The Marine

Then she could decide what to do.

RICK DREW STRENGTH from his frustration and lifted the heavier-than-normal weights away from his sides, his hissing breath loud in the deserted fitness room across the parking lot from his condo. While he’d never really thought much about the convenience of having a place to exercise at his condominium complex because he normally worked out on base, he’d found it a godsend in the days since he’d been released on bail. He probably would have exploded with frustration had he not been able to release some of the steam as sweat that drenched his white sleeveless T-shirt and black shorts.

Today he could have given Hercules a good go. It was already midmorning, and he was still going strong.

He couldn’t believe Lawyer Lady’s gall—

The door leading out to the parking lot opened. “Ah, it is you.”

Rick faltered and nearly dropped the dumbbells. Man, now she’s showing up when I think about her. Talk about a reason to stop thinking about her.

He turned to find Lynn striding toward him. Though how she practically marched in those heels was beyond him. The pale blue color and feminine cut of her suit coat and matching pants screamed girly-girl, but her in-charge walk, tightly pulled back hair and set jaw belied the packaging.

She was an interesting contradiction. And so not for him.

He turned away and readjusted his hold on the weights. “Butt out of my life, Miss Hayes.”

She came as close as she could without risking his hitting her as he went back to lifting the weights out to his sides. Not close, considering his arm-span, but close enough to make him unable to count as he raised and lowered the weights. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her cross her arms over her attention-grabbing breasts.

“I’m afraid that’s not an option, Major.”

The metal weights clanked as he brought them together in front of his hips. “Respecting other people’s privacy is always an option.”

“Not when your privacy is a matter of law—”

He jerked the weights upward. “I can’t believe you called my mother.”

“You’ve spoken with her?” Her tone had a sharp edge.

Boy, was she mistaken if she thought she could control Ann Branigan. No one put achieving her goals above all else like his mom.

He lowered his arms and brought the weights together. “Briefly.”

“So what did you two talk about?” She sounded as though she was worried about competition for the Supreme Commander seat.

He had to admit, Lynn Hayes was the first woman he’d ever met who might actually give Ann a run for her money.

He answered, “She called me this morning to tell me she was flying down to meet with you.” He tossed her a glare as he lifted his arms again. “Then she expects me to explain everything.”

“Will you?”

The hope in her voice had him gritting his teeth. She still didn’t get it.

“No. Why did you call her?”

“Her previous involvement with Marcus McCoy made contacting her a logical choice. I felt it was only right to inform her of his death, regardless of your level of cooperation.”

“You mean ‘lack thereof.’”

“Yes.”

The ghost of a child’s yearning for a deeper connection between the people who’d made him piggybacked on his unquestionable love for his mother and had him asking, “How’d she take the news that he’d been killed?”

“In stride.”

He scoffed. “That’s my mom.”

“It’s been a long time since she and Marcus were involved, Rick.”

He ignored her soft use of his name, the way it tempted him to see her as more than another problem he really didn’t need right now.

Aiming for a snide tone, he said, “Thirty-three years and nine months, to be exact.”

She shifted in front of him and looked him in the eye. Looked deep in him again. “Ah.”

He hated when she did that. “What do you mean, ah?”

“The whole ‘Always Faithful’ thing.”

To hide his surprise, Rick took his time setting down the hand weights. She would make a hell of an intel officer. “What are you talking about?”

“Just something your mother mentioned.”

“What my mom mentioned? About that—I don’t want you talking to my mother, or anyone else I know, for that matter.” He’d say the words, but he doubted she’d listen—

“Can’t do that,” she shot back.

He heaved a sigh, then told her flat-out, “You can and you—”

“I’m going to find out the truth about the accident, Rick.” She squared her shoulders and her stance, her jaw at a belligerent angle. “I’m going to uncover the truth, then I’m going to use it to find a way to get you out of trouble and back to Dependable so the terms of your father’s will can be executed. And give Joseph McCoy the gift of one of his grandsons for his seventy-fifth birthday.”

He mimicked her pose, but improved on it with a squadron’s worth of testosterone. “Like hell.”

Chapter Four

“You should have told me the truth.”

Pete Wright’s pale blue eyes and battered face didn’t show any sign that he was surprised by Rick’s choice of greeting, or by finding the best friend of his youth on his doorstep for the first time in months. Not since Pete had left the Marines for what he swore would be greener, less “confining” pastures. He simply lifted a bony shoulder in his typical shrug. A gesture that, as Rick matured, had begun to bug the hell out of him.

Now it made him sick to his stomach.

Pete raked his long, dark brown bangs back from his face, his once-military cut gone wild. “Dude, I barely knew my own name that night, let alone the truth. I’m barbecuing out back.” He turned and walked away, but left the front door to his apartment open by way of invitation. The stylized, but no less rude, gesture printed on the back of his black T-shirt sent a different message.

Rick pulled in a calming—and pretty much useless—breath and followed. The front room of the small, two-bedroom, first-floor apartment went as dark as a tomb when he closed the door behind him. The thick beige curtains were drawn over the large window to shut out the hot late-afternoon sun as well as the view of three green Dumpsters Rick had noticed in the small parking lot as he’d waited for Pete to answer the doorbell.

A stream of light knifed through the tiny eating nook when Pete elbowed his way past the same type of curtains that covered the sliding-glass doors. The screen door scraped along its metal track as he went out onto the patio.

Rick followed, clinging to his composure. He’d finally come here for the answers he hadn’t wanted before. He couldn’t have stopped the train once it’d started to come off the tracks and the details only would have haunted him more.