Leah Vale - The Marine

Her knee-jerk response was Not if I can help it, but something about his admission of guilt struck her as odd. Coupled with what she knew about him from his files…

The fine hairs on her arms stood on end. Something was wrong. Did Joseph suspect as much, also? Was that why he was willing to seek special treatment for the first time that she was aware of?

She shook her intuition off. She wasn’t here to worry about right or wrong. She was here to earn the promotion Joseph had all but promised her in exchange for the presence of this grandson at his birthday party on July third. The promotion could be one more step upward. One more step toward the security she could never be too sure of.

Her third goal—a security for which she’d do anything, sacrifice anything.

“You should have more faith in my abilities, Major Branigan.”

“Your abilities are not in question, Ms. Hayes.” Though Rick had tried to keep his attention fixed on the distant view of the late-morning sun glinting off the Pacific Ocean, his body was all too aware of the woman seated behind him. His gaze strayed from the older apartment complex down the hill from his condominium to his smashed red pickup truck sitting out front.

What had Pete been thinking?

But that was just it. Pete didn’t think; he simply did. Always had. When they were kids, Rick, as Pete’s best friend, had been there to divert disaster. A lot had changed between them since, yet not everything.

Needing to move, to do something, he turned from the window and headed for the door. Nothing more than a symbolic way out, but at the moment, he’d take anything he could get.

“What is in question is how we’re going to—Major Branigan?” she practically yelled.

He glanced back at her as he yanked open the front door. Her exotic eyes were wide. For the first time since she’d strolled through his door she looked flustered, no longer the queen of her domain.

Normally, he would have felt guilty about being so rude, but he’d stowed his conscience the day the cops had come knocking.

He was about to step out—

“Major!”

He relented and made up an excuse to toss her. “I have to work on my truck.” He reached back in and scooped his keys off the small table in the hall. “Just be sure you shut the door behind you after you’ve gathered your stuff. Don’t want Buddy to get out.” He pointed at the cat beneath the table, watching him with blatant interest. Rick never knew what the damn thing was going to do from one minute to the next.

The lawyer glanced from the cat, to her files, to him, opening and closing her mouth as if wanting to sputter but too polished to actually indulge in something so telling. Rick took advantage of her distress and left the condo, shutting the door behind him.

He’d barely made the landing before he heard his door open and close quickly—good, no escape for Buddy today, the slippery cat—then her heels rapped on the stairs as she hurried down.

“Major Branigan—”

His attention on finding the key to his storage closet at the back of the carport, he called, “Thank you for delivering that letter, Ms. Hayes.” He passed his tarp-covered Suzuki motorcycle and when he heard her walk up behind him, he added, “At least now I know my father’s name.”

It didn’t change the way he felt about the man, or how he intended to live his life. Duty bound and with honor. All the way to the ugly end.

“Major. Rick.”

Her imploring use of his name made him glance at her as he opened the storage closet. She visibly clenched her jaw while she stared at him, single file folder gripped in her hands, marring her smooth, perfectly sculpted face.

This one didn’t back down. He liked that. But with him, such tenacity wouldn’t help her get what she wanted. Her three goals—whatever the third one was—would not be achieved.

Mustering as much finality and sincerity as he could, he said, “It was nice meeting you, Ms. Hayes.”

She studied him for a moment. Rick had the distinct impression he was being searched, that she was trying to see through him to the truth of him. To the sort of man he really was.

Wouldn’t do her any good. That man had been sacrificed to repay a debt.

He turned away and reached into the closet for his tool kit. When he straightened, she was reading the papers within the folder she had balanced open in one hand.

She mused, “So you admitted guilt to the arresting officers—”

He shut the storage-closet door. “We’ve already covered that.”

She ran a finger across a page. “But you refused any form of testing for blood-alcohol levels despite repeated warnings that doing so would be used against you at trial, and you refused further questioning.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “How do you know what I refused?”

“I have a copy of the police report right here.”

“How did you get that?”

A finely shaped black brow twitched. “The McCoys are remarkably connected, Major.”

“You mean rich enough to buy what they need.”

She slowly raised her eyes to his. “Actually, based on my experience during the five years I’ve worked for McCoy Enterprises, people are often eager to do things for the McCoys.” She shrugged. “Whether out of hope for future business opportunities or simply to be able to say they’ve had personal dealings with billionaires.”

Not interested in either of those things, and not caring to have his life bared for perusal by anyone except the military, he shifted the large, red metal toolbox to his other hand. “What else do you have there?”

Her smile was supremely confident. “I have it all, so you might as well accept the fact that I’m here to help you. I didn’t come all the way from Missouri for nothing.”

“No way, Ms. Hayes.” He turned and headed out of the carport.

She followed, her strides remarkably long and determined despite the height of her heels and the snugness of her skirt. Which were two things he hadn’t wanted to notice, given the disaster his life had become. So he stopped and asked, “Or is it ‘Mrs.’? Don’t you have a husband or someone waiting on you? Why don’t you fly home early and surprise him, ma’am.”

She made a disgusted-sounding noise. “Afraid not, Major. It’s Miss, and even if it weren’t, even if there was someone waiting for me to come home, which there isn’t, he’d just have to wait.” She glared for several moments, then her expression softened and she shifted toward him.

His survival-training-honed instincts went on high alert.

In a beguiling tone that was a far better match to her unusual eyes and full mouth, she said, “On the other hand, the more you cooperate with me, the sooner we can get you free of this unpleasantness. And the sooner you’re free of this unpleasantness, the sooner you can be rid of me. So it’s entirely up to you, Major.”

It was Rick’s turn to make a disgusted sound as he started again toward his truck. He might free himself of her, but they both knew he’d never be free of the stain “this unpleasantness” would leave on his reputation.

Nor would he be free of the McCoys, for that matter. His mood darkened further. He wasn’t about to run to them because he had nothing else to do.

He dropped his toolbox with a bang next to the crushed left front of the once dingless Dodge.

Planting his hands on his hips, he tried to ignore the woman next to him by focusing on the truck’s damage. The lights on this side were completely obliterated, the hood had buckled and the side panel was creased and streaked with black paint.

From the other car. The car of Emelie Dawson, forty-six, divorced mother of two.

If only he’d looked closer that night, he would have realized a tree hadn’t caused the damage. His throat tightened and his stomach turned.