by Desiree Holt
“Oh!” She hadn’t given much thought to what she’d do next. “Well, sure, although I’m not sure how much help I can be.”
“You’d be surprised at what the brain registers and remembers. At least it gives us a starting point.”
The tea had taken the edge off the cold enough that she could unzip her jacket, although she didn’t take it off. In fact, she wondered if she’d ever be warm again.
“Okay, go ahead and see if you can get someone. I’ll do my best.”
“One more thing.” He slid over a pad of paper that was sitting on the table and handed it to her along with a pen. “I need you to write down all your sizes, even for your”—he paused—“your delicate items.”
If she hadn’t been so uptight, Robin would have laughed. Unflappable Jonas, uncomfortable discussing ladies’ lingerie.
“Okay, but what for?”
“We’re sending you out of town, and you obviously can’t go home and pack your own things. The woman you met at the department store will gather your new things and deliver them packed in two suitcases.”
Robin shook her head. Things were moving so fast here. “Where am I going?”
“I’ll give you all the details shortly.” His cell buzzed, and he looked at the screen. “Sketch artist will be here in thirty. How about another mug of tea while we wait, and we can talk? Maybe some other details will pop up.”
Robin’s head spun. If only she could go back a few months and leave town before any of this began.
The sketch artist arrived, and she worked with him for more than an hour. What emerged were drawings that resembled the two men she’d seen much better than she’d expected. The artist was damn good at doing this.
While that was going on, the woman from the store, who introduced herself as Sarah, arrived with her clothing, smiling at her and telling her she hoped she was okay with what had been selected for her. At the moment, Robin would have been happy with a burlap sack if it disguised her.
“This is for tonight.” Sarah handed her a tote that matched her new luggage. “And tomorrow morning. When you get where you’re going, you’ll not only be bringing a new wardrobe, but they’ll give you a new look. Subtle changes but enough that no one should recognize you.” Her smile was kind. “Try to get some sleep, Miss Hanna. You’ve had quite a shock, and tomorrow could be a long day.”
“Do you know where I’m going?”
“Jonas is arranging all that, now. But it will be pleasant and safe.” She winked. “And warm.”
Pleasant and safe. And warm. Three things this city wasn’t right now.
At last, everything was finished. Jonas picked up her luggage and led her down the hallway to a guest bedroom. Although, she supposed all of them were guest bedrooms. Did these guys even sleep?
“Sleep tight.” He gave her a smile she thought was probably meant to be reassuring. “Tomorrow, you’ll be out of here and safe until this all comes to a head.”
“Sarah hinted you found a place to stash me.” She cringed at the way that sounded.
“We did some research to find a location where you wouldn’t feel so much like a prisoner. A private plane will take you to the Casa Blanca Resort and Spa at Barefoot Bay, in Florida.”
She stared at him, and she supposed her shock was evident on her face.
“What?” He frowned. “Circumstances make it an ideal place. An old friend who was in the CIA, Gabe Rossi, runs an undercover business hiding people out, and it’s been very effective. Your contact there will be one of the agents from McBain Security, and everything you need will be taken care of. Is that a problem?”
She shook her head, still stunned. “But, Jonas, that has to be very expensive. Can the government afford it?”
“Not to worry. Gabe has arranged everything.” He chuckled, something he rarely did. “With your boss dead, the case against Forrester Investments will probably go away. We haven’t found anything that leads us to believe anyone else was involved. And, thanks to your work with the sketch artist, we’ve got a pretty good idea who the killers are. You’ll be out of harm’s way while we wrap this up here.”
She nibbled her lower lip. “Will…will I have to testify?”
Jonas sighed. “I’m afraid so. But we’ll keep you under wraps until then and move you to wherever you want after that.”
“Move me?” Her eyes widened. “You mean I can’t live here anymore?”
“Let’s talk about that when the time comes.” He gave her arm a comforting squeeze. “Let’s get past this part, first.”
“Okay.” She sighed. “Thanks. I think.”
She was too tired to look through the suitcase, so she just dumped everything in the tote out on the bed. Sleep shirt. Lingerie. Toothbrush, toothpaste, and, bless the woman, makeup and all the appropriate necessities.
Thank you.
She wondered what the people at the office would say when they learned their boss was dead and she had disappeared? Then, of course, there were her friends, Ellie and Sheila, the other two members of the Flirty Thirties, as they called themselves. And wasn’t that just an awful name for them to call themselves. Unmarried, career-driven women who just last week, over tacos and margaritas, had discussed adding a little excitement to their lives.
She swallowed a slightly hysterical giggle as she wondered if this would qualify for that. She asked Jonas to please get a message to them. They’d be panic-stricken and turning over all kinds of rocks to find her if he didn’t. And it had to be something plausible, like an overseas trip for the firm. He agreed that doing nothing could compromise her situation, so he sent each of them a text from her phone before he killed it and gave her a burner to carry. One with only his number in it.
My situation.
Another inane descriptive phrase.
Her life had certainly taken a strange twist. She just hoped wherever she was going, she’d have a chance to regroup.
Chapter Two
Trey DeMarcus, Commander, US Navy, Retired, ushered his client from his office to the reception area. As they walked, he reassured him one more time that all the paperwork was in order and he had nothing to worry about. Today, Lloyd Bridger had seemed more tiresome than usual. He was a nitpicker without equal, although Trey figured to amass so much wealth, he’d have had to be. But the man was now in his late eighties, retired and occupying himself with nitpicking changes to the dispersion of his estate. Trey chastised himself for being irritated, but this was so far from the law he’d practiced for twenty years—and the law he wanted to practice now—it wasn’t even on the same map.
You wanted the change.
No, I didn’t. Laura did.
Laura. Even thinking her name sent a shaft of pain right through his heart.
“Did you get Bridger all squared away?”
Trey looked up to see Art Finnergan, one of his partners, lounging in his office doorway. Art handled estate planning for the firm, but after he and Lloyd Bridger had a disagreement, Trey had taken Bridger on as a favor. He still chafed at the dryness of the subject. When he’d left the Navy for private practice, he’d really wanted to practice criminal law. After all, he brought a wealth of experience with him from JAG.
But Laura had—
He shut the mental door on that and focused on his conversation with Art.
“Yes, for the millionth time.” Trey forced a grin. “We need to find something for that man to do.”
“Someone does,” Art agreed. “That’s for sure.” He gave Trey a searching look. “How are you doing?”
Trey knew the man meant since the divorce. Yeah, the damn divorce. Nothing like coming home the day you leave the service, finding your wife out and a man standing there to serve you with divorce papers. At first, he thought he had landed in an alternate universe or the man had made a mistake, but then he found the note from Laura.
“I’m sorry. We just want different things. I’ve packed most of your belongings. They are in the garage. Tell me where to send the rest.�
�
After twenty-five years of being together, including two decades years of marriage, that was what he got? How had he missed all the signs?
And when Laura returned late that afternoon, she’d assured him—in a voice so composed it scared him—that, yes, she was divorcing him. And she’d appreciate it if he didn’t make a fuss.
A fuss!
For god’s sake! What was he supposed to do after twenty years of marriage?
But as he’d sat in a hotel room that night, getting quietly drunk, he realized the mistakes had been made a long time ago. He and Laura met in Newport, Rhode Island, when he was there for JAG training. Maybe she’d thought he would be spending his entire career there, although he was very honest with her. He had plans. Twenty years in the Navy JAG, then home to Montana to practice criminal law.
But Laura, it seemed, had other ideas. Newport was her home. It was where her friends were. Oh, yes, she liked the travel to exotic places. Until she didn’t. Until she wanted to rent a home in Newport, a place where she could spend at least part of the time, and where he’d have a home between assignments. She knew he wasn’t ready to buy yet, and that he still had Montana in the back of his mind. But, renting, he could handle.
Her travel with him became more and more infrequent. And whenever the subject of Montana came up, she changed it, begging him to make plans to stay in Newport after he retired from the Navy. She’d even gone into business with her friend Diana, an event planning service that was very successful. He wasn’t too happy with them living in different places, but she alternated between Newport and wherever he was assigned at the time. Anything to make her happy, and when he retired, they’d be together permanently.
Until she finally told him Montana would not be a good fit for her. After planning it for twenty years? Had he missed all the signs or just ignored them?
But he was determined to make the best effort he could because he loved his wife and he wanted them to be together. He could adapt. He extended the lease on the house and told her to begin looking for something permanent. He’d been approached by two men he spent time with between assignments who invited him to join their very prestigious law firm. He was doing everything he could to make this work after waiting so long for it.
But it seemed her mind was made up a long time ago. She was finished with him, with the marriage, with whatever they’d had, which at the moment he couldn’t quite define. The divorce papers sat on his desk at home, mocking him, but it soon became painfully clear that his marriage was over. He had made a gigantic mistake and now was paying for it. He was miserable, stuck in a city he didn’t particularly like, in a law practice not even close to what he wanted, and all for nothing.
Being accepted into JAG had been a life-altering moment for him, the fulfillment of a wish. And Laura had shared his excitement…or so he’d thought. Newport, Rhode Island, where he went to the Naval Justice School, was her home town. Her friends were here. The few members of her family he had met. She loved the city, the excitement of it, the people.
In twenty years, they’d moved around a lot, not just in the States but exciting assignments overseas wherever the United States had a base. He thrived on it and on the cases he handled. He’d thought she did, too. But while he had enjoyed the adventure of life in foreign lands and cultures, and loved the life of a JAG officer, Laura began to grow tired and irritable with it.
By the time he’d accepted his final foreign assignment, this one in Japan, she’d convinced him she’d really be a lot happier staying home and running the event business with Diane. He didn’t ask her about Montana. He had the feeling by then Montana wasn’t even on the table. How could you be married to someone for so long and not really know them at all? Was it him? Had he missed all the clues?
Time and again during the past year, he’d asked himself if he was the only one who had loved the Navy and the life of a JAG officer. He and Laura had made the decision together, but maybe it turned out not to be what she wanted. Couldn’t she have told him before twenty years had passed? She always told him how good he looked in his uniform, but it took more than a uniform to make someone happy. He was either the stupidest man alive or she’d covered her feelings for a long time.
He was well aware his partners were concerned about him, and about his commitment to the firm now that he no longer had a reason for staying in Newport. Discussing it, however, was still too painful. Besides, with the word out that Laura had been seen out on dates, what could he say that didn’t make him look like an idiot?
Now, he just looked at Art and shrugged. “Taking it one day at a time.”
“Have you thought about taking some time off? Maybe a little vacation somewhere?”
And do what, he wanted to ask. He was like a stranger in a strange land. He wasn’t into deep-sea fishing, which most of his partners were. He liked baseball, but none of his partners did. Of course, in Newport, Rhode Island, loyalties were split among the several professional teams in neighboring states. He liked to read, but he’d dreamed of a house with a patio where he and his wife could read in companionable silence, looking out over the broad Montana landscape. Or, in the winter, by the fireplace.
He couldn’t bring himself to date, no matter how many times the wives of his partners tried to fix him up. He was forty-eight, for god’s sake. Too old for blind dates. And the pain of the breakup of his marriage was still so fresh in his mind. How had he been so blind? How had he gotten it wrong for so many years? Had he just not paid attention or listened, or had she been good at hiding it? He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to trust a woman again.
“Trey?” Art’s voice cut into his reverie.
“What?” He gave himself a mental shake. “Oh, vacation. I don’t know. I can’t seem to work up the enthusiasm.”
“Well, give it some thought, okay? We’re just a little concerned for you.” He paused. “You know we’re all happy to take up the slack to give you whatever time you need.”
He ground his teeth. “Worried I’ll fall down on the job? Am I not pulling my weight?”
Art had the good grace to look a little embarrassed. “Not at all. You more than pull your share around here. Hell, just taking Bridger off everyone’s hands ought to earn you a bonus. But….” He paused.
“But you’re worried about my state of mind. Is it because Laura’s making no secret of the fact that she’s seeing someone while I’m not? Is that it?” He had deliberately not ventured out into places where he might run into her. Even after a year, seeing her with another man would be the pits.
“Trey, we all know this is a painful thing to go through. The partners all want you to know we’re here for you.”
Great. A bunch of late-forties men playing support group.
“Thanks. I appreciate it. And I will think of taking a break.”
But not just because of Laura. He was in a city where he’d settled because she had a business here, practicing the kind of law she had urged him to do, and his life was coming apart in little pieces. Of course, having your wife serve you with divorce papers the day you retired from the Navy wasn’t exactly guaranteed to send you on the road to happiness.
His partners meant well, but he felt guilty every day he went to work. He’d accepted their offer under a specific set of circumstances, secretly admitting he wanted to save his marriage by falling in with Laura’s plan. But she had hounded him until he at last signed the divorce papers, and his reason for building a life in Newport rather than Montana had changed. Now, he really wanted out, and he was pretty sure they knew it. The rumors that Laura had been seeing someone else even before he gave in and signed the papers didn’t help his state of mind, either.
He filled a mug with coffee from the carafe on his credenza and stood at his window that overlooked downtown Newport. And thought about how his life had taken an unexpected turn.
Perhaps if they’d had children, it might have made a difference, except Laura had never really wanted a family. She had wanted to be
free to follow her own career path. All the travel as a JAG wife hadn’t exactly been what she had in mind, and, as time passed, she’d found the restrictions of the military stifling. Trey’s continued efforts to integrate her into life as the wife of a JAG officer frustrated and irritated both of them.
He figured once he retired from JAG, he could focus completely on Laura, and they could patch the holes in their marriage. Assuming, of course, he could figure out what they were. Still, he wondered how many men were served with divorce papers the day of their retirement. He was still dealing with the shock of it after more than a year.
Taking a last swallow of coffee, he set the mug aside, checked his computer for messages, and decided to leave the office early. He had no clients scheduled after Lloyd Bridger, and while he also had no plans, he needed to get out of the office. Suddenly, it felt as if the walls were closing in on him. Choking and strangling him.
He shrugged on his suit jacket and his coat, grabbed his laptop, and headed out.
“See you tomorrow,” he told Phyllis Andreeson, his assistant.
“Leaving early?” She grinned. “Good. You need to go someplace and let your hair down.”
He stopped at her desk, forehead wrinkled in a frown. “Are you trying to tell me I’m a pain in the ass?”
She shook her head. “Not at all. Just that you’re wound up so tight I keep waiting for the spring to pop.”
“I didn’t realize…” He stopped. Realize what?
“If I can just be honest for a moment, Mr. DeMarcus?”
“Phyllis, we’ve been working together for more than a year. I want you to feel free to say anything at all to me.” And he meant it. Since the day he accepted the partnership offer from this firm, he’d gone out of his way to make Phyllis feel comfortable with him. What had he been doing wrong?
“Good. Then, here it is. Since you became part of this firm, you’ve done an incredible job. Even managed to keep clients like Bridger happy. But that’s all you do. Work. You never go out, never socialize except for events the firm hosts or gets command invitations to. And forgive me, but you seem so sad all the time.”
