God, he was pathetic. After all this time, he still wanted Nell more than he'd ever wanted any woman.
The guard pulled out his chair and Crash sat, refusing to acknowledge just how much he'd missed her, refusing to let himself care that the glass divider kept him from breathing in her sweet perfume, refusing to care that she had to see him like this, chained up like some kind of animal.
But he did care. God, how he cared.
Separate. Detach. He had to start thinking like the kind of man he was—a man with no future. A man on a final mission.
Crash had a single goal now—to hunt down and destroy the man responsible for Jake Robinson's death. He had lost far more than his commanding officer when he'd been unable to save Jake's life. He'd lost a friend who'd been like a father to him. And he'd lost everything else that was important to him as well-the trust of his teammates, his rank, his commission, his status as a SEAL. Without those things he was nothing. A nonentity.
He was as good as dead.
But it was that very fact that gave him the upper hand against the unknown man who was behind his fall from grace. Because with everything that mattered to him gone, Crash had nothing more to lose. He was going to succeed at his mission if it was the last thing he ever did. He was determined to succeed, even at the price of his own worthless life.
As Crash sat and gazed at Nell through the protective glass, he was struck by the irony of the situation. He'd worked hard to make sure that Nell wasn't his to have—or his to lose. Yet here he was, having lost everything else in his life, except, it appeared, her trust.
Yeah, the irony was incredible. His one ally, the only person who believed he didn't kill Jake Robinson, was a woman who by all rights should want nothing more to do with him.
And he knew Nell didn't believe that he'd killed Jake. Even after a year apart, he could still read her like a first-grade primer.
See Nell.
See Nell refuse to run.
See Nell's loyalty blazing in her eyes.
Crash sat in the chair and waited for her to speak.
She leaned forward slightly. "I'm so sorry about Jake."
It was exactly what he'd expected her to say. He nodded. "Yeah. Me, too." His voice came out sounding harsh and raspy, and he cleared his throat.
"I tried to go to his funeral, but apparently he'd requested it be private and... they didn't let you go either, did they?"
Crash shook his head no.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
He nodded again.
"I would've come sooner," she told him, "but it took me nearly a week to talk my way in here."
A week. His chest felt tight at the thought of her going to bat for him day after day for an entire week. He wasn't sure what to say to that, so he didn't say anything.
Her gaze slipped to the bandage he still had on his arm. "Are you all right?"
When he didn't answer, she sat back, closing her eyes briefly. "I'm sorry. Stupid question. Of course you're not all right." She leaned forward again. "What can I do to help?"
Her eyes were so intensely blue. For a moment he was back in Malaysia, gazing out at the South China Sea.
"Nothing," he said quietly. "There's nothing you can do."
She shifted in her seat, clearly frustrated. "There must be something. Are you happy with your lawyer? It's important to have a good defence lawyer that you trust."
"My lawyer's fine."
"This is your life that's at stake, Billy."
"My lawyer's fine," he said again.
"Fine's not good enough. Look, I know a really good criminal defence lawyer. You remember Dex..."
"Nell, I don't need another lawyer, particularly not—" He cut himself off short. Particularly not Dexter Lancaster. Crash knew he had no right to be jealous, especially not now. An entire year had passed since he'd willingly given up his right to be jealous. But there was no way he was going to sit down with Dexter Lancaster and plan a defence he wasn't even going to need. He'd spend the entire time torturing himself, wondering if Dex was planning to leave their meeting and head over to Nell's house and...
Don't go there, don't go there, don't go there....
God, he was on the verge of losing it. All he needed was Nell finding out that he'd been keeping track of her this past year, that he knew she was seeing Lancaster socially. All she needed was to know that he'd made an effort to find out if she was okay—made a gargantuan effort, since he'd had to do it from some godforsaken corner of the world.
And then she would read some deep meaning into it. She would think he'd kept track of her because he'd cared. And he would have to explain that it was only responsibility that had driven him to check up on her, and once again, she would be hurt.
What he needed to do was make her leave. He'd done it before, he could do it again.
"What really happened at the farm last week?"
That was one question he could answer honestly. "I don't know. Someone started shooting. I wasn't ready for it, and..." He shook his head.
Nell cleared her throat. "I was told that the ballistics reports prove that you killed Jake and most of the other men. That's pretty damning evidence."
It was damning evidence, indeed. It proved to Crash that this "Commander" that Jake had spoken about, this man Jake himself had believed was responsible for setting up the assassination, was someone with lots of clout in Washington. He was a powerful man with powerful connections. He had to be, in order to have had the results of those ballistics tests falsified. And those test results had been falsified.
Crash was being framed, and he was going to find out just who was framing him. He knew when he found that out, he'd also find the man responsible for Jake's death.
It was possible whoever had framed him was watching him, even now. They surely would be aware Nell had come to see him. It was important for her own safety that she not make a habit of this.
Nell leaned even closer to the protective glass. "Billy, I can't believe that you killed him, but...isn't it possible that in the chaos, your bullets accidentally hit Jake?"
"Yeah, right. That must've been what happened," he lied. He stood up. The last thing he needed was her brain-storming alternatives and coming up with the theory that he'd been framed. If she did come up with that, and if she was vocal about it, she'd be putting herself in danger. "I've got to go."
She stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Where?"
He moved very close to the microphone that allowed her to hear him on the other side of the glass. He spoke very softly, very quickly. "Nell, I don't want or need your help. I want you to stand up and walk out of here. And I don't want you to come back. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
She shook her head. "I still think of you as my friend. I can't just—"
"Go away," he said harshly, enunciating each word very clearly. "Go away."
He turned and shuffled toward the guards at the door, aware that she hadn't moved, aware that she was watching him, hating his chains, hating himself.
One guard unlocked the door as the other held his rifle at the ready.
Crash went out the door and didn't look back.
Chapter 10
People had turned out in droves to see the freak show.
Crash's chains clanked as he was led into the courtroom for his hearing. He tried not to look up at all the faces looking down at him from the gallery.
Tried and failed.
The surviving members of his SEAL Team—his former SEAL Team—were sitting in the back, arms crossed, venom in their eyes.
They thought he was responsible for Captain Lovett and the Possum's death. They believed the ballistics report. Why shouldn't they? Everyone else did.
Except Nell Burns. God, she was sitting there as well. Crash felt a rush of hot and then cold at the thought that she hadn't stayed away. What was wrong with her? What did he have to say or do to make her stay away from him for good?
Crash didn't want to waste any time at all worrying a
bout Nell running around, proclaiming his innocence, stirring things up and catching the attention of a man who'd killed an admiral to keep his identity hidden.
He would rather picture Nell safe at home. Sweet Mary, he'd rather picture Nell having breakfast in bed with Dexter Lancaster than have to worry about her becoming another target for a man with no scruples.
He purposely didn't meet her eyes, even though he made it clear that he saw her. He purposely, coldly, turned his back on her, praying that she would leave.
But as he turned, he saw another familiar face in the crowd.
Lt. Commander Blue McCoy of Alpha Squad was sitting in the front row of the side balcony.
Crash hadn't expected Blue McCoy to come to gape at him, to sit there mentally spitting at him, ready to cheer when the court expressed its desire to impose the death sentence.
He'd liked working with Blue. He'd trusted the quiet man almost immediately. And he'd thought that Blue had trusted him as well.
He tried not to look in Blue's direction, either, but a flash of movement caught his eye.
He turned and Blue did it again. Moving quickly, almost invisibly, he hand-signalled Crash. Are you okay?
There were no accusations in Blue's eyes—no hatred, no animosity. Only concern.
Crash turned to face the judge without responding. He couldn't respond. What could he possibly say?
He closed his hand around the bent piece of metal he had concealed in his palm, feeling its rough edges scrape against his skin. He couldn't wait to be free of these chains. He couldn't wait to see the sky again.
He couldn't wait to find the man who had killed Jake, and send the bastard straight to hell.
It was only a matter of minutes now.
He sat through the procedure, barely hearing the droning of the lawyers' voices. He could feel his former SEAL Team members' hot eyes on his back. He could feel Blue watching him as well.
And if he closed his eyes and breathed really deeply, he could pretend that he could smell Nell's sweet perfume.
As the two guards escorted Crash from the courtroom, Nell willed him to turn his head and acknowledge that she was there.
She didn't expect him to smile, or even to nod. All she wanted was for him to look into her eyes.
She'd dressed in a bright red turtleneck so that she would stand out among all the drab winter coats and business suits. She knew he'd seen her. He'd looked straight at her when he came in—he just hadn't met her gaze.
But he went out the door without so much as a glance in her direction, his actions echoing the words he'd said three days ago. Go away.
But Nell couldn't do that.
She wasn't going to do that.
She stood up, squeezing past the knees of the people still in their seats, people who'd settled in to wait for Crash's bail hearing—which had quickly been set for later in the afternoon.
That was going to be over before it even started. Crash's lawyer was going to request bail—after all, his client had pleaded not guilty.
But then the judge was going to take a look at Crash sitting there, chained up like some monster because his hands and feet were considered deadly weapons. The judge was going to realize that as a former SEAL, Crash could disappear, leaving the country with ease, never to be seen again. And the judge was going to deny bail.
Nell hiked her bag higher up on her shoulder and, carrying her leather bomber jacket over one arm, went out into the hallway.
Crash's lawyer, Captain Phil Franklin, a tall black man in a heavily decorated Navy uniform, was around somewhere, and she was determined to talk to him.
She went out of the courtroom and into the hallway, spotting the captain stepping into an elevator.
There were too many people waiting to go up or down, so Nell could only watch to see which direction the elevator was heading.
Down. Directly down four flights, all the way to the basement. There was a coffee shop down there. With any luck, she'd find the Navy lawyer there.
Nell opened the door to the stairwell. As she stepped inside, she was nearly knocked over by a man coming down from the floor above. He was taking two and three steps at once and wasn't able to stop himself in time.
He recognized her at the same instant she recognized him. Nell knew because he froze.
And she looked up into Crash's light blue eyes. He was alone—no guards, and his chains were gone.
She knew instantly what had happened. He'd broken free. She thrust her jacket at him. "Take this," she said. "My car keys are in the pocket."
He didn't move.
"Go!" she said. "Take it and go!"
"I can't," he said, finally moving. He backed one step away from her, and then two. "I'm not going to let you go to jail for helping me."
"I'll tell them you grabbed my jacket and ran."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Right. Like they'd believe that, considering our history."
"How will they know? I never told anyone about that night."
Something flickered in his eyes. "I was referring to our friendship," he said quietly. "The fact that we lived in the same house for an entire month."
Nell felt her cheeks heat with a blush. "Of course."
Crash shook his head. "You've got to stay away from me. You've got to walk out of this courthouse and go home and not look back. Don't think about me, don't talk about me to anyone. Pretend that you never knew me. Forget I ever existed."
She closed her eyes. "Just go, all right? Get out of here, dammit, before they catch you."
Nell didn't hear him leave, but when she opened her eyes, he was gone.
Four hours. It had been nearly four hours, and no one was allowed to enter or exit the federal courthouse.
An alarm had sounded not more than thirty seconds after Crash had vanished in the stairwell, and within five minutes, the entire building had been locked up tight as the police searched for the fugitive.
It didn't seem possible that he hadn't been caught, but Crash was indisputably gone. It was as if he'd simply turned to smoke and drifted away.
Crash's lawyer had been questioned extensively by FInCOM agents but now Captain Phil Franklin sat alone in the coffee shop, reading a newspaper.
Nell slipped into the seat across from him. "Excuse me, sir. My name is Nell Burns, and I'm a friend of your missing client's."
Franklin looked at her over the top of his paper, his dark brown eyes expressionless. "A friend?"
"Yes. A friend. I know for a fact that he didn't kill Admiral Robinson."
Franklin put his paper down. "You know for a fact, hmm? Were you there, Miss...I'm sorry, what did you say your name was?"
"Nell Burns."
"Were you there, Miss Burns?" he asked again.
Nell shook her head. "No, but I was there last year. I was Daisy Owens's—Daisy Robinson's—personal assistant right up until the day she died. I lived in the same house with Jake and Daisy—and William Hawken—for four weeks. There's no way Billy could have conspired to kill Jake. I'm sorry, sir, but the man I came to know loved Jake. He would've died himself before harming the admiral."
Franklin took a sip of his coffee, studying her with his disconcertingly dark eyes. "The prosecution has witnesses who overheard Admiral Robinson and Lieutenant Hawken arguing this past January," he finally said, "before Hawken left the country for an extensive length of time. Apparently my client...your friend, Billy, and the victim had a rather heated disagreement."
"I just don't see how that could have been," she countered. "Those witnesses had to have been mistaken. In the entire time I lived with Crash—I mean, we didn't live together," she corrected herself quickly. "What I meant to say was that during the time that we lived under one roof..." She was blushing now, but she staunchly kept going, "I never heard Lieutenant Hawken raise his voice. Not even once."
"The witnesses claim the two men were arguing over a woman."
"What?" Nell snorted, her embarrassment overridden by her disbelief. "That's imp
ossible. The only woman in both of their lives was Daisy, and she died a few days after Christmas." She leaned forward. "Captain, I want to take the stand—be a character witness, isn't that what it's called?"
"That's what it's called. But when the defendant does something like jump his guards, pick the locks on his chains with the equivalent of a paper clip..." Franklin shook his head. "The man ran away, Miss Burns. If they ever catch him, if we ever do go to trial, I'm not sure a character witness is going to do your Billy-boy much good. Because when a man runs, he looks pretty damn guilty in the eyes of a judge and jury."
"He's not running away." There was no doubt about that in Nell's mind. "He went to find the person who's really responsible for Jake's death."
Franklin gazed at her. "Do you know where he is?"
"No. But I don't think they're going to find him until he comes back on his own. And you better believe that when he does come back, he's going to have the admiral's real killer in tow."
"It is possible that he'll try to contact you?"
Nell wished that he would. She shook her head. "No. He's been pretty adamant about me staying out of this."
Franklin's eyebrows lifted. "And this is what you call staying out of it?"
She didn't answer that.
He was silent for several long moments. "To be honest with you, Miss Burns, in the conversations I've had with Lieutenant Hawken, I didn't get a real strong sense that he cared a whole lot about this hearing. He seemed very...distant and...odd, I guess would be the best word for it. When I asked, he told me he didn't conspire to kill Admiral Robinson. But the evidence those ballistic reports provides is damning. And I can't help but wonder if perhaps this man didn't suffer some kind of breakdown, or—"
"No," Nell said.
"...post-traumatic stress syndrome, or—"
"No," she said more loudly.
"It's just that he was positively strange."
"That's just his way. When things get hard to deal with, he shuts himself down. He loved Jake," she said again, "and these past few weeks must've been hell for him. To lose a man he loved like a father, and then be accused of killing that man?" Nell held his gaze steadily. "Look, Captain, I've been thinking. Whoever did kill Jake knew about his relationship with Billy. They used him to get the assassins into Jake's house. That's the only reason Billy—Crash—was there that night."
It Came Upon A Midnight Clear Page 12
