Jodie Bailey - Freefall

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MARITAL INVESTIGATION

With one accusation, army officer Cassidy Matthews’s name, reputation—and life—are on the line. A Special Forces soldier insists that Cassy’s Fort Bragg-based unit is smuggling drugs. And the accuser? It’s Cassy’s handsome, stubborn ex-husband, Major Shane Logan. Shane knows Cassy is innocent, which is why he’s sure she’s being set up to take the fall. Proving it, though, means working together...and trying to ignore the feelings they still share. The closer they get—to the truth and each other—the more the danger grows from a ruthless criminal who’ll stop at nothing to destroy them both.

Shane’s voice dropped with a level of gravity she’d never heard before. “You have to listen to me.”

Cassidy shook her head, steeling herself against the sight of her ex-husband. She couldn’t stop herself from noticing he’d filled out over the past few years. Brown hair still spiked forward over his forehead, but the green eyes she’d first fallen for had darkened and grown wiser. His army combat uniform rode his shoulders in a way that spoke of lean muscle and sheathed strength.

This older version of Shane Logan carried himself like a man.

As always, the woman in her wanted to react to the man in him. Jerking her chin to the side, she called up her soldier facade. “Today’s not the day for my ex-husband to step back into my life.”

Something flashed in his eyes. “I understand that. And this isn’t by choice.” Shane took one short step into the room, but it was enough to back Cassidy tight against the wall. “You’re not safe, Cassy.”

He had no idea.

About the Author

JODIE BAILEYhas been weaving stories since she learned how to hold a pencil. It was only recently she learned that everyone doesn’t make up whole other lives for fun in their spare time. She is an army wife, a mom and a teacher who believes chocolate and a trip to the Outer Banks will cure all ills. In her spare time, she reads cookbooks, rides motorcycles and searches for the perfect cup of coffee. Jodie lives in North Carolina with her husband and her daughter.

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Love does not delight in evil but rejoices

with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

—1 Corinthians 13:6–7

To Paul: You really are everything I never knew

I needed. God knew it would take you to make me totally me. He’s awesome like that. I love you.

And to Cailin: I love you infinity times infinity. Plus one.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

EPILOGUE

DEAR READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

TEASER CHAPTER

ONE

The explosion blasted a tidal wave of sound through the yellow cinder block walls, rocking the building like an earthquake.

Army Chief Warrant Officer Cassidy Matthews’s hands flew to the back of her head. She dived for cover on the floor, cracking her forehead against the top of the desk. Her sinuses rattled. Stars shot through her vision. For an instant, the room evaporated, and the foul oiliness that permeated the air of Iraq overwhelmed her.

Only this wasn’t Baghdad.

“Mac!” She shook her head to clear her vision and inventoried the room. No blast holes in the wall. Roof intact. No smoke. But where was Master Sergeant McIntyre? He’d been standing right in front of her not ten seconds earlier. Planting her hands on her desk, Cassidy pushed herself to her feet just as Mac braced his hands opposite hers and rose to meet her eyes.

Mac’s eyes scanned the room. “You okay, Chief?”

With a quick nod, Cassidy ducked around the older man and headed for the windows that overlooked the enormous wooden tables on the parachute packing floor below. The few riggers who were packing their quota of static line chutes before lunch raced for the door, their muffled shouts a strong indicator that whatever went off was right outside the large concrete and cinder block Eighty-Second Airborne Rigger Shed.

She whirled to Mac. “Get down there. Stop them from exiting the building before we know what’s going on. The last thing we need is—”

“To draw fire if this is some kind of setup?”

Cassidy’s exhale almost echoed off the walls of her office. Not on Fort Bragg. Surely they were safe here. “Corral them the best you can.”

Sergeant Erin Landon appeared in the doorway, wisps of her wavy brown hair straggling from the knot beneath her red rigger’s cap. Sweat sheened her forehead, which creased her porcelain skin into deep lines over dark blue eyes. “Chief, Private Anderson’s car just went up in the parking lot.”

With a glance back, Mac disappeared out the door.

“Anderson’s car? Where is Anderson? Right now?” Please don’t say he’s in his car. Cassidy snatched the phone and dialed 9-1-1, the receiver quaking in her hand. “Find him. Make sure he’s—” The words refused to come. Anderson was a green private, new to the company as of a couple of months ago, fresh out of basic and rigger school. He couldn’t be more than nineteen.

She had to know all of her soldiers were okay. “Never mind.” As the operator answered, she thrust the phone at Landon. “Tell them what’s going on.” Without waiting to see if the sergeant followed her order, she brushed past her, racing for the stairs.

* * *

Lungs burning and heart thumping so hard he could hear it, Major Shane Logan pushed harder and tried to keep a line of sight on the man he pursued across the parking lot. It got harder by the second. The advantage tipped the wrong way. The July heat worked against him in his desert boots and Army Combat Uniform. The man ahead of him wore jeans and running shoes. Every thud of foot on pavement reinforced the difference.

The pair plunged into a maze of shipping containers on the back side of the parking lot. By the time Shane skidded around the corner of the second trailer-sized container, the man had disappeared. His eyes roamed the sea of identical tractor trailer-sized containers and stopped. The guy could be anywhere.

Sweat burned his eyes. How did he get here anyway? If this day had gone as planned, by now he’d have a soda in his hand, baseball on the TV and two weeks of vacation stretching before him. He should have minded his own business. Instead, he had to come and see for himself whether or not what his interpreter in Afghanistan had told him was true. Someone was using the parachutes returning from the war zone to smuggle Afghan opium into the country.