Breakpoint (4 page)

And her pregnancy hadn’t exactly been an easy one. Not that any pregnancy could probably be called easy. In fact, just the thought of pushing not one, but two basketball-sized humans out of her body was enough to make Julianne light-headed.

“It’s only two blocks away,” Merry said. “And I’m not exactly alone, since every guy in this building is a Marine.”

Merry glanced back up at the screen. She’d paused it right where Alan Rickman was telling Juliet Stevenson about their first night together. When, Julianne remembered, he claimed they trembled so badly when they kissed that they couldn’t get their clothes off.

“I didn’t expect you back tonight.”

“Where would I go?” Not only had she never been kissed like that, Julianne was certain that, like the rest of the movie, the idea was total fiction.

“Well, if I weren’t married, and currently the size of Moby-Dick, and sashayed into a cocktail party at the del Coronado populated by Special Ops hotties in that dress, I sure wouldn’t have ended up leaving early to watch a tearjerker movie with my pregnant sister.”

“I don’t sashay.” That had always been Merry’s thing. “As for Spec Ops guys, I guess I got my fill of them during my JAG days. Believe me, they may be great at warfare, but most seem to pretty much suck at relationships.”

“I suppose it would be difficult to get involved with someone when you can go wheels-up at any moment and not even be able to tell where you’re off to,” Merry mused.

“Actually, I think the real problem, relationship wise, is that they’d rather play war than house.” They were also far less likely to play by established military rules, which was a totally foreign mind-set to Julianne. “Though the night wasn’t a total loss. Your dress proved hugely popular. A half dozen women asked me where I’d gotten it.”

Although she’d never been a fan of beauty pageants, Merry, who’d actually been Miss Virginia Junior Miss second runner-up, had always cajoled her into watching the Miss America pageant every year.

For the first time in her life, Julianne had had an idea of how those contestants must have felt walking down the runway in heels and a swimsuit. Because, despite having always thought of herself as the plain, serious sister, she’d felt as if she’d been walking around the Windsor Lawn with a big neon AVAILABLE sign flashing over her head.

Her sister beamed, banishing the Rickman tears. “Well, I couldn’t have found a more perfect model for it. Once I get these tadpoles popped, I’m going to start on a new catalog. I don’t suppose—”

“No.” Julianne would rather return to that hotel and spend a night swinging naked from the del Coronado’s lobby chandelier with Tech Sergeant Dallas O’Halloran. “I’m sure you’d be better off with professionals,” she said, trying to temper her initially sharp response.

“Maybe.” Her sister gave her the look. The Princess Di up-from-below-the-lashes entreaty she’d spent hours in front of the mirror back in junior high practicing. The same one that had caused the hottie Marine who was currently out doing her royal bidding to fall heart over combat boots at first glance. “But you’d be cheaper.”

Arguing with Merry was like standing up to a perky bulldozer. You could do your best to hold your ground, but eventually you’d get run over.

“What do you say we just table this discussion until or if the situation becomes a reality.”

Her sister folded her arms over her belly. “Spoken like a lawyer.”

“I
am
a lawyer.”

“True. Technically, anyway. But you’re not practicing anymore. Unless that’s what this secret government terrorist-fighting organization you’re joining is going to have you doing?”

“I’m not exactly sure, since I haven’t been given an assignment yet. But from what I gathered during the interviews, I’ll probably be doing more investigations.”

“Like
NCIS
?” It was one of Merry’s favorite shows, partly because she’d had a thing for Mark Harmon ever since he’d played the Paul Newman part as Elizabeth Taylor’s boy toy in the remake of
Sweet Bird of Youth.

“I suppose.”

Merry’s former smile turned downward, her lips began to tremble, and the air turned edgy, signaling another emotional storm on the horizon.

“It’s so unfair. You’ve no idea how furious I get whenever I think how you were drummed out of the Navy.”

“I wasn’t drummed out of anything.” Exactly. “I left of my own accord.”

“Only because you had the door slammed on any further promotions.”

Julianne wasn’t the only Decatur daughter who’d grown up a military brat. Merry understood all too well that once those rungs were pulled off your naval ladder, you had nowhere to go but down. Or out. Her sister’s mouth drew into a tight, very un-Merry line.

“It wasn’t fair,” she repeated. “You were only doing your job. Those SEALs disobeyed the laws of military engagement. They crossed that border into Pakistan, knowing American troops weren’t permitted to do that. You had no choice but to prosecute them.”

So Julianne had, herself, believed at the time. Not that she’d had all that much choice from the moment she’d been assigned the case. Unlike O’Halloran and those SEALs, some—okay,
most
—of the military, despite that ridiculous old Army advertising line about an individualistic Army of one, still believed in following orders.

Which was what she’d been doing.

And what the Air Force CCT and SEALs had not.

“Are you suggesting they should have let that pilot die out there on the mountain waiting for a copter to come get him?”

It was a question she’d asked herself innumerable times. One that had cost her countless hours of sleep.

When Merry paused, Julianne had her sister’s answer. Which was the same one the inquiry board had decided on.

Under those circumstances, a fallen comrade trumped rules of engagement. Especially since a full court-martial would have brought up the failure on the part of the brass who’d planned the doomed-from-the-get-go mission in the first place.

Which, she’d always suspected, was why she’d found herself slamming her head against a brick wall. The ranks had closed, and she’d been left standing on the other side. All alone.

“To be perfectly honest”—she said what she’d never have admitted to that cocky CCT—“in the long run, if I’d been in their situation, under enemy fire, with a team member who’d die without proper medical treatment, I probably would have made the same decision.”

“They
did
save that pilot’s life,” Merry said.

“Yes. They did. Captain Garrett lost his leg, but at least he left the mountain alive.”

And since she’d checked on him more than once over the past months, Julianne had been glad to hear he was doing well, having reenlisted as a pilot instructor at Fort Campbell.

“Speaking of that clusterfuck, I ran into one of them tonight,” she volunteered.

“You’re kidding.” Merry’s lake blue eyes widened.

“I wish I were.”

Actually, Julianne was wishing she hadn’t gone to the damned party in the first place, because O’Halloran had stimulated feelings in her that she’d thought she’d successfully locked away.

The attraction had first hit like a Patriot missile the moment she’d walked into the interrogation room and seen him sitting on the other side of the table. He’d stood up when she’d entered—required for an enlisted man in the presence of an officer, though she’d suspected he would have done exactly the same if they’d both been civilians.

Although he’d radiated a cocky, “you know you want to get into my pants, baby” vibe, which she’d decided the CCT hadn’t turned on in hopes of helping his friends’ court-martial case, but was merely his nature, his manners had remained impeccable.

Oh, there had been those times over the three days when he’d displayed a burst of frustration, even temper, but unlike others she’d prosecuted over the years, he’d immediately toned it down—at least outwardly. Still, it had given her an insight into the passion simmering beneath that blue dress uniform.

And, although it was so unprofessional she still felt her cheeks flush when she thought back on it, whenever he’d drag a hand over his deep chocolate brown hair, which, like the SEALs, he’d been allowed to keep longer than the usual high-and-tight cuts, Julianne hadn’t been able to keep her mind from imagining him trailing one of those long, dark fingers down her throat. Then lower, his hand cupping her breast, his wickedly clever—and she
knew
he’d know his way around a woman’s body—touch creating havoc as he searched out all her hidden erogenous zones.

Contrary to what a lot of people might think, lawyers were not lacking imagination. The problem was that hers had taken over, causing her usually cool and collected mind to run amok.

Also, although she was loath to admit it, even to herself, some dark and primitive part of her lurking inside the prim and proper Navy JAG lieutenant exterior found the edgy way he made her feel both unfamiliar and exciting.

Not that she would have been willing to compromise her investigation just because he could turn her insides to mush. But she found herself dreaming about him—darkly erotic dreams that had her waking up hot and needy.

There were still, after all these months, mornings when she’d wake up with a hand between her legs. A hand that could in no way come close to satisfying the hunger Air Force Tech Sergeant O’Halloran had awakened in her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, when she realized Merry had asked her a question. The DVD was still paused, making her wonder how long her mutinous thoughts had drifted back to the one man on the planet she should so
not
be thinking about. “My mind was wandering.”

“I could tell. You looked a million miles away. Like in another galaxy.”

“I guess I was.” On the planet Orgasmitron.

“I asked if you thought you and that Air Force sergeant might ever end up working together.”

“Don’t even suggest such a thing!”

If her hair had been down, Julianne would have dragged her hands through it. As it was, she scraped them down her face, undoubtedly smearing the mascara her sister had so carefully applied before allowing her to leave the apartment.

“If there is, indeed, a God, that will never happen.”

“You never know,” Merry, always the romantic, suggested. “Now that you’re no longer an officer and he’s no longer an enlisted man, there’s nothing keeping you from hooking up.”

“How about the fact that I despise everything he stands for?” Julianne suggested.

“That’s exactly the same thing I said about Tom. Remember how I always said that after all my years being dragged around the world as a Navy brat there was no way on God’s green earth I was going to ever fall in love with a serviceman?”

“I seem to recall something about that.”

It would’ve been impossible not to, since her sister had repeated it at least once a day when she’d been in the second grade and had to leave her best friend behind when they transferred from Pearl Harbor to Japan.

“And then I met my Tom.” She patted her stomach again, her Cheshire cat smile morphing into that of a very self-satisfied Madonna. Not the “Like a Virgin” singer, but the one on all those statues in all those Catholic churches the family had attended all over the world.

“And here I am. About to become the mother of twins.” She sighed dramatically. “You know what they say about opposites attracting. Lots of times people who think they don’t even like each other fall madly in love.”

Maybe in the romantic movies and novels Merry gobbled up like burritos and Chunky Monkey ice cream. But the way Julianne looked at it, opposites probably just had more things to argue about.

She was about to assure her sister that she’d rather tape TNT onto her naked body and walk into a room filled with pyromaniacs armed with matches than work with CCT O’Halloran, when Tom Draper walked in the door, carrying a familiar white bag with the red logo and bringing with him the aromas of fried dough, cheese, and grilled chicken.

“Honey! You’re home!”

The romantic topic—and the ghostly Alan Rickman—instantly forgotten for chalupas, her sister held out a hand for the bag while lifting her lips to her husband.

Feeling like a sailor who’d just gotten a reprieve from a disciplinary captain’s mast, Julianne nearly kissed her hunky, and obviously still besotted, jarhead brother-in-law herself.

“So,” Dallas said, as he dribbled the basketball on the court next to Phoenix Team’s headquarters, “you’ll never guess who I ran into the other night at the THOR shindig.”

“Are we playing basketball?” Proving that his artificial leg wasn’t nearly the deterrent he’d feared it would be when back in that hospital room at Landstuhl, Shane Garrett stole the ball with the skill of an NBA point guard. “Or twenty questions?”

“Dammit, you’re fast for a gimp.” They’d been playing two-on-two for the past hour, and Dallas and his teammate, ex-SEAL Quinn McKade, were getting their damn pants beat off them.

“I’m not a gimp.” The former SOAR pilot had returned to Swann Island for a weeklong R & R with his new wife.

Sometimes it seemed to Dallas that every friend he had was coming down with the matrimony bug. He was wondering if there was some vaccination a guy could get to prevent falling prey to any domestic mind-set when Garrett feigned right, moved left, then went up for an easy jump shot.

“I just happen to be the US of A’s very own six-gazillion-dollar bionic man,” the pilot reminded them all. As if any of them could forget that day.

“So, who did you run into?” Zach Tremayne asked.

“A certain naval JAG officer.”

Dallas passed to Quinn, who began dribbling the ball. Which seemed to nearly disappear in his huge hand.

“No shit?” Surprised by that bombshell, the former SEAL paused just long enough to allow that damn showboat Garrett to swipe the ball again and score another three points from the perimeter.