She clutched the tire iron in her right hand and her duffel bag in her left. Shoulders squared, she donned an air of confidence she didn’t feel and marched into the building. She passed no one, though the rumble of voices near the coffee mess told Lani she wasn’t alone. She didn’t expect to be. Law enforcement was a twenty-four/seven operation. By now someone would have heard about Tipton. His fellow marines would mourn, speculate, cast blame to the four winds. God only knew what would come out of all this. Who knew what and when. They’d be doing damage control for a while.
Lani stopped in front of Kenyon’s door long enough to twist the knob. She wasn’t surprised to find it locked too. If the major trusted anyone with a key, it might be Greg. They’d known each other a long time. But Greg wasn’t here yet, though she doubted he’d be much later. If breaking into Kenyon’s office and desk was a royal fuck-up, it was going to be hers, not Greg’s. Kenyon would still be able to trust Greg when it was all said and done.
She dropped her duffel on the floor, stabbed the end of the tire iron into the doorjamb next to the lock, and pried it open. The door splintered, the crack popping down the hall. That’d bring marines out to investigate. Sure enough she heard, “Ma’am?” as she crossed the threshold.
Kenyon staged his desk at the far end of the long room and strategically behind the door, so that the open door blocked his desk from view when first walking into the room. Lani’s setup was similar. Hell, all of theirs were in order to better defend themselves. Cops were a paranoid bunch. With good reason. She shoved the major’s leather executive chair aside with her hip. One tug of the drawer revealed the desk locked. She thrust the tire iron into the top drawer of the locked desk just as a head peered around the door.
“Ma’am?” Corporal Mathias’s eyebrows inched upward on his forehead. “Uhm… Breaking into the major’s desk, ma’am?”
“Yes, I am.” She pushed the bar down, and the drawer popped open. “Now out. And shut the door behind you.”
“I…uhm…can’t, ma’am. You sorta broke it.”
“Then sorta make sure I’m not disturbed…by anyone.”
His gasp sucked the air out of the room. “Not even master guns?”
Lani would have laughed had the situation not been so dire. Greg’s rank gave him power. His experience and maturity helped him use it with grace and discretion. She tried her best to follow his example.
“Did I not just give you an order, Corporal?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He ducked out, pulling the broken door behind him.
The precision neatness in Kenyon’s desk drawers freaked Lani out. Everything was well-ordered and in its assigned place. He’d know if anyone had violated his space. A small stack of business cards lay in the tray next to his paperclips. Lani rifled through them but found nothing with Nerine’s cell phone number. She turned to the bank of drawers down the left side of the desk and finally found what she was looking for buried under two coffee cups, dental floss, mouthwash, breath mints, chewing gum, and a bag of lemon drops. A scrap of paper ripped from a steno pad with the word Nerine and a number slashed across the corner in black marker. It’s raggedness looked out of place in the pristine desk. Perhaps written in haste. Or anger?
Lani tucked that thought away, sat in Kenyon’s office chair, and reached for the phone on Kenyon’s desk. Instinct made her pull her hand away. Instead, she used her cell, then leaned back and counted the rings. One. Two.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Nerine.” At least she hoped it was Nerine. It sounded like her. “This is Elaine Hollister. I—”
“Something happened. Didn’t it?” Her voice quavered. “Please tell me no one else got hurt. Oh, God. Is he dead?”
Stunned, Lani struggled for a response. “He didn’t come home last night?”
She heard the intake of breath, then a slowly released sigh. “I left Mick last November. Right after the ball. The kids and I are living in San Diego near my family. He didn’t tell you?”
“No.” Lani barely managed to get the word out.
Another sigh. “I had no choice. His drinking had gotten to the point where he… He wasn’t the man I thought he was. I did what I thought was best for us all. I filed for divorce and sole legal and physical custody of the children. The last time we saw him was at Christmas. Briefly. He indicated he’d moved on, found someone else, and was better off without me. I couldn’t agree more.”
“I-I don’t know what to say.” And that was the truth.
“I’m not surprised he didn’t say anything,” Nerine told her. “He’s very good at hiding things, and for good reason. He’s made some real career-busting moves and… Well, like I said, he’s not the man I thought he was. I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to realize it. The drinking… Is he…all right?”
Lani wouldn’t lie. “I don’t know. He didn’t come in.” Again. “We can’t reach him by phone. Do you know who this new person in his life is?”
Nerine took so long answering, Lani wondered if the call had dropped. “I can’t say.”
Can’t say, or won’t say?
“Let me know if he’s all right. He’ll hate that you did, but…” Her voice broke. “I still love him, you know. How stupid does that make me?”
“Not stupid at all. I’ll let you know.”
“Maybe you can get him help with the drinking and…stuff.”
“I don’t think he’ll have a choice.” There was no covering this up. Lani was ashamed she hadn’t acted on her suspicions earlier. Disbelief, fear of ruining a good marine’s career…neither were good excuses. There were no excuses.
Lani ended the call with another promise to keep Nerine informed and exited Kenyon’s office to find Greg braced against the wall, his arms crossed and a glower darkening his face. Mathias quivered beside him.
“Thank you, Corporal Mathias. Put in a request to have the door fixed.” She stooped for her duffel. “Master Gunnery Sergeant Landess, please get Lieutenant Cornwall and come to my office.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Heads ducked back into offices, but the whispered conversations didn’t die as she headed down the hallway. The news was out. Staff Sergeant Tipton was dead. Major Kenyon was UA. Another unauthorized absence. Probably drunk again, they’d say. Lani damned herself for letting it go on. What the hell had she been thinking? The man had a problem, and they’d ignored it.
She opened her office door and blessed Greg’s consideration when she saw the large coffee from Carl’s Jr. in the middle of her desk. Office coffee sucked. This one would be the right temperature, have the right amount of half-and-half. She popped the lid, tested to make sure her assumptions were correct, then sucked down half of it and sank into her pleather chair.
“I can get you another if you’d like,” Greg said as he and their lanky operations officer walked in and sat in the chairs before her desk.
Like her and Greg, Lieutenant Cornwall had yet to change into uniform. Unlike them, he looked like he was dressed for prep school. The only thing missing was a school tie. Lani suspected the man didn’t own a pair of jeans. She’d never met someone more out of place.
“Breakfast sandwich too,” Greg added.
Tempting, but she didn’t think her stomach could handle it. “I already ate.” Besides, she had another mission for the two of them, one they wouldn’t like. Lani would do it herself, but…
“Lieutenant, I’m sure you’ve heard about Staff Sergeant Tipton.” She laced her fingers together on her blotter and leaned forward.
“Not the full details, but yes.” Long fingers absently picked at a white bandage on his forearm. He was constantly toying with something, a nervous habit whenever he was under stress. She imagined her breaking into Kenyon’s office had upset his rules’ radar.
“It could be a while before any of us have the full details.” She forced herself to lean back and appear relaxed and in charge when she felt anything but. “Right now, we have another problem to deal with.”
; “The major.” Greg managed the calm facade Lani sought. One day she’d discover his secret. “Still can’t reach him?”
“No. Not on his home or cell phone. I got his wife’s cell from his office.” Just spit it out. “She left him last fall and filed for divorce. She couldn’t put up with his drinking any longer and indicated it had caused other problems in the marriage. Last time Nerine and the kids saw him was at Christmas. He’d apparently moved on.”
“Then he might be with that person.” Lieutenant Cornwall slid his palms over his thighs, leaving sweat behind on the navy blue slacks.
“Or he could be incapacitated at his house,” Lani said. “We have to exhaust all possibilities. Our major needs our help, and I’m embarrassed and somewhat ashamed that I’ve deluded myself into believing otherwise.”
“The blame isn’t solely yours, Captain.” Greg parked his elbows on the wooden armrests and templed his fingers before him. “I’ve known the man for many years. I should have been more diligent.”
A flush covered Cornwall’s face. He said nothing.
“I’m presuming you’d like us to go to his home and check on him,” Greg said.
“Yes. I need to be on hand for the CG.”
Greg pushed his thumbs against each other. “You could anticipate his demand and go to his office now.”
She considered that for a bit then shook her head. “Granted the major has a problem, but I’d rather give him every opportunity to show up for work. I don’t want to have to skyline him if I don’t have to, but I will advise Lieutenant Colonel Seaberg of the situation.”
Major Kenyon’s history with the Headquarters Battalion commanding officer was as long-standing as was the one he had with Greg. Seaberg would be able to help them with an intervention.
“Good plan, ma’am. I’ll call you once we get to his house.” He stood in one fluid movement. Cornwall wasn’t as graceful. Lani had never seen anyone stumble from a chair before. If his eyes got any wider, they’d pop out.
She waited until they cleared the door to call Lieutenant Colonel Seaberg. Corporal Mathias filled the doorway before she could punch in the last two numbers.
“Head shed called, ma’am. The general wants the major in his office now.”
Her back tensed. She’d known someone from the general’s office would be calling. There was nothing else she could do. “Thank you, Corporal.” She punched in the last two numbers. She’d covered Kenyon’s ass long enough. It was time to cover her own and admit her wrongdoing.
Cornwall wasn’t much of a talker. The man had a submissive streak a mile wide too. It irritated Greg more than he was willing to admit out loud. It took balls to be a marine, and as far as he was concerned, Cornwall didn’t have any. He did his job well but lacked leadership skills and was too soft-spoken. Some thought him sneaky. Greg considered him to be a ticking bomb. A man that subdued had hidden issues of some kind.
“What if Captain Hollister is wrong? What if he’s only with his new girlfriend and lost track of time?”
Greg wanted to ask him where the hell he’d been the last several months. Hadn’t he smelled the booze on Major Kenyon? But it wasn’t fair to shove blame Cornwall’s way. They were all at fault.
“He’s not at work, and his drinking’s escalated. We can’t reach him and have no choice. If he’s sober and doing his woman, fine. But it won’t excuse the fact he has a drinking problem and needs help.”
“What if he’s violent and out of control? What if he’s pissed and takes it out on us? I can’t afford to jeopardize my career for…”
Greg resisted the urge to whip his truck to the shoulder and let the man have it. Verbally, of course. He focused on the road and reminded himself he was dealing with a wet-behind-the-ears lieutenant.
“Marines take care of our own, Lieutenant Cornwall. In battle and at home. If you expect your marines to follow you during wartime, they have to know they can depend on you in peacetime too. You have to show them you have what it takes to lead, to do what’s tough, to make the right choice for everyone. Being a marine isn’t about a career. It’s about being the best, doing the best. We’re the go-to guys. Those who work with you need to know they can go to you, no matter what.”
“God, you really believe all that.” Was that awe or disgust in Cornwall’s voice? Greg didn’t care enough to dissect it.
“I do believe it. I wouldn’t be a marine otherwise. And if you don’t believe it, maybe you shouldn’t be a marine anymore, sir.” It was damn hard to add that sign of respect military required enlisted give to officers.
“I…”
Greg glanced at him from the corner of his eye. Cornwall fiddled with the bandage on his forearm. His gaze was locked forward. Greg wasn’t sure but thought he saw a trickle of sweat make its way down the side of his face.
“What happened to your arm?”
Cornwall jerked his hand from the bandage. “Cut it on my car. Flat tire. Jack slipped.”
Greg heard him swallow, caught a glimpse of his Adam’s apple plunging down and then up.
“You…” Cornwall pulled in a shaky breath. “I hear talk in the office.” Greg could barely hear him. “That no matter what’s going on, the troops can come to you. That you won’t judge. That you find solutions.”
Greg tried to be that type of man in all that he did. “Life has its hurdles, and I’ve had my share. Someone was there for me at a dark moment; I like to return that consideration.”
“How dark a moment?”
“Very. If it weren’t for that help, I wouldn’t be a marine today.”
Greg waited for him to ask what it was and debated his response. It wasn’t his proudest moment. He’d been young, stupid, volatile. No, Cornwall didn’t need to know the specifics.
“Are you…gay?”
Fuck, didn’t see that one coming. Since Cornwall asked, Greg suspected he was looking for a sympathetic ear. That, he could have. “No, I’m not.” He replied without judgment or rancor, his voice inviting open conversation if Cornwall wanted it. In fact… “And I don’t have a problem if you are. In my opinion, it’s no one’s fucking business.”
Tension drained from the man. He slumped into the seat and gave a sigh that spelled relief. “I wanted to serve my country. Wanted to be a marine more than anything. Told myself I could manage being gay and being a marine. I didn’t expect it to be so difficult. I hear people trash talk gays, threaten them. Relaxed tolerance doesn’t mean shit.”
It was the first time Greg had ever heard the man curse. He was human after all.
“I’m so afraid of being outed. So afraid of losing the thing I wanted most. So afraid someone’s going to notice a hard-on and make something out of it that isn’t.”
“We’re guys, Lieutenant. Erections are a way of life, and our penises have minds of their own.”
“It’s Bob. My name. Please, call me Bob. Not that I’m hitting on you or anything. I need to have a little normal in my life right now,” he added in a rush.
“I wouldn’t take offense if you were, nor would I beat the shit out of you or report you. For me, it’s no different than having a woman hit on me.” Greg meant it.
“I wish everyone felt that way.” He flicked away the bead of sweat from his forehead.
“Oh for the perfect world.”
“Then there’d be no need for marines,” Cornwall added.
“There’s always a place for marines.”
Cornwall laughed lightly. “God, I hope so. Hope I can continue to fly under the radar. Honestly, if I could only find a safe outlet. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had sex. I swear I’m going to go insane.”
Those words alone made all the ones before feel like a lie, a trap. It smacked of a hidden agenda. That sneaky others called Cornwall. The sudden outpouring of personal information, taking Greg into his confidence, an invitation to share. It was a little too coincidental for Greg.
“I know how you feel.”
“For the first time in years, I a
ctually feel human again.”
It was time to steer this conversation elsewhere. Give Cornwall something else to think about besides whatever track he was on.
Greg glanced his way. “And ready to face a possibly irate major?”
Cornwall sucked a breath through his teeth. “I think I can face the major better than I could the CG. I don’t envy Captain Hollister at all right now.”
“She’s a strong marine. The woman can definitely hold her own.” Pride filled his chest, and his nerve endings zapped electricity throughout his body at the thought of being plugged into her hot body. Talk about inconvenient erections.
“Tell me about the murder scene last night,” Cornwall asked.
It was the perfect distraction and kept them occupied until Greg pulled into Major Kenyon’s driveway. The neighborhood was the picture of desert suburbia, not dissimilar to what one might find in Palm Springs or Las Vegas. Greg didn’t care for it. The houses were packed too tight together and cut off the view of the area. It made him feel a little claustrophobic. Sand was raked to feng shui perfection around the Washingtonia palms and purple sage in each front yard. Basketball hoops hovered over every other garage. Redwood fencing obscured the backyards, most likely hiding pools. One thing set the Kenyon home apart from the others—there was a yellow ribbon tacked to the front door.
“The neighbors had to have known Mrs. Kenyon and the kids were gone,” Cornwall said.
“God only knows what excuse he might have given them.” Greg looked around but could find no evidence of anyone out and about. “Living in a neighborhood doesn’t necessarily make for good neighbors. They might keep to their own castles. Ready?”
“Yeah, I think I can face just about anything right now.”
Yellow Ribbons Page 5
