The Marine

Instead, she asked, “Have you done laundry lately, Major?”

He paused in his battle with the bumper and squinted up at her. “What?”

The guy had nice teeth. Among other things. “I was just wondering if you’d washed the clothes you were wearing the night of the accident.”

He went very still. “Why?”

“Because I’d like to see them.”

“Why?” he repeated, but with even more suspicion.

“To check if there’s residue on them from the airbag. The same stuff that’s all over the inside of your truck.”

He squinted up at her for a moment more, then used his strong leg to push himself farther beneath the bumper. “Sorry. Laundry day was yesterday.”

Liar.

She had no idea why she was so certain, but she was. And he had no reason to lie to her. He knew his guilt or innocence didn’t matter to her. If he didn’t want her to see his clothes because he didn’t want her help, he could just tell her no.

So why lie to her? Unless he was lying about other things…Or copping the Fifth to avoid having to lie…

She snapped the folder closed and leaned her shoulder against the side mirror. “So what were you celebrating?”

“Celebrating?”

“Yes, celebrating. There was nothing in your files about any sort of drinking problem, so you must have been celebrating something to tie one on like that.”

More clanking, more protesting metal. “Guess it’d been a good day.”

“A good day? Hmm.” She flipped to another page in the file. “Let’s see. It says your MOS is 0302. What does that mean?”

There was a long silence, and just as she was deciding he wasn’t going to answer, he said, “MOS stands for Military Occupational Specialty, and 0302 is Infantry.”

She already knew as much, having spent several late hours the night before she flew out to California poring over the USMC’s Web site. By the time she finished, she’d wanted to join up. But she needed to draw him out.

“Thank you. I imagine you form quite a few strong bonds in the infantry. So who were you with? You know, at the bar? Who were you drinking with?”

Silence from beneath the truck.

Lynn’s confidence in her gut instinct grew. “Or were you drinking alone? The witnesses said there’d been just one person in the red pickup. And if you’d been with friends, they wouldn’t have been very good friends to let you get into your truck and drive away drunk enough not to recognize your right from your left. So were you at the Rancho Margarita Bar drinking alone?”

While she didn’t expect one, she gave time for an answer.

When enough time had passed, she continued. “Though the cops wouldn’t have bothered checking, because you’re making their job easy as hell, I’m sure the bartender will remember you. Definitely the cocktail waitresses. I mean, a guy like you—” She caught herself before she elaborated on his very memorable traits.

No need to let him know she found him attractive. She was there simply to get him out of this potential disaster with the civilian authorities and have him discharged from the Marines fast.

She straightened away from the side mirror. If there was more to this story—namely, that Major Rick Branigan hadn’t been driving this truck when it plowed into another car—then she could either get him free of the charges quickly, or she’d end up dragging the investigation out for months. Especially if he continued to behave like a jackass and withhold his cooperation.

Considering the clock always ticking in the back of her mind and what she had at stake, did she dare risk finding out?

Chapter Three

“What do you mean, a guy like me?”

His speculative tone from beneath the truck snapped Lynn out of her dire musings. She realized the major wasn’t wrenching on the bumper anymore.

Still conflicted over what she wanted to do about his potential innocence, she tried for a casual approach, as if she were stating the obvious. “The type waitresses remember.”

“Which is?”

“Are you looking for compliments, Major?”

“Only if you’re in the mood to give them, Miss Hayes.”

What she was in the mood for was an open-and-shut case. A case that wouldn’t give her a moment’s pause but would earn her one more notch in her belt. One more promotion to insulate her from the numbing chill of her past. One more reason to be able to sleep at night. If she shut down her instincts about his innocence right here, right now, this case could garner her the security she craved.

But could even she, a woman perfectly willing to dart in front of a more tenured co-worker to get the next promotion, let an innocent man plead guilty to anything to get him where he needed to be on time? Could she sacrifice him for her own selfish needs?

The man in question pulled himself from beneath the truck and eyed her. “I was beginning to think you’d left.”

She hadn’t. She couldn’t.

“Just searching for a suitable compliment.”

He snorted and pushed himself to his feet. “If you have to try that hard, then don’t bother.”

Surprised by his sense of humor, she laughed. He stared at her, his brows raised. She did her best to ignore the fact that the man had beautiful eyes. “What?”

It was as though her question startled him back into action, and he brushed off the seat of his jeans and the back of his T-shirt. “I have to admit I didn’t take you for the laughing sort.”

Surprised at herself for being susceptible to him in any way, she raised her chin. “Sorry to disappoint you, Major.”

“Trust me, I’m not disappointed.” But he didn’t sound happy, either. “I’ll walk you up to my place so you can get the rest of your stuff.”

So he was back to trying to get rid of her. Fine. She was ready to go. She had some serious thinking to do.

Lynn held up a hand. “That’s okay. I can manage on my own. You stay down here so your tools don’t go for a walk, too.”

He turned his attention back to the truck. Planting his hands on his hips, he blew out a breath. “I still have my work cut out for me with this thing.”

“Do you have something against body shops?”

His gaze flicked over her in a way that made her very conscious of her own body. In particular, what lay between her hem and the modest neckline of her buttoned blazer. Another bead of sweat erupted from the overheated skin at the top of her cleavage and started its slow progression down to her bra.

He met her eyes again. “Not a thing. But since the main base pool is closed today, I’ve nothing better to do.”

“Are you a swimmer?” She couldn’t help taking another visual inventory of his body. Thick biceps—with that eagle-globe-and-anchor tattoo that drew the eye—muscle-capped shoulders and strong-looking chest and legs. All of which she’d automatically attributed to his being in the military.