Breakpoint (38 page)

The sheets had slid down to pool around his waist. The skin above the rumpled cotton was darkly tanned, every muscle delineated. His dark hair was sex-rumpled, and as he tapped away on that laptop he never seemed to be without, his handsome face intent, lips she could still feel all over her body tight with thought, he looked so unbearably sexy Julianne could, as the always more descriptive Merry would have said, have eaten him up with a spoon.

“You know what you said about some R and R on the beach?”

“Hard to forget, since these really, really hot images keep popping into my brain.”

As yet more proof of his ability to compartmentalize, he kept tapping those keys, his brow furrowed.

“I read that something like half of men think about sex several times a day,” she said as she took a clean set of clothes out of her suitcase. She hadn’t realized it while she’d been on board, but the skirt and shirt she’d been wearing had carried the scent of salt water, disinfectant, oil, and all the other carrier odors, including sweat. And not just her own.

It was funny how people could get used to things, she thought. Who’d have guessed that only two days ago the idea of finding Tech Sergeant Dallas O’Halloran in her bed whenever she came out of the shower could be so inordinately pleasing?

“I only think about sex once a day. At least lately.” More tapping.

“Really?”

“Really.” Julianne was trying to decide whether or not to be offended by that statement when he finally lifted his head, dark eyes hot and sexy, but filled with humor, as he tacked on, “It’s just that it’s twenty-four hours.”

She laughed, slipped into a pair of khaki trousers, buttoned her shirt, walked over to the bed, and, with her fingers playing in his hair, glanced down at the computer screen.

“Ugh,” she said, as she viewed the intersecting circles. “While I had never had any problem with algebra, high school geometry almost had me considering a career asking people if they wanted fries with that.”

“Geometry requires a different mind-set,” he allowed. “Sometimes the only reason people have trouble is that they’re trying to learn it before their brains are mature enough.”

“My brain was always plenty mature. It’s just that I sucked at geometry. And, for the record, I’ve never once needed it in real life.”

“Until now.”

“What?” She sat down on the edge of the bed and looked closer. He’d put names into all the circles, she noticed.

“I’ve found a connection that supports our conspiracy theory.”

A little thrill that had nothing to do with the sexy way she felt whenever she was around Dallas skimmed up her spine.

“I’m listening.”

“While you were sleeping, I started playing with links to all the players.”

“Which would have been daunting, given the number of sailors on the
O’Halloran
,” she said.

“True. Which is why I decided to limit the group to the ones we’d already connected to either Manning or Murphy. And here’s the deal. Some of the connections overlap in a really interesting way . . .

“At the center we’ve got the captain.”

“All right.” She assumed that Ramsey was there merely in his role of skipper.

“Then here”—he tapped a finger on each of the intersecting circles—“is a subset of guys who have, over the years, served with him.”

She’d known that CDO Warren Wright had been with Ramsey for a decade. But the other names were a surprise.

“Okay, I may hate geometry, but this is interesting. And it’s more than a little suspicious that Lieutenant Commander Walsh didn’t mention having a connection with Ramsey when he knew we were going out to the carrier,” she said.

“Even more so when you figure he ate his gun right after we left.” Dallas pointed to another circle. “And check this out.”

The name was instantly familiar. “It’s that NCIS guy who visited us at the MCBH. The one with the red face, thinning hair, and growing middle.”

“Yep. Now, it’s possible that he didn’t want to mention the connection to the other guys because they had their own investigation going and wanted to beat us to the punch.”

“Or he could be involved. He wasn’t happy when his partner mentioned that the LT’s death might not be a suicide,” she remembered.

“Definitely not happy.”

He skimmed a hand down her arm, took her hand in his, and, still studying the monitor, rubbed his thumb across the center of her palm, which Julianne was suddenly discovering was an erogenous zone. Then again, so far she hadn’t found a place on her body that didn’t react to him.

“Adding the cover-up theory into our conspiracy equation, we could deduce that there was an initial crime committed—”

“Which wasn’t Lieutenant Murphy’s murder,” she followed his drift. “But the pregnancy.”

“That’s what I’m thinking. Because we’re talking court-martial, right?”

“Absolutely, if it’s adultery.” Julianne thought about that for a moment. “But a conspiracy involves others and I still have a difficult time believing a military bond would be close enough to cause anyone to kill just to cover for a fellow sailor who’d gotten another sailor pregnant.”

She shook her head. “Would you kill for Tremayne, Garrett, or McKade?”

“I have,” he reminded her. “And I would again. Under the same circumstances.”

“That’s not my point.”

After three days of interrogation, she knew he’d never view his behavior that day as anything but absolutely correct. What he’d had no way of knowing at the time, and what she couldn’t have told him, was that she dearly hoped she would have behaved the exact same way.

“Let’s say that one of them had committed adultery.”

“None of them was married.”

She huffed out a frustrated sigh. “And I’m supposed to be the one who takes things too literally,” she muttered. “Let’s try this. Suppose one of them had been married and had an affair.”

“Never happen. They’re honorable. Loyal as German shepherds. And each of them is totally in love with his wife.”

“Hypothetically.” She pressed her case. “And to make things easier, let’s make up a battle buddy. We’ll call him Airman A. You’ve been on a lot of missions together. Drunk a lot of beer afterward. Maybe even spent leave at one or the other’s home, getting fed lots of cakes and cookies by Airman A’s mom.”

“I can go along with that.”

“Good. Now, let’s suppose that while you’re on shore leave—”

“I was in the Air Force. We don’t call it that.”

“You realize you’re driving me crazy.”

“I don’t recall you complaining an hour ago.”

“That was a good crazy. This is a grind-my-teeth-to-dust crazy. So, you’re on R and R. . . .”

She paused.

He nodded.

“Thank God,” she muttered. “So, on R and R you’re out with a bunch of fellow flyboys and flygirls.... What?” she asked when he grinned.

“Sorry. I was just thinking that it was funny how that expression changed over time. It was first used for the WASPs who test-piloted planes during World War Two, which is a long way from Jennifer Lopez shaking her booty on
In Living Color
.”

“You know, I do admire your ability for instant and permanent recall. But do you think you could possibly just think of one thing at a time?”

He stopped. The dark brows furrowed as he considered that idea.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted finally. “I think it’s my ability to think of lots of stuff at the same time that lets me do my job.”

Julianne thought about what the pilot had said about Tech Sergeant O’Halloran directing all that air traffic during the rapid invasion of Iraq and decided he might just be right.

“Okay. Like Oprah says, there’s no changing a man—”

“You watch Oprah?”

“Merry does.”

“Did you know her show’s the most popular one in Iraq?”

Okay. Although she’d been trying to stay on topic, that threw her offtrack. “At the bases?”

“No. With the civilian population. They might not have power twenty-four/seven, but they do have satellite dishes, so when the TVs work, the entire country is tuned to Oprah.”

Julianne found it amazing that an American talk-show host—albeit one with a massive audience—might be the one thing that could unite such a disparate, war-torn population.

“Getting back to my point, and I did have one: If Airman A and one of the flygirls—a woman pilot, not a TV dancer—go off, get a room for a few hours—”

“Which has been known to happen.” His grin, meant to bring up their past few hours, was quick and sexy as sin, which was the only reason she didn’t hit him.

“And said female pilot gets knocked up,” she deter minedly plowed on, grateful she’d never had to get him up on a witness stand, “and Airman A asked you to kill her to cover it up, would you?”

“Hell, no.”

Finally! Julianne was so grateful for the straight-to-the-point response, she nearly wept.

“Exactly. I can’t imagine anyone doing such a thing.”

“Now, this wouldn’t be a motive for me,” Dallas insisted. “But, since we’re talking hypothetically, if Airman A was higher up on the food chain, and looking at a promotion that would get him a super gig in the Pentagon or even maybe the White House—”

“And you were in a position to ride his coattails.” This time it was Julianne who interrupted him.

“I’ve always thought the power behind the throne actually wields the most power. But, like I said, even if we’d pricked our fingers and done the pinkie blood-brothers swearing thing, I’d have to tell Airman A it was his duty to clean up his own mess.”

“And if the pregnant flygirl turned up dead? Under suspicious circumstances?”

He winced at that. Knowing that MAs and JAG officers were not the most beloved members of the military, Julianne understood the moral dilemma going through that complex mind.

“I’d have no choice but to report what I knew.”

When she’d met him, he’d been an uncooperative witness. But that one statement proved that it wasn’t merely loyalty that had had him stonewalling her at every turn, but honor. Something that, unfortunately, seemed to be lacking in the world these days.

Her father possessed it.

As did her brothers.

And Tom Draper, who’d go out in the middle of the night to bring her sister Mexican food.

Dallas O’Halloran had it in spades.

“You’ve put Captain Ramsey at the center,” she noted.

“That’s because he’s got the most power. Especially since you told me that after finishing up this carrier duty he’s going to be promoted to flag rank.”

“And be able to choose his staff. Which could include all those other men.” She sighed heavily. “He could be the father.”

“He’s the one I’d put my money on.”

“And you believe they were protecting him?”

“I believe it’s possible. And the best scenario we’ve come up with so far.”

“What a waste, if it’s true. If you factor the commander at Pearl into the equation, that makes three people dead—”

“Three that we know of, so far,” he pointed out.

“True. But if we’re right about motive, they all died for ambition.”

“That’s usually the case, unfortunately,” Dallas said. “Sometimes religious twists are put on wars, like with a jihad, or the Crusades, but the fact is that wars are fought because people in power want more power. And what the other guy has. Whatever excuse you want to make, it always boils down to greed. Hell, even our own country ended up being established because some crazy, greedy king couldn’t keep from raiding his colony.”

His take on the subject, while admittedly simplistic—and surprisingly succinct for him—was, unfortunately, something Julianne could agree with.

“So,” he said, “you’re the lawyer. How much power do we have to nail these guys?”

Julianne was about to respond when her phone rang.

Afraid it was Merry, she raced into the other room and dug it out of her bag.

“Decatur,” she answered when the caller ID read, UNDISCLOSED CALLER.

“It’s Captain Roberts,” the voice on the other end announced.

“Yes, Captain?”

Dallas had put on a pair of gray knit briefs and come into the living room of the suite.

“I stayed on board,” the doctor was saying, “to get ready for the onslaught of civilians, and had allowed myself a brief nap when I had a dream.”

Momentarily distracted by her partner’s mouthwatering male glory, she responded, “I see. I’m assuming it’s about the LT’s death?”

“No.” His usually calm tone vibrated with nerves. “It was about your sister.”

“My sister?”

Dallas frowned even as Julianne tried to remember if she’d even mentioned a sister. Yet as she’d discovered during this investigation, no one’s personal information was safe. If you knew where to look.

“I see smoke. And flames.”

It was just a dream. Julianne wasn’t even certain she believed in them.

“You said you have prophetic dreams during full moons,” she reminded him.

“That’s when they’re strongest,” he allowed. “But there are times when emotions are strong enough to get through. As they were in this case. I also saw men wearing camouflage.”

Again, not unusual for someone who’d spent ten months aboard an aircraft carrier.

“She was calling out for you. Said she was in terrible danger.”

“Is that so?” Julianne grabbed a pad and pen and scribbled a note to Dallas, asking him to get on the computer and see if Roberts and the captain had a past connection. Possibly this was just a ploy to get her off the ship and send her back to the States.

“She’s concerned about herself,” the man Dallas had insisted on calling the witch doctor said. “But, although this might not make any sense, she’s even more worried about the tadpoles.”

Christ, she was good. Dallas had known the news was bad when she’d gone pale as one of the soft-as-silk sheets on the bed and swayed.