Yellow Ribbons

by Caitlyn Willows

  Greg led the way along the cobblestoned pavers to the front door. The smell hit him before they reached it.

  “Oh my God.” Cornwall scrubbed his finger under his nose. “Is that—”

  “Yeah.” Greg pulled out his cell phone and dialed .

  On the street in the civilian world, Brigadier General H. G. Drake would be thought of as a teddy bear. He was big and burly—within regulation, of course. But there was nothing cuddly about him, at least not from his subordinates’ perspective. Grizzlies were tamer. He was reasonable and agreeable on good days. This wasn’t one of them.

  Lani stood front and center before his desk along with Lieutenant Colonel Seaberg, Jordan Beck, and Chief of Staff Colonel Jerry Reynolds. They’d been ordered to sit the hell down. Lani knew why—the general wanted to pace and hover over them, intimidate. He was doing a damn fine job of it. This, after having them cool their heels in the waiting room for the last thirty minutes.

  “Where the hell is Major Kenyon?” he yelled.

  She didn’t flinch, despite his mounting rage. “Missing and unaccounted for, sir. Master Gunnery Sergeant Landess and Lieutenant Cornwall are on their way to his house.”

  “There’s a possibility of alcohol abuse problems, sir,” Lieutenant Colonel Seaberg added.

  Thank God she’d briefed him.

  “Why is this only coming to light now?”

  “Sir, we all dropped the ball on this one, myself included.” This came from the Chief of Staff. It relieved Lani’s guilt considerably. “I suspected, but since there were no problems—”

  “No problems? The major hasn’t shown up for work! I’d be willing to bet this isn’t the first time, is it, Captain?”

  Back ramrod straight, hands folded in her lap, Lani met his glare with calm. “No, sir, it isn’t.” Her cell phone vibrated against her thigh.

  He stared down his nose at her. “Trust me, Captain Hollister, that’s going to reflect in your record, and anyone else’s who was complicit in this cover-up.”

  Lani doubted that would happen, since that included Colonel Reynolds and Lieutenant Colonel Seaberg. But shit rolled downhill, and she was at the bottom. Well, she and Greg.

  Another vibration buzzed her.

  General Drake targeted Jordan. “You look like you’ve been sleeping in a drawer. Do you not own a razor, Special Agent Beck? Clean clothes? Deodorant?”

  “With all due respect, sir. I’ve been at a murder scene all night long and had just left when your call came in. Knowing how concerned you’d be over the incident, I thought it more important to get here rather than detour home to pretty up.”

  That sarcasm was going to cost him. Lani bet he’d be transferred elsewhere very soon.

  “Yes, tell me about these murders.” The general parked his hands at his back. “Explain to me how one of PMO’s CID staff sergeants could be fucking a captain’s wife and now they’re both dead! It seems there’s more being covered up at your shop than Major Kenyon’s drinking, Captain Hollister.”

  “Sir, I was unaware—”

  “You were unaware of a hell of a lot, Captain! What else have you missed, turned a blind eye to, ignored?”

  Yes, the shit ball was headed right for her. The insistent buzz from her cell phone didn’t help matters either.

  “Answer that goddamn phone!”

  She fished the cell from her trouser pocket. Caller ID showed it was Greg. She punched the Talk button and pressed the phone to her ear.

  “Yes, Master Gunnery Sergeant,” she said.

  “We found Major Kenyon dead. Sheriff deputies are on scene.”

  “Who the fuck is it?” General Drake yelled.

  “Master Gunnery Sergeant Landess, sir. Major Kenyon is dead.”

  “Give me the fucking phone.” He snapped his hand out.

  Lani had no choice.

  “How?” he demanded when he put the phone to his ear.

  Greg’s voice carried to them. Either he was speaking extra loud so she’d overhear, or she had the volume cranked up. Something she’d have to correct later. For now, it was a blessing.

  “Preliminary check suggests a combination of alcohol and sleeping pills, sir.”

  “Fuck!” Drake slung the phone at Lani.

  She caught it in midair. A smidge of respect gleamed through the fury in his eyes. She was glad she hadn’t flinched, hadn’t shown weakness. General Drake’s admiration didn’t last long.

  “This is on you, Captain Hollister.”

  “No, sir.” Colonel Reynolds stood. “This is on all of us.”

  The general pulled in a breath, then gave a nod. “I want a full update by close of business today. All parties present. Dismissed.”

  Jordan beat them all out the door, dialing his cell as he went. From what little she caught of his conversation, he was on his way to Kenyon’s house.

  Lani trailed the other two men. Alone in the waiting room, she put the still-active phone to her ear. “I presume you heard that last.”

  “I did.” A weary sigh filtered her way. “There’s more. Deputies found blood-splattered clothes in the laundry room.”

  Fuck. “Coincidence?”

  “I doubt it.”

  So did Lani.

  Chapter Six

  Pattison arrived before the coroner, looking as beat down as Greg felt. Weariness grayed his face and reddened his eyes. Greg guessed he’d barely left the other scene. He exchanged a few words with the deputy, then headed their way. Greg and Cornwall exited Greg’s truck at the same time and met Pattison at the rear.

  “Twice in less than twenty-four hours,” Pattison said. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

  Sucks didn’t begin to describe how Greg felt. Kenyon was his boss, a man he’d known for many years, worked with side by side. His death hit damn hard, especially on the heels of hearing about everything else he’d been hiding. Drinking problem, yes. Failed marriage, yes. New girlfriend, yes. But murder? No. Greg refused to believe it.

  “No way I can let you walk the scene on this one, Master Gunnery Sergeant.”

  “That goes without saying.” Greg didn’t want to either, didn’t want to see Mick Kenyon lying in a pool of his own waste. The glimpse he’d caught when the deputy opened the door was hard enough.

  “I was hoping this was a coincidence,” Cornwall told him.

  “Highly unlikely. Two murder victims from PMO in the same night? One of them with bloodied clothes in his house?”

  Cornwall’s eyes widened. “You think this was murder? The deputies said it looked like it was an overdose. Sleeping pills and alcohol. They found the pills dumped out on the table next to him.”

  Pattison rubbed his eyes. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m dead tired and not thinking straight. It doesn’t help having an inept partner. Jordan’s on his way, though he’s as beat as I am.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, blinked, and looked up. “You’re quiet, Master Gunnery Sergeant. What’s your take on all this?”

  Greg briefed him on the drinking, divorce, and possible affair. “But I refuse to believe this was suicide. Accidental, yes.”

  “And the bloody clothes?” Pattison matched his stance, arms crossed, legs astride.

  “I don’t have a clue, and I don’t want to speculate.” Couldn’t speculate, because “murderer” didn’t mesh with the man he knew.

  “We’ll know soon enough.” Pattison looked around, squinting in the bright morning light. “I’ll have the deputies canvass the neighborhood. Once we were focused on homicide last night, we turned up a person of interest. One of the neighbors saw a strange car around the time of the murders and remembered a portion of the license plate.”

  The coroner pulled to a stop in front of the house. Shilling again. Greg couldn’t stay here another second, couldn’t risk overhearing Shilling verbally dissect Kenyon’s body.

  “We need to go,” Greg told him. “The deputies have our statements, and you know how to get hold of us.”

  “Sure, sure.” Pattison stepped aside. “I’ll
let you know what we turn up.”

  “Good. The general’s…anxious.”

  “I can imagine.” Pattison broke into an easy trot on his way over to brief Shilling.

  He started for the driver’s side of his truck, Cornwall dogging his heels. Once they were inside, Greg didn’t waste any time before driving off. Elbow braced on the door, chin on the tips of his fingers, Cornwall stared out the passenger window. He’d been somewhat quiet since they’d discovered…

  Greg swallowed the lump in his throat. It hurt to think of the major as remains. Hurt even more to think of how they’d failed him.

  “I know there’s nothing more we can do for him, but it still feels like betrayal to leave him alone,” Cornwall said.

  Greg flexed his fingers around the steering wheel. He could barely acknowledge Cornwall, and he sure as hell couldn’t look his way. Emotions teetered on a razor’s edge of grief. “I know.”

  “It sounds selfish, but I’m glad I didn’t see him like that.”

  Greg had—the barest glimpse of Kenyon lying there in white boxers, vomit, and shit overlaid with the bloody murder scene from the night before. The sights and scents of both were going to haunt him for a very long time.

  “Someone needs to call his wife. She needs to hear this from family, not official channels.”

  “Lani will take care of it.” Greg cursed himself for the lapse and prayed Cornwall didn’t catch it. The slip gauged his level of upset. Grief nudged his control to the side. He needed the peace and comfort of Lani’s presence. She gave those to him with a look, a sigh, the sound of her voice, or merely the feel of her body heat when she stood beside him. He hated the walls and rules that kept them apart. Hated that he couldn’t cling to her in public when he needed her most.

  Pain twisted his heart. A friend gone. A lover he couldn’t acknowledge. A life that suddenly felt hollow and much too short.

  “She’s the provost marshal now,” Cornwall said.

  “Unless the CG determines otherwise. He’s on a tear. Expect scorched-earth tactics, heads delivered on silver platters.”

  “Captain Hollister doesn’t deserve that. She’s a damn fine marine.”

  “Yes, she is.” The finest…in more ways than one. Another twist tied his heart in knots. Greg needed a distraction, something to keep his mind off the recent deaths and the burning need he had to be within touching distance of Lani. “So tell me a little about yourself. Hobbies, books, stuff like that.”

  Cornwall turned his way. “Don’t you think that’s a little crass, all things considered?”

  “We’ve got a thirty-minute drive back to base. I can’t spend it thinking about murders or the hell awaiting us at the office. I need normal, same as you. It’ll help face what’s to come.”

  “You’re very intuitive, Master Gunnery Sergeant.”

  “Sometimes.” It helped in a job like this and sucked when everything was so jumbled he couldn’t think straight.

  “I hope one day I can be half the man you are.”

  “Be careful what you wish for.” He managed a smile, though he didn’t trust the compliment.

  “Now that begs for a story,” Cornwall said with a laugh.

  “Not really. Still a work in progress.” And he wasn’t about to be sharing those details with anyone. “So…you.”

  Once Cornwall starting talking, it took little to keep him going. The upshot was that he was a lonely man with no friends who kept to himself out of fear his secret would come out. His well-to-do family cut him off when he chose the Marine Corps over their plans.

  The conversation managed to chase the shadows away from Greg’s mind. They returned the minute he pulled onto the Marine Corps base. The devastation lurking on the MP’s face as he waved them through the front gate told Greg the word was out. PMO was going to play hell, trying to get its people through this. Two of their own dead. Funerals, investigations, grief counseling, voids to fill.

  Like the one in his soul right now. The need to get to Lani ate at his gut, as if he wouldn’t be whole again until he saw her, felt her near him. Then he could breathe again, think again, handle anything the world and the Marine Corps could throw his way.

  “I appreciate you listening to me today, Master Gunnery Sergeant.” Back on base, back into the roles military regulation required.

  “Not a problem, Lieutenant. I enjoyed getting to know you better.”

  They left Greg’s truck at the same time, Cornwall’s stride speaking of a confidence that wasn’t there before. Greg wished his could be as sure. It felt like he was running in sand, trying to get inside and to Lani’s office. He and Cornwall went their separate ways: Cornwall to his office, Greg to Lani’s.

  “Give me a status report of where we are, Corporal Mathias,” he heard Cornwall ask. Greg didn’t wait to hear the answer.

  His pace quickened, past his office and on to hers. She juggled phone calls, paperwork, and a stream of people coming and going. Kenyon’s office had been taped off with yellow tape. He stepped to the door and found CID combing through the place, most likely looking for anything that would help explain what had happened. Greg doubted Lani had run this past NCIS or higher command. Good for her.

  Returning to her door, Greg poked his head in. “We’re back. When you’re ready, ma’am.”

  Phone pressed to her ear, she glanced up, started to wave him in, then froze and covered the mouthpiece. “I’ll come to you.”

  Sweet words, sweeter salvation. He closed the door behind him when he went into his own office, hurried to dress in his cammies, and then sank into the nearest chair, head buried in his hands. The door opened and closed, the lock snicked. He could smell her, feel her.

  Lani brushed her hands over his back. Her breath tickled his ear right before she rested her chin on his shoulder. A kiss to his cheek crashed the last barrier to his emotions. Greg let go, pulling her into his lap and holding on for dear life. She said nothing; she didn’t have to. She maneuvered until his head rested against her bosom, then brushed the grief into submission with slow caresses over his back. Finally he lifted his head to her lips for a simple kiss that healed the rawness and spawned an erection that embarrassed him for its ill-timed appearance. He drew away, desperate to put some distance between them before he did something stupid. Lani held on tight.

  “No no.” She cupped his face. “It’s okay. When faced with death, it’s natural to need to reaffirm we’re alive. You know that.”

  He did…until it happened to him. “All I want to do is bury my cock in you. Right here. Right now.”

  “Then do it,” she whispered against his lips. “Do it.” She crawled from his lap and stood between his knees.

  His brain shut down when he saw her wiggle her cammie trousers and panties down her hips. She turned and bent over, shoving the clothing to her ankles and giving him a damn fine view of her ass. The scent of her arousal screamed his name.

  “Take me,” she whispered and knelt before him.

  “You’ll get rug burns.” He wrapped one arm around her waist and hoisted her to her feet while his other hand worked frantically to get his cock free. “Desk,” he ordered, and they fumbled to reach it. It was going to be a tight fit with Lani’s ankles trapped. Just what he needed. Tight, hot, quick, risky.

  She raised her hips as high as she could, searching for a handhold on his cluttered desk. Greg grabbed his cock and aimed for her slick pussy, both of them gasping when he plunged deep. He cupped his fingers over her clit.

  “Don’t worry about me,” she said. “This is for you. We both need this. Take it. Do it. Fuck me.”

  God help him, Greg did. Fucking her hard and fast, like his life depended on it. At that moment, he was fairly sure it did.

  He came quick, the force snapping his pelvis forward and cracking the vertebrae in his spine…maybe even a molar or two from locking his jaw to keep from crying out. He brushed his thumbs over her hips, worried he’d left bruises because he’d held her so tight. Her hard breaths
matched his, a fight to keep sound in and their liaison hidden. Her pussy throbbed around his spent cock. Slick, hot, and tight. He couldn’t leave her like this. His days as a selfish lover were long gone. She needed release as much as he had, and he was going to see she got it.

  Greg eased from her body and tucked his dick away. Lani started to stand before he finished buttoning. He stayed her with a palm to her back, another over her warm ass. He expected protest, but she merely sighed. Greg leaned over her, nipping at her earlobe and slipping his hand between her legs. She lifted and spread as far as her clothing allowed and succeeded in trapping his hand between her thighs. He fingered her clitoris and slid his thumb into her pussy.

  Her lips moved on soundless words, her body rocked into his touch. Beautiful. Perfect. His. At least for now. And that was all that mattered.

  Lani clamped her lips against the orgasm that drenched his hand. Greg rested his head against hers, breathing in the moment.

  “It’s Friday,” he whispered. “Stay with me this weekend, Lani. I need you. Need you.”

  She pulled in a short breath, held it, then nodded. It was all he could do not to fuck her again.

  Chapter Seven

  Standing room only in the commanding general’s waiting room. Lani knew this wasn’t going to end well. All the major players cooled their heels waiting for the summons to enter, each with their own report. In the end, Lani knew there was only one thing General Drake would want to know—what the fuck was going on. She couldn’t tell him.

  Jordan looked like he’d been on a three-day bender. A long night and brutal crime scenes had taken their toll. He’d propped himself against the wall, sucking on yet another breath mint to cover his coffee breath. Though he’d remembered to shave and put on a fresh shirt, neither helped his appearance. He looked half-dead and rumpled. Every so often, Lani saw him pinch the webbing between his thumb and forefinger. Most likely trying to stay awake. His grip on the battered leather portfolio under his arm suggested it was a losing battle.

  “Don’t forget to turn off your phone,” she whispered.