Navy Justice (Whidbey Island, Book 5)

by Geri Krotow

“Like hell you will.”

  “Are you pulling your macho card on me now, Brad? Because it’s been a long day and I’d love three or four hours of solid z’s. I can do guard duty until four or five, then you do it so I can get some sleep before work.”

  He heard her words, her logic. Did the woman ever relax and just let it go?

  “Go to bed, Joy. Like I said, I’ll take the sofa.”

  His request was met with silence. He felt her uncertainty across the kitchen.

  “See you in the morning, then. You’ll come and wake me if you need me?”

  “Yes.”

  Her soft sigh and the sound of her bare feet on the wooden floor underscored what he longed for, but would never have.

  Joy.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  JOY DIDN’T KNOW if it was her anxiety or an unfamiliar sound that abruptly woke her at three-thirty in the morning. She waited, her pulse pounding in her ears.

  The doorbell.

  She scrambled out of bed and stumbled over to the bedroom door. She’d left it ajar. Still in her yoga pants and hoodie, she slid her feet into her slippers.

  Feeling her way along the darkened hallway, she heard the doorbell again, this time followed by a sharp pounding.

  “Police! Open up.”

  Her focus on getting to the front door quickly shattered as she ran into Brad.

  “What are you going to tell them?” His whisper was urgent.

  Didn’t he get it that she was in, she was committed full throttle to helping him? If her kiss hadn’t told him that, didn’t the fact that she’d let him sleep over give him a clue?

  “Nothing. I’m telling them nothing. Shouldn’t you be hiding in the basement or something?” She shoved at his chest. It was harder, and he was more solidly built than she’d realized.

  The door.

  “You can tell them whatever you need to, Joy. I’ll be out of here.”

  “Stop it. I don’t have to let them in, remember?”

  “Unless they have a warrant.”

  “Now who sounds like a lawyer? Go and hide. I’ve got this.”

  She did. She had to.

  Perspiration dripped between her breasts. It was one thing to manipulate the truth to obtain files that might contain information that would help Brad nab some serious bad guys, especially when Whidbey and its civilians were being targeted.

  Lying to the police, however...

  She opened the front door to a group of three men, all in OHPD uniforms.

  The officer closest to her had his hand in midair, ready to hit the door again—with a final warning before they forced themselves into her home? Was that a battering ram in the hands of the four additional men who stood in her driveway? Undercover, perhaps, since they weren’t in uniform?

  “Can I help you?”

  “Joy Alexander?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Captain Mark Cross, Oak Harbor PD. We need to ask you some questions.”

  “With a battering ram?”

  He shrugged, and she saw no sign of sheepish awareness that their tactics were overkill for a house that held a single citizen. As she looked more closely at him and his partner, she noted that their uniforms didn’t quite match. And they didn’t have the usual OHPD insignia she was familiar with. As a JAG she’d worked with all levels of LEAs, and these dudes weren’t cops. She’d bet her house on it.

  There weren’t any vehicles in her driveway or right in front of her yard, so she had no way of knowing how they’d gotten here. They could be walking from house to house, but...

  You’re the one they’re after. They know you have a connection with Brad. Don’t be the weak link.

  She shivered. The door had to stay open to indicate that she wasn’t hiding anything or anyone, but she wasn’t letting them into her home. She couldn’t.

  “You know about the explosion off the west shore earlier, I assume?” “Officer” Cross was an attractive man with steely eyes and short, silver-gray hair that glinted under her porch light. He was stunning.

  His fake uniform and “cop” demeanor, not so much.

  “I gave my report earlier to Officer Jones. I’ve seen the news on TV. Is there anything else I need to know?” She purposely used a false name for the officer who’d interviewed her.

  None of them reacted to the name. They nodded and acted as if they agreed with her, as if they knew about her report.

  As if they knew the fictitious Officer Jones.

  “We have reason to believe a suspect is hiding in the area. We’re assigned to check each house on West Beach Road.”

  “And your warrant?”

  His eyes narrowed, and she saw one of the other men shift his feet. Whoever these “cops” were, they knew at some level that they were overstepping the bounds.

  “None of your neighbors has asked for a warrant, Ms. Alexander.”

  “I’m thinking none of my neighbors are licensed attorneys, Officer Cross.”

  His head went back, a slight movement that she could easily have missed. But after years of working with criminal defendants and military prosecution, she knew how to read body language. Prided herself on it, actually.

  “Officer” Mark Cross was a phony of the highest order, and yet he hadn’t expected her response.

  He broke into a wide grin, his teeth glinting in the dim porch light.

  If he thought she was an innocent Little Red Riding Hood, he was in for a surprise. She had poison in her basket.

  “You’re in the Navy, Ms. Alexander. You of all people should understand the importance of timely investigation.”

  “I was in the Navy. I’m out, working for attorney Paul Scott. And I don’t know anything about the explosion, other than what I’ve already reported to the police. I called it in minutes after it happened, before I left for work today—yesterday. You must have seen my report. I have nothing to add.” He didn’t need to know she still had one more day on active duty. She could point out that she knew damn well he wasn’t really a cop, but she refrained. Let him think he had her fooled.

  Joy stood her ground, allowing her body language to inform Cross—or whoever he was—and his cohort that she wasn’t stepping aside. There’d be no search of her home, not without a warrant.

  “Do you have an ID, Officer Cross? For documentation purposes?”

  His face reddened.

  Got you!

  “I don’t carry my wallet or ID on missions of this nature.”

  “I understand, truly I do. And I need you to understand that because of my law background, I’m not going to let you into my home without a warrant.”

  She shut down her fear, shoving it to the farthest corner of her mind. She’d deal with it later. The fact was, these men could easily overpower her and ransack her place, finding Brad in seconds. She was betting they wouldn’t.

  Hoping, no—praying they’d leave.

  She stared at Cross with complete audacity, matching his arrogance with her own. When he looked away, she knew she’d won this round. His police persona was back in place, his expression neutral.

  “Sorry to bother you, ma’am. We just need to make sure you’re safe.”

  “I am. You’re the only person who’s knocked on my door besides Officer Jones.” Still no reaction to the false name. Lying was getting easier; she’d have to address the question of moral integrity later.

  “Well, if you have any problems, don’t hesitate to let us know. Be advised that we may get orders to return.” With a warrant. He didn’t have to say it.

  “Thank you, Officer.”

  She watched them turn around and walk back toward the road. It was too dark, and the high fir trees obscured her view, so she couldn’t see what kind of vehicles they’d used.

  Only after they were out of sight did she close the front door and collapse against it.

  * * *

  “HOW COME YOU’RE so sure they weren’t really Oak Harbor Police?” Brad asked as they sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee she�
��d brewed once she’d acknowledged she’d never get back to sleep.

  “Remember, I’m not in OHPD jurisdiction. If the authorities needed to search the homes in this area, they’d send in the sheriff’s department. But, okay, they might use OHPD if they’re as busy as they were earlier, when they sent out the real officer. Which is why I made up a name for the officer who came by yesterday morning. They didn’t even react.”

  “With a case like this, the Feds will use all the locals, no matter who they are.”

  “True. But these weren’t locals.”

  “What did the guy who did the talking look like?”

  She poured more sugar into her mug. There wasn’t enough sugar in the world to take the bitterness off being awakened by pseudo-cops in the middle of the night. Especially after a long day of wondering how deep she wanted to get into what was turning out to be an international terrorist plot.

  With the man seated across from her as the focal point...

  She described “Officer” Cross.

  “You thought he was attractive, didn’t you?”

  She felt a flush creep up her neck and wanted to blame it on the hot coffee.

  “Uh, I was a little too distracted to notice. I was busy trying to keep them out of the house.”

  She couldn’t see his eyes, couldn’t read his response. He hadn’t flinched at the threat of half a dozen men breaking into her home and presumably dragging him out of it. And yet he cared whether or not she’d found this Cross guy attractive?

  His stillness forced her hand. “Yeah, okay, he was a good-looking dude.”

  At Brad’s continued silence she let out a long breath.

  “You know him, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Probably.”

  “Good guy or bad?”

  “Depends. But he’s not someone I’m concerned about.” He sipped his coffee and she wanted to throttle him. His mind was no doubt way ahead of hers, his ability to hide his reactions unnerving.

  “You have to find a new place to hide, don’t you?”

  “It’s not about hiding, Joy. It’s about learning who’s behind the cell, what they plan to do next. It’s possible they’ve figured out I’m still alive, and they may have made the connection between us. If I’m in their sights, you could be, as well.”

  “That was my choice. Helping you, I mean.”

  Her hands shook and she wrapped them more tightly around her mug. It was the adrenaline, the caffeine—and a little fear.

  The warmth of his hands around hers was as startling as it was welcome. His palms were bigger than her mug and encased hers. She closed her eyes and reveled in the security they promised, if only for this brief time before he left.

  Because he would leave.

  “No, I think I had something to do with convincing you, Joy.”

  “Stop it. This has nothing to do with our...our kiss.”

  “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

  “As much as I want to enjoy having the fearless Brad Iverson apologizing to me, why don’t we call it what it is? I kissed you as much as you kissed me.”

  “You did.”

  “We’re both messed up.”

  “No doubt.”

  “So let me help you, Brad. I can. We just need some answers.”

  She felt him shaking his head.

  “No. I can’t live with the threat of another person I care about being taken out by the bad guys.”

  “Brad, Marci had other problems...” They’d never discussed it. She’d signed an affidavit supporting his alibi when she’d received it from the court system in Norfolk, Virginia. The need to reach out to him after they’d finished Farid’s case had been strong. But she’d respected his privacy. And accepted that if they were ever going to become more than colleagues, he’d have to be the one to reach out first.

  But she’d never expected him to, no matter how much she’d hoped for it.

  “You’re fierce, and you never back down when you believe that what you’re doing is right. It’s one of the reasons I love working with you, Joy.”

  He released her hands, and she immediately missed the intimacy of his touch. And felt like slapping him for not seeing her as more than a shipmate.

  He’d taken the possibility of more kisses off the table. It was for the best.

  Wasn’t it?

  “You don’t deserve to live like this, Brad, even for a couple of days. Life on the run is for rookies. We’re getting too old to play these games. Let me drive you onto the base later this morning and get you into the legal office. Or I can take you to my new office. As my client, you’ll be safe, and you can call the Bureau from there.”

  “I’m not involving you or your workplace. Besides, I have a feeling my boss knows I’m okay now—those were our guys at your door. Even with my evasion tactics, he knows I’m here. He wouldn’t have sent them otherwise.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me? And why didn’t they push me aside and come in and get you?”

  He didn’t answer her first question. “Too messy, and not necessary. You’re a witness, they have no idea what I’ve told or not told you and they don’t want you to disappear, too.”

  “Who says I’d disappear?”

  “Because if I do, I could take you with me. That’s looking at it from their perspective. From my point of view, however, I don’t want to upset your life any more than I already have, but you may have to come with me for a few days. I’m hoping it won’t need to happen, of course.”

  Disappear with Brad.

  Her skin crawled, and she wanted to be in her sunroom sipping coffee with a Brad who wasn’t haunted by the demons of his past, real or fabricated. Even when it was the good guys tracking you for all the right reasons, things could go wrong.

  Stay in the present.

  “I believe in you, Brad. I believe you’re innocent of any terrorist plot, that goes without saying, and that you had no choice but to take out that missile and its handler. I also believe you’d better figure out whatever you need to figure out quickly. If our side knows you’re still breathing, it won’t take the bad guys long to figure it out, too. And they’ll be after you.”

  And her. She was now as much at risk as he was.

  The terrorists would see her as an obstacle, someone who’d gotten in their way.

  She set her mug on the polished surface of the table she’d found at an antiques fair in France when she’d visited her parents in Paris earlier this year. For years she’d been collecting pieces of furniture, pottery, exotic fabrics—all with the goal of having her own place and never moving again.

  The thought of having to pack up and go, even temporarily, left her cold. Would she really have to leave, get out of sight, as Brad was suggesting?

  * * *

  BRAD’S SKIN STRETCHED over his knuckles as he clenched his fist on the table. He needed every bit of self-control not to pound it on the wood until it was bloody. Or slam it through a wall. Or better yet, smack himself in the face.

  “I’ve made a huge mistake, Joy. I never should’ve involved you in this. It seemed like a decent shot, getting the information I knew you’d be able to find in the court records. It’s snowballed too quickly, and I need to get the hell out of here. All I ask is that once you’ve got the files and have gone through them, please take the information to General Grimes. He’ll be able to fill in any blanks.”

  “You’re the one who needs to meet with him, Brad. Now, not later.”

  “It’s too risky.”

  “Did you ever talk to him about what you saw out in the field? Whatever it was.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes?” He heard her incredulity. After a heartbeat or two, he could feel her anger simmering.

  “The entire time we worked together on Farid’s case, you never mentioned that you’d spoken to him.”

  “It was a private conversation and wasn’t relevant at the time. It had nothing to do with proving Farid’s innocence.”

  “I disag
ree. The officer in charge of operations in the field had everything to do with it—if you told him about your mission!”

  “First of all, he gave you a deposition early on, which you yourself said was less than helpful. He had the big picture in mind. He was a successful leader because he knew how to delegate. Second, I had no idea that some of what I’d shared with him might eventually prove to be relevant. Like you, I thought that once we got Farid released and into Witness Protection, the bad guys would call off their witch hunt.”

  “Obviously, they’ve still got some eye of newt to toss into the pot.” How did she manage to retain a sense of humor, not to mention a hopeful, almost upbeat temperament when her life had been put in danger—by a man who could never give her what she deserved?

  And why was his body responding to her nearness when his only focus should be on keeping her off the terrorists’ radar and protecting her from the unforgiving mess that was his life?

  “Grimes is living on the southern part of Whidbey,” she said. “In the middle of the woods.”

  “How do you know that? Do you keep a dossier on everyone you’ve ever taken a deposition from?” He imagined her recoiling in the darkness. He hadn’t meant to sound so snarky.

  “I have a good memory.” She laughed. “It’s the one thing that’s gotten me where I am. What’s saved me and my career is that I remember anything I’ve ever seen in writing.”

  “A photographic memory?”

  “Yes, except with all the information we have available now, compared to when you and I were in school, I don’t hang on to the pictures in my mind like I used to.”

  “I think I was in school a while before you were.”

  “No, we’re the same age, actually.”

  “You know my date of birth,” he said with a laugh. “Of course.”

  “It’s close to mine or I’m sure I wouldn’t. We’re both September babies.”

  They’d never shared that kind of personal information before. She didn’t include her birthday on Facebook, so he’d had no way of knowing her age. She’d taken his deposition and had access to his entire military file—the part that was unclassified.

  If he was smart, he’d leave now and get as far away from her as possible. Leave her to the life she’d created for herself.