by Vicki Hinze
“The promotion board would love that.” Her spoon clinked against the edge of the mug, and Tracy grunted. “Their pencils would leave screech marks on my file, adding ‘unprofessional’ to ‘too young and idealistic’ in my bio.”
“Then lie. Say anything. Say you’re in love with the man.”
Revulsion coursed through her in shudders. How could any woman be in love with Adam Burke? “I won’t lie. And I won’t say I’m in love with a traitor and murderer. The boards would swear I was either crazy or stupid. Maybe both—and I’d agree with them.”
“Do you grasp the severity of this? Your promotion and status selection are on the line.”
“My whole career as a Staff JAG is on the line, Randall.” Bobbing the tea bag by its string, she grumbled and glanced out the window at her roses. Beautiful—and still in full bloom, though the blazing heat had most gardens sun-scorched and burned. “Giving the board more ammunition against me won’t help cinch my promotion.”
“Well, you’ve got to do something to get out of defending this case.” His frustration hissed static through the phone line. “My hospital board will go nuts.”
About to take a sip, Tracy frowned into her cup. “Excuse me?”
“My board. It’ll take a dim view of me being close friends with Burke’s attorney, and the members will be very verbal about it. You know how they are about controversy, and you’ve got to admit, Burke’s beyond controversial.”
Great. Didn’t she have enough to worry about already? But Randall was right. His hospital board was extremely conservative and protective of its image. The members would take a dim view of their friendship. It was the nature of Burke’s crimes that would turn everyone against her for defending him. It didn’t matter that she’d been assigned: people felt too passionate about treason, murder, and sacrificed men. She stood in Burke’s defense, and that would stick in everyone’s craw. In situations like this, emotion always buries logic.
Mentally seeing Randall standing front and center before the board members, his blond head bent, his lean shoulders stooped, she barely managed to stave off a sigh.
Regardless of what he said to them, the members would come down hard on Randall. “I have no choice.” She let him hear her regret. “I didn’t volunteer, I was assigned.”
“So dream up an excuse and get out of it. My board would be fine with your refusal.”
His board? Bristling, she stilled, the tea bag dangling in midair over the sink. What about her promotion and selection? Her career? All this case could—and probably would—cost her.
Irked that her challenges didn’t weigh at all in Randall’s considerations, Tracy slung the tea bag into the sink. It thumped against the stainless-steel bottom, and steam poured out of it. Any second, she expected an equal amount to pour out of her ears. “Careful, friend,” she said in clipped tones. “You’re sounding like your convictions only run as deep as you find convenient.”
“Image matters.” His voice turned cold and distant. “You know my personal goals.”
Oh, did she. She snatched up a dishcloth, then mopped at a tea splash near the faucet. He drove her crazy with his strategy updates, but his attitude on this rated downright selfish and self-serving.
She tossed the cloth onto the counter and cast her slippers a suspicious look. But Pooh wasn’t responsible for this attitude. Truth was the culprit. Randall Moxley was a fair-weather friend. And knowing it, Tracy couldn’t get off the phone quickly enough. “I think we’d better agree to disagree on this and let it go.”
“Fine.” He slammed down the phone.
Clenching her teeth, she put the phone down, and resumed searching for her legal hook.
Feeling as she did about Adam Burke, how could she defend him with conviction?
She had until tomorrow morning to figure it out. That’s when she was due at the facility, commonly referred to as the brig, to meet Adam Burke.
Just the thought of having to look the coward in the face had her stomach revolting and her head throbbing. She’d bet her bars he would play the innocent victim. He’d blame someone else—anyone else—for everything.
It was a safe bet. The guilty assigned blame elsewhere with monotonous regularity. And considering Burke’s crimes were positively the worst that could be committed by man, she should expect nothing better from him.
Disgust turned her tea bitter. She dumped the contents from her cup then went out to her moonlit garden, needing to cleanse herself of her distaste for both men.
Dropping to a wicker chair beneath the huge magnolia, she lifted her chin and inhaled its blossoms’ sweet scent. Randall—if he appeared genuinely repentant for being a jerk about this—she might forgive, but Adam Burke?
Never.
Get Duplicity now.
