Always Faithful

by Catherine Snodgrass

  She held her place, keeping her voice low. "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. The one where he peered down his nose at her and flared his nostrils.

  "Treating people like porcelain has never been my style, Rowan." The amber flecks in her brown eyes glowed with outrage. Lord, she was still beautiful. Still fiery and proud.

  "Browbeating them into submission never used to be part of your style either…but 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, looking 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 was 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 softly.

  She turned palms up and shook her head slowly. "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."

  "Yes…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. "Well, 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 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 when 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. Now answer the damn question."

  "No." Her gaze met his across the table, daring him to disbelieve her. "I did not kill Sergeant Kemp."

  He leaned back. "Good. Now we’re getting somewhere. Now…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 finally 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 weapons missing. All in the same general areas—the Lava training area and the Expeditionary Airfield."

  Phillip rested his square chin on the point of his fingers, his eyes 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 and 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 a shoulder.

  "Hmmm, I can’t recall. I meet so many people throughout the day. Probably through work."

  "Friend, cohort, suspect?" Boyfriend? Lover?

  "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.

  That silent trickle of tears down Rowan’s cheeks stabbed deep into the core of Phillip’s soul. He longed to pull her onto his lap, cuddle her close, and promise everything would be all right. Another baser part of him wanted more.

  He’d hardened the second he saw her. 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 had other ideas.

  "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 hangers 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 equi
pment, we didn’t see a soul. It was eerie. And, 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, something…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 MP’s 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 slowly shook her head. "Anyone who would listen."

  "That doesn’t exactly narrow the suspects, does it?"

  What could she say? She believed something wasn’t right and was 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 tapered nails into claws. "Murderer!"

  Rowan blocked the attack with her free arm. Cat-like gouges 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 to the floor.

  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 you 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 gently cup her elbow, pulled up the sleeve of her uniform, and examined the bloody gash on her fair, freckled skin.

  "Rowan," he began, and then faltered. 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 and let go of her arm.

  Rowan became aware of 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.

  Phillip whipped open the door. "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. He slumped against the wall outside his office, careful to stay away from Rowan’s line of sight, and closed his eyes.

  He saw the attack in his mind, the woman’s wild, distorted features as she sliced ferociously at Rowan. Again, a surge of fear twisted his gut and made his hands clench.

  Damnit. I won’t allow this to happen. Not again.

  A sound to his left attracted his attention. A plump woman wearing civilian clothes was hurrying down the corridor towards him, concern etched 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 nodded toward his office.

  The woman stopped and appraised his face for one long, unblinking moment. She seemed to reach a decision, and smiled slightly.

  "The colonel wants to see you in his office 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. Were his 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 left the door open a crack when he walked out. Rowan would be willing to bet he would have locked her in if there had been a way to do so and without setting off her claustrophobia. And she’d have to say she deserved it. Words uttered in anger and haste had nearly doomed her.

  By the time Ellen Reid 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.

  Ellen tied off the bandage and straightened. "You certainly have given everyone a lot to talk about lately."

  "As long as they don’t talk to Phillip."

  Ellen tsked and turned toward her with a frown.

  "Not now, Ellen. And definitely not here. Once Ian is back from camp, help keep him away from the office until I have a chance to tell Phillip."

  "You mean he doesn’t—"

  When Rowan glared at her, Ellen lowered her voice. "You mean he doesn’t even know about Ian?"

  "Ellen, please… I had my reasons."

  "Hmph. I hope they were damn fine ones."

  They seemed so at the time. "Not a word, Ellen. Not one word to anyone."

  "Honey, I don’t have to say a word to anyone. Everyone already knows…except the daddy."

  She snapped the kit closed, tucked it under her arm, and marched from the office.

  It was all too much to deal with. Rowan’s stomach churned and a hea
dache built behind her eyes. How could things possibly get any worse? She leaned back and closed her eyes, wishing she could do the same with her thoughts.

  At some point she must have dozed off, for the next thing she heard was Phillip opening the door. By her watch, an hour had passed.

  He sat on the edge of the desk, his legs a fraction of an inch from hers. The office was so tiny. Rowan pulled herself upright. Still, the distance was infinitesimal.

  "You must be tired."

  "A little. I didn’t get much sleep last night."

  "How’s the arm?"

  "Hurts, but the cuts and scratches are superficial."

  "Captain Connors, Colonel Scott, and I spent the last hour trying to convince the CO why he shouldn’t hold another hearing and have you confined. As it stands, you now have another charge against you and the previous one has been modified."

  Rowan shoved herself to her feet. "For what? She attacked me."

  His direct gaze never faltered. "The charge is now first degree murder and adultery."

  Her mouth worked but no sound came out. This was a nightmare. In a daze, she plopped back onto the sofa and buried her head in her hands.

  "Mrs. Kemp accuses you of having an affair with her husband. Apparently he…he made no secret of his attraction to you. He was pretty graphic with his information. A couple of his friends have verified his wife’s story."

  "It’s not true," she somehow managed to say, trying to defend herself against the look of condemnation on his face. "I never, ever slept with Charlie."

  "Never flirted? Never held hands? Never kissed?"

  She shook her head and forced herself to meet his gaze. "Never anything, Phillip. The idea never even crossed my mind. If he wanted me that way, he kept it a secret. Our relationship was purely professional. We only talked about work."

  "Yeah, everyday stuff like conspiracies."

  She tucked her head down to hide a rush of tears. One splashed to her knee. "Why don’t you let them cuff me now and take me away? They’re determined to see me in jail one way or the other. I don’t know why I thought you could help me. I don’t know why you bothered to come."

  "Because…you asked me to," he softly replied.