Duplicity (18 page)

Ignoring it, Tracy faced the colonel. “You asked to see me, sir?”

“Yes, I did.”

He didn’t suggest that she sit down which, if she hadn’t already been expecting it, would have been her first clue that she was in for a class-A ass-chewing.

“Well, Captain Keener.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “It appears you’ve been busy.”

“No more so than usual, sir.” No way would she respond specifically to such a general remark. He might not yet know just how busy she had been.

“Let me make this simple,” he said. “The Burke case is closed. You’ve been issued a direct order, as I understand it, to close the file. You’ve elected not to do so. Since I didn’t personally hear that order, and mine wasn’t expressly stated as a direct order, I backed you, but let it suffice to say that the men upstairs are not happy.”

She wasn’t especially thrilled herself. “Sir, I think-”

“You’ll think, Captain,” he interceded, his face blotching red, “what I order you to think. Do you realize how Burke leaving you his entire estate makes this office look?”

So much for Jackson’s compassion. “I can’t be held accountable for his actions, sir. Only my own. And I’ve done nothing wrong.” She shifted on her feet. “Aren’t you interested in why he left everything to me?”

Jackson looked as if he wanted to shake her. “It’s a tactic to make you feel guilty, Captain. Obviously it worked, or you would have had better sense than to go to his funeral.”

Tracy stared at him, defiant. “You realize you’re ordering me to brand one of our own as guilty without knowing for fact he committed any crime.”

Jackson scowled. “Look, Keener, off the record, I agree with you. But you’re ticking off some powerful people who can end both our careers. Either way, Burke’s is already over. I’ve backed you until now, but this is it. A direct order. Close the file and forget it, refuse the bequest-and clean up your damn shoes.”

Offended, Tracy bristled. But through her resentment, she saw the truth. He feared Hackett and Nestler.

Tracy understood that fear. Hell, she felt it herself. But she wouldn’t lie and say she would stop investigating when she knew in her heart she wouldn’t. “I’ll take care of the shoes right away,” she said. “Sir, may I say something?”

Frustrated and clearly out of patience because she hadn’t responded to his direct order with a simple “Yes, sir” agreement, Jackson nodded.

“When I became an officer, I made a commitment. If I fail to follow my convictions, then I lose far more than a promotion or selection for Career Status. I lose my selfrespect.” She swallowed down a lump lodged in her throat. “That’s all, sir. I just wanted you to know.”

He slid her an exasperated, earnest look. “Why are you in the Air Force, Keener?”

She gave him a crooked smile. “For the money, sir.”

“Right.” He grunted. “We’re all in it for the money.”

No professionals joined the military for the money not unless earning half or less what they could earn in the private sector was their goal. Their reasons ran deeper, flowed over into the ideals of what the country was all about. Things like patriotism, honor, duty-they weren’t concepts, they were a chosen way of life.

Looking torn between shaking and hugging her, Jackson nodded. “Dismissed, Captain.”

Tracy left his office, praying her knees would hold her up long enough to get her back to her office. Not only did she feel the onset of a horrendous head cold, she had just subtly warned Colonel Jackson she wouldn’t obey his direct order, and he hadn’t pulled rank on her.

But he could pull rank on her. At any time, he could. An idealist she might be, but she wasn’t stupid. And Jackson would pull rank on her-the first moment he felt threatened.

Chapter 12.

Tracy went home in a black mood.

She slung her uniform blouse on her bed. Not only had she been chewed out, humiliated, and shunned by the other JAGS and their support staff, she’d ruined her new pumps, and she and Janet had failed to find her damn locket.

How was she supposed to deal with anything without her locket? She ditched her skirt, tossed it beside her blouse.- It wasn’t just that the locket was the last gift Matthew had given her before he’d died, what was in it could never be replaced.

The doorbell chimed.

Standing in her bedroom in her bra and panties, she grabbed the first thing within reach-her flannel robe. Tugging it on, she headed down the hallway. So what if whoever was at the door thought she was certifiable for wearing flannel in August?

Peeking through the peephole, she saw Paul Keener standing on the front porch. His resemblance to Matthew had always been strong, but now it seemed even more so. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. It’s not him. It’s Paul. Paul who dominates out of love-even if it drives you crazy.

A smile curved her lips and she twisted the deadbolt. When it clicked, she pulled open the door. “Paul,” She lifted a hand. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to Mississippi?”

The corners of his mouth curved. He caught her in a bear hug and touched a warm kiss to her cheek. “Ah, Tracy.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It’s good to see you.”

“Careful.” She pressed a restraining hand to his chest. “I’m catching a cold.”

“It’s worth it.” He squeezed her tighter. “I’ve missed you. Talking on the phone once a week isn’t the same as seeing you.”

Past his shoulder, she saw a white limousine. Leave it to Paul. It wouldn’t occur to him to drive himself. Still smiling, she pulled away, and he let her go. He looked so much like Matthew-a blessing and a curse that comforted and disturbed her. Black hair, blue eyes that twinkled whenever he looked at her; a strong face, not angular so much as subtle with quiet strength. She let her gaze drift down to his navy suit, snowy-white shirt, and silk tie. As usual, not a crease out of place. “You look wonderful.”

He let his gaze drop from her robe to her bare feet. “You look … interesting.”

Self-conscious, she felt her face flush hot. “I was changing out of my uniform. it’s been a day from hell.”

“Ah.” He slid her a commiserating look. “You’ll need to talk about it, then.”

He knew her so well. She’d always worked through her troubles by talking to Matthew. She hadn’t expected him to resolve her challenges, only to listen. After he had died, Paul had slipped into Matthew’s role. “Let me grab some clothes, and then we’ll have a good visit. I’m eager to hear how things are with you.”

“Don’t change.” He loosened his tie-about as informal as Paul Keener ever got. “Let’s sit and you can tell me about your day.” He suddenly became serious. “I want to talk to you, too.”

That was the second time today she had heard that statement, and if the contents of this talk mirrored those of the first, she swore she’d scream until her lungs gave out.

In the kitchen, she opened the fridge door and peeked inside. “Would you like a beer?” Why was she antagonizing him? He was adorable and good, but a snob who preferred wine.

“A beer sounds … interesting.” He sto6d in the doorway and watched her open two bottles, and then pass one to him. “Red Dog?”

She shrugged and walked back to the living room, then sat down on the sofa. “I wanted to give it a try.”

He sat down beside her, and took a small sip of beer. From his grimace, he hated it. “It’s not bad.”

His smile made her suspicious. “Did you drive over from New Orleans just to talk to me?”

“No. I know you’re sensitive and I’m respecting your independence, even if I do miss seeing you.” He patted her hand. “I’m here on business. One of my project bids.”

Glad to hear it, she moved her hand from his under the pretext of taking a sip of beer. Cold, it soothed her raw throat. Why did his simple pat on her hand strike her as a condescending gesture? Surely she was being overly sensitive. “So what did you want to talk to me about?”

He shoved aside an issue of George, then set his beer down on the coffee table. The end table’s lamp slanted mellow light over his chest, shadowing his eyes. “I’m worried about you.”

“Why?” She knew why he should be worried, but he didn’t know. Or did he?

“You went to Burke’s funeral, Tracy.” Paul clasped her hand tightly.

She pulled her fingers free. “Randall asked you to come, didn’t he?” Of course he had. She could choke Randall for this.

“He called, yes. But business brought me here.” Paul again captured her hand. “Don’t be angry with Randall. He was worried.”

“He’s overstepped his bounds. We’re not even friends now.” Hell, she didn’t even like the spineless cut-and run jerk anymore.

:“That doesn’t mean his concern isn’t genuine.”

“I don’t want his concern.” After her last phone conversation with him, she didn’t want anything from Dr. Randall Moxley except space. Lots of space-between them.

“I know you’re experiencing trouble over this Burke case. And unless you stop pursuing the matter, I’m afraid you’re bound for more.” Paul gave her hand a gentle squeeze and let her see his worry. “Tracy, you’re all I have left. I want you safe and happy. I care about YOU.”

Oh, he was catching her at a weak moment. At a time when she felt as alone as Adam must have felt most of his life. Knowing her locket wasn’t there, she reached for it anyway. “I’m doing what I have to do. That’s all.”

Paul let a smooth fingertip trail down the line of her jaw, temple to chin. “You don’t have to do anything. Let me take care of you. You should be dressed in silk and living at Woodwind, not wearing flannel and living cramped in this little house. I can give you everything you want.”

He couldn’t give her what she wanted most. Not unless he could raise the dead. She wanted her daughter. And to find the truth for Adam. But she couldn’t say those things to Paul. And she couldn’t admit, not even to herself, how tempted she was to just crawl under his wing and allow him to shelter her. For five years, life had been hard, rife with challenges. Who wouldn’t be tempted to escape? Yet his comment about her robe and her house irked her. True, the house was a matchbox compared with Woodwind Manor, but it was her home now, and she loved it in a way she’d never loved Woodwind. Wealth was all Matthew had ever known, and she’d loved him enough to tolerate it, but she’d never adjusted and felt at home at Woodwind ‘

She’d come to hate the place and Matthew, too, for dying and leaving her. And for Abby. But with time, she had worked through that anger and, more or less, had made peace with it. On occasion, she still had a hard time when she recalled the accident, especially during the holidays. Honestly, holidays were a bitch. But she could never marry Paul or live at Woodwind Manor again. “I love this house. It’s mine.”

He let her see the apology in his eyes. “I only meant that You deserve more. I’d give you everything, if only you’d let me. And I’d protect you from all this ugliness-”

“This ugliness is life, Paul.” Loving and hating him for what he offered her, she rubbed at her temple. “What you’re describing is an ivory tower, and I’m no princess. I’m just a woman trying her best to put together a life that offers some fulfillment. I want to contribute something worthwhile. Is that so hard to understand?”

“No, it’s what makes you special.” He stroked her arm, rubbed tiny circles at the base of her nape, under her hair. “Please don’t be angry with me for caring.”

“I’m not. Really.” She should be, but she couldn’t be angry with Paul. He’d been good to her for too many years. A constant in her life when there were no others. She looked into his eyes, eyes so like Matthew’s. So different from Adam’s. “Most women would love what you’re offering me, but-”

“Don’t say it. You could be happy, if only you’d give me a chance.” A gentle look softened his eyes And he stared at her mouth. “Let me prove how good I can be to you.” He bent his head to kiss her.

Slightly repulsed, she backed away.

Paul sighed. “You’re my family, Tracy. You belong at Woodwind. Why won’t you marry me, and let me take care of you?”

“I belong here.” She steeled herself against the pain in his eyes. “I love you as much as Matthew-loved you, and I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me. But I’m not in love-”

“Stop.” His expression turned solemn and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. “You’re my brother’s widow. My only family. I need you as much as you need me. Being in love isn’t relevant. Loving is. I love you, and I only want what’s best for you.”

She was all that Paul had left of Matthew. Tracy finally understood, and her heart ached. God, but she didn’t want to hurt him. “You’re a wonderful “Man with a good heart, and those qualities are so rare.” Adam would understand what she was saying. After suffering love’s absence his whole life, he’d definitely understand. But this was Paul, and he’d never grasp her meaning. Still, she had to try. “You deserve someone who loves you and is in love with you, too. That’s what makes a marriage magic, Paul. I can’t give that to you. It’s just … not there’

Hurt clouded his eyes, and she squeezed his hand. “Please try to understand. What you’re offering sounds like heaven. But it’s not right for me. I know that in my heart, Paul. And because I do, I have to refuse you and do what I think is best for me. You want to protect me, but I need to protect myself.”

The lines in his face hardened, his expression turning as grim as his voice. “I will give you anything, everything you want, and you still won’t change your mind?”

The man offered her the moon and had the money to provide it, but Tracy couldn’t marry him. “I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”

“I won’t say I’m not disappointed, but I understand. It’s too soon. We’ll discuss the matter later.” Paul stood up and then walked toward the front door. “For now, please consider heeding my warning about the Burke case. I might not be your husband yet, but I am your brother-in-law. I don’t want you to get hurt, and I’m certain Adam Burke can destroy you, even from the grave.”

Bloody hell. She’d failed again to close the marriage issue permanently. Tracy couldn’t hold off a frown. “Why do you feel so strongly about the case?”

Paul’s eyes glittered. “When you play with fire, darling, you get burned.”