Withholding Evidence (6 page)

He handed her a glass of red wine. “That’s a great book, but have you read this one?” He set down his own wineglass and plucked a history of the battle of Peleliu from the shelves.

She nodded. “It’s heartbreaking. Sledge’s account is the definitive story, but I appreciate that one for the historical perspective, which you can’t get from a first-person account.” She slid the biography back into its slot and sipped the wine. Heat infused her, and she felt a slight buzz that couldn’t have anything to do with wine she’d only just sipped, but had everything to do with Keith.

“Sledge puts you in the battle, no doubt about that, but sometimes I find the first-person account too narrow.”

She waved her hand to indicate his library. “You read a lot of history.”

“I went from high school straight to the navy.” He cleared his throat as if embarrassed. “Reading makes up for my lack of education.”

“You served in the navy for nearly thirteen years and completed multiple deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan. Your life experience is worth ten times my PhD.”

He glanced down, making her wonder if he felt self-conscious and if she’d just said the worst thing possible. He could think she was being condescending, but she’d meant it. She had absolute respect for every man and woman who donned a uniform and served.

“Is pasta with mushroom sauce okay?” he asked in an obvious change of subject. “Everything else is frozen.”

“Sounds perfect.” If she was botching this with words, she’d stop talking. She set her wineglass on the shelf next to his and took a step closer.

He flashed a sexy smile. “Careful, Trina. I might forget about dinner.”

She felt a little reckless and leaned into him, breathed in his scent. He wore some awesome aftershave that practically caused a nose orgasm. She placed her hands flat on his pecs and slid upward, loving the feel of his firm body through his shirt. She surprised herself with her forwardness. She was usually the type to wait for the guy to make a move. But she felt strangely impatient, and from Keith’s heated gaze, she knew he’d didn’t mind being on the receiving end of her advances.

He dropped the book on the floor and slid both hands around her waist, pulling her snug against him. “Screw it. I’ll order a pizza.”

She laughed and rose up on her toes. He leaned down to meet her halfway, and his lips found hers. Heat unfurled with the first invasion of his tongue. Her mouth moved under his, his tongue slid along hers, and she wanted to purr with the warm, wonderful sensation. She stroked his cheek, so sexy smooth; he must have shaved right before the party.

She opened her mouth wider, and he delved deeper. It was a good thing his arms circled her waist, because her legs turned to jelly, or maybe she just forgot how to stand. He caught her as she started to drop and plucked her up, carrying her to the sofa without breaking the kiss.

He sat so she straddled him. Her short dress rode up, allowing her center to press directly against his erection with only her insignificant thong and his slacks between them. The pressure felt insanely good. She lifted her head and wiggled her hips, increasing the friction. “I’m really glad you came to the party, Senior Chief.”

He dropped nipping kisses along her collarbone, then his lips trailed lower, into the V of her cleavage. “Me too,” he said against her skin.

“And leaving was a good idea too. This is way better than making small talk with stuffy politicos.”

He unzipped the back of her dress. “This is way better than just about anything. Ever.”

She chuckled and found the top button of his shirt. “So you don’t think I’m fooling around with you just to get information, I suppose I should ask my three questions now.”

She felt his body tense between her thighs. Dammit. She’d said that wrong. She stroked his cheek and said, “I like you, Keith. That’s why I kissed you. It has nothing to do with my research into Somalia. I wouldn’t do that.”

His gaze didn’t leave hers. “I know.”

She leaned down and kissed him again, but his lips were stiff. He kissed her back, but without the heat of a moment before. She slid from his lap and stood. “Let’s just get the questions over with, then.” She dropped back onto the sofa, leaving two feet between them. “Was your team able to infiltrate the al Qaeda leader’s stronghold?”

Keith closed his eyes and rubbed a hand across his face. “I can’t answer that.”

“You promised. And I have the necessary clearance. You can tell me everything.”

“I didn’t promise anything. I only said you could
ask
three questions. I never said I’d answer them.”

His words snapped the hazy spell that had enveloped her from the moment she took in his bookshelves. She jumped to her feet. “You sonofabitch!”

“Trina. I
can’t
talk about my ops. I swore an oath.”

She clenched her jaw. “I. Have. Clearance. You can tell me.”

“I’ve been debriefed. I don’t have to tell you anything.”

How could she be so stupid? She’d been eager to escape the mess she’d made of the party, and had glommed on to his promise. She felt like a fool.

“Trina, I like you. I want to spend time with you. Date you. Make love to you. But you need to understand, I will never tell you about any of the ops I was involved in with the SEALs. Period.”

“I’m such an idiot.” She was stuck in Falls Church without so much as a Metro farecard to get her home. “I need five dollars.”

“What?”

“Five dollars. So I can take the Metro home.”

“I thought this”—he indicated his open shirt, her gaping dress—“had nothing to do with your research into Somalia. There’s no reason for you to leave.”

She zipped the back of her dress. “And I thought you didn’t play games. I lost my libido when I realized you misled me. I no longer find you attractive.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’ve got an impressive ego, Senior Chief. You may be hot, but no amount of muscle can make up for being manipulative. Now, I need five dollars or a farecard.”

“I’ll give you a ride. After dinner. If we leave now, your roommate won’t be home yet. You’re locked out.”

“I don’t give a damn. Give me five dollars, or I’ll walk.”

“Trina—”

“You’re no better than Perry. In fact, you’re worse. He was a sexist pig and condescending, but at least he was upfront about it.” She grabbed Keith’s landline and started to dial.

“Who are you calling?”

She twisted, turning her back to him. “Cressida. I’m letting her know I’m on my way home.”

“It’s getting dark. Where do you live? You can’t walk home from a Metro station alone. At least let me take you home.” His voice was low, his tone regretful.

She gripped the phone tighter, afraid he’d try to take it from her. “Do you really think I’d get in a car with you again? Not just no, but hell, no.”

He didn’t say a word as she spoke to Cressida, and in the end, he gave her the five dollars. She hadn’t counted on him following her out the door and down the street. Or riding the Metro with her. He sat at the opposite end of the train car and exited when she exited, switching to the Red Line when she switched. He followed her down the busy streets near DuPont Circle, maintaining a discreet distance, and waited a block away as she sat on her front stoop and waited for Cressida.

His presence was strangely comforting; she hated walking the last two blocks to her place alone at night. Forty-five minutes passed as darkness deepened, and still, Keith didn’t take a step closer, nor did he take a step away. Finally, Cressida and Todd arrived and jumped out of Lee’s SUV. Trina waved as he and Erica drove off, then she stood and climbed the stairs to her apartment. She could only assume Keith turned and headed back to the Metro. She didn’t bother to look his way as she entered her apartment building.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

M
ONDAYS WERE RARELY
fun, but Trina had special reasons to dread this particular one. She’d tried to deck Perry Carlson, who was
only
the senior aide to a man who was as revered as James Smithson, the benefactor whose money created the Smithsonian Institution. Then she’d left the party with a man who was a potential source for an oral history
and
was friends with a potential future senator and for all she knew was buddies with her boss’s husband, who just so happened to be the US Attorney General.

Life in DC wasn’t for the faint of heart. Or poorly connected.

She was on the receiving end of more than a few curious stares as she entered the office, but she ignored them all. She’d told Cressida the details last night but didn’t plan to tell anyone else anything.

Of course, the day didn’t get any easier when the bouquet of roses arrived.

They worked on a closed military base, which had been the location of a terrifying mass-shooting event. Security was tight on a slow day, and flower delivery was low priority but required high security. She was called to the walk-in gate, where she had to show ID and explain a gift she hadn’t known was coming.

The flowers, two dozen red roses, had been searched. Stems were broken. Buds crushed.

It wasn’t pretty.

But still, they smelled nice.

The card said simply:
I’m sorry. –Keith

A second bouquet triggered the same rigmarole. But security was twice as freaked out, because the basket was a massive floral arrangement. From a different guy. Who was also apologizing. She had no idea what the bright summer flowers would have looked like before they searched the hard foam sponge that was supposed to hold the arrangement together, but they fared even worse than the roses.

And security snickered when they asked why Perry Carlson was also apologizing to her. Only one of the marines even pretended the curiosity was part of the job.

Fed up with the questions and leers, Trina snapped. “He’s apologizing because I took a swing at him at a party. And he had it coming.”

The marines laughed as if her claim was the most absurd thing they’d ever heard, and she took her flowers and returned to her office.

Then security called to tell her flowers from Derrick Vole had arrived. On the card, he apologized for not realizing she was Dr. Trina Sorensen, and he hoped she’d still be willing to help him arrange a photo op for his boss. He included his phone number and begged her to call him.

That was when Trina’s headache began.

“I’m having the crappiest day,” she said as she flopped into a seat at a table with Mara, Cressida, and Erica in the cafeteria at noon. “Please, someone, show me a kitten video.”

“I don’t have kittens, but the beast file cabinet will be moved out of your cubicle this afternoon,” Cressida said. “Mara got approval to let me catalogue it.”

Trina smiled faintly. This
was
good news. The armored file cabinet took up far too much space, and she’d been saddled with it since she’d started working for the navy two years ago. The cabinet had been moved from cubicle to cubicle since as long as anyone at NHHC could remember—and some of the historians had been here since the Carter administration—always housed with the newest historian in the group. As far as anyone knew, it had been classified as top secret sometime after World War II and promptly forgotten. It was anyone’s guess when the keys were lost or what was in it.

Mara had declared one of her goals while interim director would be to see the file cabinet opened and the contents catalogued, and it was on the list of tasks for Cressida to complete during her internship. But good old Walt Fryer had taken issue, insisting Cressida didn’t have the proper clearance. Mara had to appeal to the top brass, who concurred with her opinion that the “intelligence” the file cabinet contained was likely to be blueprints of German U-boats or something else laughably out-of-date.

“Maintenance is going to drill out the locks today,” Mara said.

“We should start an office pool over what’s inside,” Erica said. “I’m hoping for papers from Area 51.”

Mara scoffed. “No way. The air force would never let the navy have anything that useful.” She fixed Trina with a knowing smile. “So, Trina, much as I love the flowers you gave me, I think you should know I’m married.”

Erica snorted. “Yeah, so what is the deal with the SEAL?”

Trina rubbed her temples. “You didn’t just say that.”

Erica shrugged. “Unintentional rhyme. But I still want details.”

“There’s no deal. No details.”

“For what it’s worth, Alec says great things about Keith,” Mara ventured. “He really respects the guy.”

“Alec can go to hell. His friend’s an ass.”

Erica sat back in her chair and studied Trina. “I’m thinking Treen didn’t get laid last night. What do you think, Mara?”

“If she did, it was awful,” Mara replied. “So which is it? Did you drink too much to enjoy the show, or did he have trouble?” She grinned. “That
could
explain the roses.”

Trina nearly spewed her drink. She sort of felt like she should defend Keith’s manhood, but decided against it. “He pissed me off before things could get really interesting, and I left.”