Breakpoint (30 page)

From the wicked gleam in his eyes, she knew she wasn’t fooling the man for a minute.

Dragging his mutinous mind, which, ever since that party at the del Coronado, had been locked onto the idea of getting down and dirty with the sexy former LT like a Hellfire missile locked onto a target, Dallas sat back in the chair he’d abandoned for the red shirt, tilted it onto its back legs, and asked, “So. Who’s next, Lieutenant Galloway?”

Dallas had traveled the world. He’d scuba dived off Australia’s Great Barrier Reef, climbed Mount Fuji, and once, while on a training mission in the high-altitude oyamel fir forests of central Mexico, witnessed an estimated eight billion monarch butterflies arriving after their two- to three-thousand-mile migration to their winter retreat.

But never had he been more entranced by a natural wonder than by the color that rose high on Juls’s cheekbones when he’d compared her to the fictional JAG officer. He suspected that, despite her creamy complexion, she was not accustomed to blushing. Which meant that the attraction that had been grinding away at him was decidedly mutual.

“You really have watched a lot of movies.”

“
A Few Good Men
was one of the best military flicks ever. Though parts of it weren’t all that realistic.”

“Such as?”

“Like in what universe were they living that the Tom Cruise character wasn’t going to be attracted to Demi Moore’s sexy law-and-order LT Galloway JAG officer?”

“They were investigating a murder.”

“So are we. And believe me, that’s not keeping me from thinking about what it’s going to be like when we start tangling the sheets.”

He watched, pleased, as a similar awareness had her pupils widening. Dallas had learned to watch for the smallest clues to a person’s feelings, and while he’d watched her keep her emotions in check during her interrogation, she kept lowering her shields on him this time around.

“You know what I think?” he asked.

“From what I can tell, you mainly think about sex.”

“Hey, like I said, we CCTs pride ourselves on our multitasking. And I think the fact that there wasn’t one bit of sexual chemistry in that flick means the role was originally written for a guy. But then, since that was back when Moore was a big box-office draw, they changed the role to a female for her. But never put the sexual-attraction stuff in.”

“That’s exactly what Merry says,” Julianne admitted.

“I’ve really got to meet your sister,” Dallas decided. “If for no other reason than to thank her for designing that dynamite spray-on dress.”

“It wasn’t sprayed on.”

“Maybe not, but I’ll bet you had to shimmy like hell to get into it.”

“How I get into—or out of—my clothes is not the topic at hand.”

“Until we reach Pearl.”

“Okay.” She blew out a short, impatient breath. “There’s something we need to get out onto the table before we dock.”

He’d like to have the luscious LT
on
a table. Unfortunately, he doubted there was a private one available anywhere on the boat.

Which made him wonder how and where Mav, the wannabe top gun, got herself pregnant.

“You’re not paying attention.”

“Sorry.” He reluctantly dragged his thoughts back from the idea of Juls lying on a white-draped table in the officers’ mess, wearing only a whipped-cream bikini. Which he’d slowly lick off, beginning at her pert breasts and ending at that triangle between her legs. “My mind was wandering.Thinking about our case.” He improvised what he hoped she’d accept as a reasonable excuse.

The arched-brow response suggested acceptance was never going to come all that easy where Julianne Decatur was concerned.

“My hand to God.” Risking being struck by lightning, he lifted his right hand and assured himself that his answer was at least partly true. “I was wondering how the pilot got pregnant.”

“I’m assuming the usual way.”

“No, I mean where? It’s not like there are a lot of places to be alone, even on a boat as big as this one.”

“True. But there’s always shore leave. . . . Damn.” She didn’t literally hit her forehead with her palm, but her tone suggested it. “We need to check out what dates the ship was docked at a port.”

“I can do that.” He flexed his fingers, like a master safecracker preparing to break into Fort Knox.

“I’ve not a doubt you could. But there’s no point in pissing people off if you get caught.”

“I never have yet.”

“There’s always a first time for everything. When we’re having dinner tonight, I’ll just ask the captain for the log. Meanwhile, since Ford hit one bit of scuttlebutt right, let’s try another.”

“You’re calling in her pastor,” Dallas guessed. “The one her roommate told us about.”

“They argued about her dabbling in paganism,” Julianne said. “Which means that although she wandered away from his church, or congregation, or whatever the hell it’s called, he might have talked with her about her anger toward the Muslims on board.”

“Which means he might be able to give us a name of one of them who might have decided to take a more personal form of justice into his own hands.”

“Exactly. Especially if the pastor wants to deflect any suspicion from himself.”

“You’re considering him a suspect?”

“Despite our system of a person being innocent until proven guilty, in our job, the Napoleonic Code of presuming the opposite works better. There’s less chance of someone slipping through the cracks. And, hey, the pastor wouldn’t be the first to diddle one of his congregation. So if he is the father, it only makes sense that he’d want to hand us a bunch of names to turn us in a different direction.”

“Makes total sense to me. Remember when you said you liked the fact that I was suspicious?”

“Since it was only a few hours ago, it rings a bell.”

“Well, I really like the fact that you’re sneaky.”

“I’m not sneaky.”

“Okay. Maybe that’s the wrong word. How about devious?”

“I’m not sure I like that one any better.”

“It’s not a negative if it’s done for good,” he pointed out. “And Quinn McKade’s wife, who’s a former FBI agent, says the Supreme Court gave cops the right to lie to coerce the bad guys into confessing.”

“
Frazier v. Cupp
, 1969,” Julianne responded. “The officer lied, telling the defendant that his cousin had not only confessed to the possession of cocaine with intent to distribute, but had implicated the defendant, who, believing the false statement, confessed. The Court determined that the criminal defendant’s confession was voluntary, and the fact that he was given his Miranda rights prior to making the confession was relevant to a finding of waiver and voluntariness.”

“Hot damn. And I thought I was the king of trivia. I’m duly impressed, Counselor.”

“That’s a very basic legal concept.” She shrugged off the compliment, making him wonder if she wasn’t accustomed to them. “If I didn’t know it, I shouldn’t have passed the bar.”

She appeared to be one of the most self-reliant people he’d ever met. Was that by choice? he wondered. Or because, being a Navy brat, she hadn’t had a father around to protect her or build up her feminine self-esteem?

Dallas wasn’t as much of an expert on women as his reputation suggested, but he’d read somewhere that most women’s first crushes were on their fathers. Wouldn’t it be more difficult if said crush were constantly abandoning you for months at a time?

“You’re an absolute legal eagle,” he said. “I imagine grown men’s knees shake when they’re forced to sit on the other side of an interrogation table from you.”

“Yours weren’t shaking.”

“You don’t know that. You couldn’t see them, since I was wearing my dress blues, which, by the way, you never invited me to take off.”

“There you go again. Talking about sex.”

“Actually, we began talking about Lieutenant Murphy having sex,” he reminded her. “You can’t blame me for being attracted to brains and beauty all wrapped up in one hot package.”

She shook her head. But he could tell she wasn’t immune to the compliment—which was not a line, but the absolute truth.

“Call in the ensign,” she instructed, returning to investigator mode. “We’re not being paid for you to flirt.”

He sighed and pushed himself up from the wooden chair. “More’s the pity.”

The blue-shirted pastor the ensign returned with was tall and scarecrow thin, reminding Julianne a bit of Ichabod Crane, if Washington Irving’s hapless character had been stationed aboard an aircraft carrier instead of teaching school in Sleepy Hollow. And if he’d sported a comb-over.

His arms were long, his hands bony and pale, and his handshake was as limp and cold as a dead snake. His eyes were narrow and set a bit too close together.

Even as his thin lips curled in a smile, Julianne didn’t trust him.

“I’m a huge admirer of your father,” he told her once they’d done the introduction deal. “I enjoyed the interview with him in last month’s
All Hands
magazine. You must have led a fascinating life growing up in his household.”

“He was the one leading the fascinating life,” she said. “Mine was pretty normal. For a Navy family, anyway.”

“Still, he must have been a good role model for his children. Given how well you and your brothers turned out.”

“My mother was a dandy role model herself.”

“I’ve no doubt.” His feigned smile was smarmy and made her flesh crawl. No way could Julianne imagine a naval aviator jumping into bed with this guy.

From the faint edge in his tone, she had the feeling that he was one of those males who believed a woman’s place was not only in the home—preferably the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant—but definitely behind her husband. Not wanting to sidetrack her questioning by getting into an argument with a witness, she decided to avoid that topic.

“I suppose you know why we’ve asked you here,” she said instead.

“I’m assuming it’s about Lieutenant Murphy’s suicide.”

“It’s about her death. Which wasn’t a suicide.”

He blanched at that. His left eyelid twitched. Which could be from shock.

Or guilt.

“Are you certain?”

“The doctor’s calling it a murder,” Dallas said.

Those already squinty eyes narrowed even further. “How would the doctor know that? Without doing an autopsy?”

“There are tests that don’t require an autopsy,” Julianne said. “But how would you know he hasn’t done one?”

“In the first place, he’s not a coroner,” Ichabod said. “In the second, there’s no way her husband would allow her body to be defiled. It’s against our religious beliefs.”

“If a crime was involved, it’s not for him to say,” she pointed out. “So you were pastor to both of them?”

“I’m not a pastor. Nor an ordained preacher. Merely a teacher of God’s law. I met the lieutenant through her husband. Who, as you undoubtedly know, is currently deployed in Iraq.”

“Yes. But we were told he’s going to be meeting the ship in San Diego to claim her body.”

And now that she’d found a link between the supposedly soon-to-be-divorced husband and someone on board, someone who had access to the aviator, Julianne was definitely looking forward to questioning him.

“Where did you meet them?”

“We were all stationed in Guam at the same time. I was leading a prayer group. Matthew—that would be her husband—joined. When he started dating Lieutenant Murphy, he brought her to our weekly meetings.”

“Have you kept in touch?”

“Some. As you know, deployment isn’t exactly a picnic in Iraq, so Matthew doesn’t have a lot of time to correspond, but I get the occasional e-mail from him. And I counsel him, although it’s more difficult long-distance than it is in person. When the spirit’s present.”

Julianne glanced over at Dallas, who responded with a slight nod. Oh, yeah. They were definitely going to have to get their hands on those e-mails.

“I imagine life aboard ship can get lonely,” Dallas said casually. “Especially for married people who can’t exactly go hooking up on shore leave.”

His nose actually twitched. As if he were a skinny rabbit, seeking the trap.

“Loneliness and boredom are part of shipboard life,” he allowed.

“Seems to me it’d be good to have someone to talk with,” Julianne suggested. “Someone close to you. Someone you could trust not to pass on your problems. You said you occasionally still counsel her husband. Were you, along with being the lieutenant’s teacher, her spiritual counselor, as well?”

“I try, whenever any member of our congregation is experiencing problems, to lead them to the right path. The good book, after all, holds the answer for any problem we might ever face. All we have to do is look for it.”

“And the LT was having problems?”

He paused. Rubbed his forehead, disarranging the long strands of sandy hair. “Her brother was killed by insurgents in Iraq. It was a difficult time for her.”

“I can imagine.” Julianne leaned forward. Put her hand on the table next to his, close enough to show empathy, but, not wanting to give him the idea she might be coming on to him, she didn’t touch him. “I’d be devastated if I’d lost one of my brothers.”

“The answers were there,” he insisted. “I even flagged the pages for her.”

“I’m sure you did your best,” Julianne soothed.

“I’ve heard there were problems in the marriage,” Dallas said. “Did either of them talk to you about that?”

He paused—just for a heartbeat, but long enough to give Julianne the idea that he was searching for the most facile response.

“Matthew was worried about her ambition, which seemed to be her driving force. She didn’t share details, but I could sense her discomfort whenever I brought his name up. Which isn’t surprising.”

“Because of the alleged physical abuse?” Dallas’s drawl was back, but, having come to know him well, Julianne could hear the tinge of anger and disgust.