan shook her head. “Anyone who would listen.”
“That doesn’t exactly narrow the suspects, does it?”
What can I say? She had believed something wasn’t right and had been determined to have people listen to her. Phillip had pegged her on that one. She never could mind her own business.
“From the beginning…again.”
Rowan drew breath to start. A knock at the door interrupted them.
“Mike Connors. Can I come in?”
Phillip looked up and called him in.
“Sorry to bother you, but there seems to be another problem,” the captain said when he cracked open the door. “I’d like a few minutes alone with you. Could you wait outside the door, Staff Sergeant McKinley?”
Rowan didn’t wait for Phillip to motion her outside. She got to her feet before he had time to relax. As Captain Connors eased the door closed behind her, she heard Phillip ask, “What’s the problem?”
She braced herself against the wall and closed her eyes.
A woman’s shriek pierced Rowan’s ears. It echoed through the hallway. Rowan whirled around. Something sliced the air beside her ear. She jumped back.
“Whore! Filthy whore!”
Charlie Kemp’s widow lunged for Rowan once more, jabbing with the long screwdriver clutched in her hand. The tip caught the edge of Rowan’s sleeve and gouged deep into the plasterboard wall behind her. She was pinned and facing a maniac.
Sally Kemp curved her fingers with their tapered nails into claws. “Murderer!”
Rowan blocked the attack with her free arm. Cat-like scores tore into her flesh. She clenched her teeth and jammed her knee deep into the other woman’s stomach. Sally gasped, doubled over and crumpled.
With one furious jerk, Rowan freed her arm. The screwdriver clattered to the floor. As Captain Connors came out of the office, he kicked the screwdriver out of the way while she hovered over Sally Kemp.
“You’re crazy,” Rowan said through clenched teeth. “If you ever raise a hand to me again, I swear to God I’ll ki—”
Phillip clamped his hand over her mouth and dragged her into his office. He motioned with his hand for her to stay quiet, then shoved her onto the sofa and shut the door.
“What the hell were you thinking, threatening to kill that woman?” His voice stretched low and furious. “I’m supposed to prove that you’re incapable of murdering a fellow Marine, and here you are threatening some civilian?”
“Charlie’s widow,” she croaked.
“Great.” He smacked one fist on the desk. “Even better, threatening the widow.”
Fist raised to pop the desk again in frustration, he halted and instead pointed at her arm.
“You’re bleeding. She must have gotten you with that screwdriver.”
He leaned close to cup her elbow, pulled up the sleeve of her uniform and examined the bloody gash on her skin.
“Rowan,” he began then faltered and let go of her arm.
She felt the rivulet of blood trickling down to her wrist and tried to focus her attention on that.
“It’s nothing. A scratch.” Her head felt stuffed with gauze, light and ready to float away from her body.
“You’ll have that looked at.” He stuck his head out of the office. Someone get a first-aid kit in here!” He turned to Rowan. “You stay here.”
Fury boiled in Phillip—not at Rowan’s verbal slipup and not at Kemp’s widow and her manic attack but at himself for caring about Rowan, allowing himself to feel something more than professional concern. It was that silent trickle of tears down Rowan’s cheeks that had stabbed deep into the core of Phillip’s soul. He longed to pull her onto his lap, cuddle her close and promise that everything would be all right. Another baser part of him wanted more and he’d hardened. With each minute that ticked by, he throbbed with an intensity that threatened to explode. In the quiet while she tried to compose herself, he daydreamed of flicking open the buttons on her camouflage blouse, stripping her bare and burying himself in the warmth he craved.
Phillip shook the images away and forced his attention back to business. But while his mind cooperated, his body still had other ideas.
He slumped against the wall outside his office, careful to stay away from Rowan’s line of sight and he closed his eyes.
He saw the attack in his mind
—the woman’s wild, distorted features as she’d sliced ferociously at Rowan. Again, a surge of fear twisted his gut. He clenched his hands. Another memory filtered in. The feel of her skin when he’d checked her wound—the smooth, warm touch of hot velvet against his palm, the faint smell of her body, that unique fragrance that was all Rowan. It was intoxicating. He took a quick breath.
A sound to his left attracted his attention. A plump woman wearing civilian clothes was hurrying down the corridor toward him, concern etching her round face. She was carrying a first-aid kit and her gaze swept the hallway, looking for Rowan. Her military identification badge read Reid, E.
“She’s in there.” Phillip jerked his chin toward his office.
The woman stopped and appraised his face for one long, unblinking moment. She seemed to reach a decision and smiled.
“The colonel wants to see you immediately, Captain Stuart,” she said with a slight Kentucky drawl. “Don’t you worry. I’ll take care of Rowan.” With that, she stepped around him into the office.
Phillip sighed. Are my emotions that close to the surface? Apparently so. He pushed off the wall and started walking in the direction of the colonel’s office, already planning Rowan’s defense.
Phillip had left the door open only a crack when he’d walked out. Rowan would be willing to bet he would have locked her in if there had been a way to do so without setting off her claustrophobia. She’d have to say she deserved it. Words uttered in anger and haste had nearly doomed her.
By the time Ellen arrived with the first-aid kit, Rowan was shaking from the ordeal. The fingernail scratches throbbed but the screwdriver had left nothing more than a long, shallow gash. It would heal quickly.
The court reporter dabbed at the wound in silence, but Rowan knew that wouldn’t last long. Sure enough, the instant Ellen started to wrap her arm, the comments began.
“Ian sure is the image of his father.”
Rowan shook her head. The only bad thing about having a best friend was that they had a tendency to lecture.
Always Faithful Page 4
