Breakpoint (34 page)

“He’s a squadron skipper. The captain was not only her superior officer, he was her mentor.”

“Neither of those things precludes him from being her lover.”

“He has a flight tomorrow afternoon. A performance, actually, to welcome the Tiger Cruise participants. His wife will be one of those coming aboard. I do not want him disturbed.”

Julianne gave him what Dallas had come to think of as “the Look” over the rim of her own cup. Having been on the receiving end of that icy eyeball, Dallas was surprised the skipper wasn’t suddenly covered in frost.

“We need to speak with him,” she said firmly. “He hasn’t been making himself available. I’m sure, as captain, you can facilitate that. And we’d like to take a swab.”

It was an order, and everyone in the room knew it.

“Hell, why don’t you just take one from me while you’re at it,” CDO Wright said. “I’d probably talked to her sometime during the week she died. Surely that puts me on your suspect list.”

“Or me,” Admiral Miller said. “Or Captain Ramsey.”

She inclined her head. “That could be arranged.”

“This is ridiculous,” the captain almost blustered. “If it’ll put an end to this witch hunt, I’ll speak with Campbell. Ask him to cooperate. But believe me, you’re wasting your time. And the government’s money.”

“Given the Pentagon’s budget, a few DNA tests aren’t exactly going to break the bank,” Dallas said.

“It’s not Campbell,” the captain insisted. “I’d bet my command on it.”

“That’s not necessary.” Having gotten her way, Julianne smoothed the edge from her tone. “Asking the captain to cooperate will be sufficient.”

The convivial mood had been shattered. Even the mess server, who’d been hovering a few feet away, prepared to leap forward and refill glasses or cups, seemed to realize it as he moved forward to clear the dessert plates. Julianne had chosen chocolate cake, which had reminded Dallas—and his dick—of his earlier fantasy, while he and other men had opted for the hot apple pie à la mode.

“I believe,” Dallas said as they left the mess together, only to find the ever-present ensign hovering outside, waiting for them, “that’s one more Christmas party we’d better not hold our breath waiting to be invited to.”

“It’s necessary,” she insisted.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t. I was, however, impressed by your brass balls. Not many people—male or female—would be able to face down a cadre of military bigwigs like you just did.”

She shrugged shoulders clad in a crisp white dress uniform. He’d worn his dress blues and liked to think that he’d caught her sneaking a couple of admiring looks his way during her earlier catching-up chat with the admiral.

“Justice doesn’t recognize rank.”

He grinned. “Why did I just know you were going to say that?”

She glanced up at him. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Never. To tell the truth, I’ve never been so serious in my life.”

They exchanged a long, simmering look. Dallas had no idea how long it lasted, but it must have been a while, because the ensign, who’d been mostly silent as a clam the entire day, cleared his throat.

“Where did they bunk you?” Dallas asked Julianne.

“With Lieutenant Ford.”

He lifted a brow. “That was lucky.”

“I’ve always believed in making my own luck. When I realized she had an extra bunk, I asked for it. And voilà.”

“Voilà, indeed. Maybe you’ll get even luckier and the LT will talk in her sleep and confess to murdering her roommate for that locker space she claimed not to lust after.”

“There’s not a woman in the world who ever has enough closets,” Julianne said. “Even me. But I doubt she’d kill for one. And that motive doesn’t explain the LSO.”

“Who may have just fallen off the deck.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Sure. Right along with the Easter bunny, Santa Claus, and the tooth fairy.”

They’d reached the hatch to the LT’s quarters. Dallas glanced behind him, where the ensign was hovering.

“If you don’t want to be embarrassed, you might want to go over and examine that bulkhead,” he said, nodding his head toward the steel wall. “Make sure we’re not going to spring a leak anytime soon.”

“Yes, sir,” the young man said. Then, amazingly, he crossed the small passageway and began staring with apparent fascination at the pipes and steel.

“Our young friend may take things a bit literally,” Dallas said. “But, with the CDO going off duty, while I’ve got you as much to myself as I’m going to tonight, I’m going to seize the moment. So to speak.”

The kiss was slow, deep, and possessive. It also left him hard as a pike.

“You know what you said about making your own luck?” he murmured against her ear.

“It was only a minute ago.”

“I believe in the same thing.” He lifted her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. “Which is why, while you were off talking with your sister and interviewing the
O’Halloran
’s witch doctor—”

“That’s terrible.” She amazed him by giggling just a little at that at the same time she used her free hand to lightly punch his upper arm.

“Hey, if the magic wand fits . . . anyway, I went online and reserved the Kamehameha Suite—with early check-in—at the Royal Hawaiian.”

“That’s got to cost a small fortune.” The historic hotel on Waikiki Beach, known locally as the Pink Palace of the Pacific, was every bit as extravagant as the del Coronado. Perhaps even more so, though she’d certainly never stayed there, either.

“If Uncle Sam didn’t want the best for us, he shouldn’t have given us an unlimited credit card,” he said. “Besides, did I mention the private lanai? And the massive soaking tub with a view of the ocean?”

Julianne caved. “That did it.” A thought occurred to her. “Reservations must be hard to get there. You didn’t hack in and steal anyone’s suite out from under them, did you?”

“Would I do that?”

Her gaze didn’t waver.

“Okay,” he allowed. “Maybe I just might. Under the right circumstances. But as it turns out, I didn’t have to. Because the suite is only available for one day. Obviously it was meant to be.”

Since she’d be sharing a head for tomorrow morning’s shower with at least a dozen other women, the idea of a soaking tub—with a view of the Pacific—sounded like heaven.

Even more special was the idea that she wouldn’t be soaking in that tub alone.

She hadn’t slept well. Dallas could see it in the shadows beneath her eyes. Not that he could blame her. If he hadn’t learned the ability to take a combat nap anywhere, at any time, he sure as hell would’ve been kept awake by the constant noise. Even without the planes flying, a carrier was never quiet.

And being jolted out of a hot dream involving Juls in that oversize sea-view tub by the not-so-dulcet tones of the boatswain’s mate at the uncivilized hour of zero-six-hundred was, in his opinion, no damn way to start the day.

Yep. Dallas figured he’d last a week aboard a carrier. A week tops. As it was, if he didn’t have Juls to distract him, he might be getting real edgy about now.

Not that he wasn’t already edgy. Edgy for the carrier to dock so they could get to that pink hotel.

Anticipation, he told himself, as they were finally granted an audience with pilot skipper Captain Mike Campbell, could be painful.

It was obvious the captain wasn’t all that eager to see them. He was sprawled in a chair in the aviator’s ready room, definitely looking like the top gun he’d proven himself to be in his green Nomex flight suit.

“Let’s just get it over with,” he said without preamble when they entered. “But, for the record, no way would I have screwed any of my flight crew. Let alone a junior officer. Getting written up on a sexual harassment charge wouldn’t do a hell of a lot for my chances of making carrier skipper.”

Dallas wondered if that was every pilot’s dream. Or just the ones who flew on flattops.

“Did you know the LT had that same goal?” Julianne asked.

“Sure. Everyone in the place knew it. Another reason, along with the fact that I love my wife, and I’ve got a kid I haven’t even seen except on a computer screen, that I wouldn’t have gotten near her. She was a good pilot. Maybe the best I’ve ever seen at her level of experience. But she was a user. And no guy wants to feel used, right?” he asked Dallas.

“I don’t know.” Dallas shot Julianne a look. “I guess it all depends on the female doing the using.”

The pilot laughed at that, and the air in the room became less tense. Then his eyes narrowed. “I know you. You were Air Force, right? A CCT.”

“That’s me.”

“I was in Afghanistan right after 9/11. It was fucking amazing the way you managed to juggle all that aircraft during combat.”

“It’s a lot like a video game.” Dallas shrugged off the compliment. “Though the planes are life-size.”

“And real lives are at stake.”

“All the more reason to win the game.”

The pilot held out a hand. “Thanks for getting me home safe. My wife thanks you, too.”

“Just doing my job. Like you did when you landed last night in that storm.”

“Saw that, did you?”

“I think anyone who could get to a place where they could watch the deck saw that trap,” he said. “Talk about fucking amazing.”

“You’re both great,” Julianne said with a touch of impatience. “My admiration knows no bounds. Now, if you don’t mind, since this boat’s going to dock in just a couple hours, I’d really like to get a few questions in. If you’re done with the male-warrior-bonding thing.”

The pilot shot Dallas a look. “Is she always this impatient?”

“She’s efficient,” Dallas corrected. “But although we’ve been working together only a couple days, I have the feeling that she can learn to slow down a bit. With the right motivation.”

The pilot laughed again. Julianne, on the other hand, did not appear amused.

“You said that Lieutenant Murphy was the best pilot you’d seen.”

“At her level. Yeah. There are guys who’ve done more tours, got more experience, but she was a natural.”

“Are you saying the LSO shouldn’t have waved her off?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.” He winced a little. “I knew there’d be an investigation as soon as I heard about her committing suicide. Which I now hear you two think was murder.”

“We don’t have an autopsy yet. But yes, we have evidence pointing to that.”

“Well, that’s going to cause the shit to hit the fan.”

“Something we’re trying to avoid happening,” Dallas said. “The goal is to wrap it up real quick.”

“Good luck with that. And I’m not going to be much help. But I can tell you that the LSO behaved appropriately. She was off her game that night.

“Since she’d already done enough traps to stay current on quals, I was planning to pull her from the sked for a day or so. Talk to her, see what was distracting her. Maybe send her to the shrink. Because no way was I going to risk lives—including her own—just because she didn’t have her head on straight.”

“Maybe you didn’t sleep with her,” Julianne said. “But you were her superior officer. Her mentor. Did you talk about things other than her flying?”

“On occasion. But she wasn’t real chatty, like some women. No offense, ma’am,” he said to Julianne.

“None taken.”

“What I meant was, Lieutenant Ford’s all the time talking about her big plans to fly jets to Japan and Europe. Hang out in the bars, live the good life, make a lot of bucks. Which, good luck with that, given how many pilots are getting out of the military at the same time airlines are cutting back.

“But in her own way, she’s as focused and determined as Mav was, so she might actually make it. She’s a good aviator, as well. Not as good as Mav. But better than most. I’d feel safe with my family flying with her.”

He smiled again at the mention of his family. Not a flashy, show-off smile, but one that came from inside, making Dallas decide he was probably telling the truth about not having had sex with the murdered pilot.

“So you wouldn’t know if Lieutenant Muprhy and the LSO were lovers?”

“I heard gossip. But only after she died.”

That was something they hadn’t heard before.

“Not before?” Julianne asked, jumping on the statement.

“No.”

“You’re sure?” she pressed.

“Absolutely. Aviators are competitive by nature, and you’re going to get conflicts. If I even suspected two of my pilots were shacking up, you can bet I would’ve dealt with it.”

“Do you remember who told you?”

He rubbed his chin. “There was a lot going on. And I was flying when she was found, so I got all the info secondhand. But maybe Ford?” He shrugged. “Sorry. You always, in the back of your mind, accept the possibility of one of your teammates dying. But suicide . . . well, shit.

“That sucks. And I was too busy trying to look back and think what I could’ve done to prevent it. And yeah, because, like I said, we’re a competitive bunch, I was also thinking about what this incident might do to my record. Because, when it comes to assigning CV slots, the command types going over service records make those scientists studying the Shroud of Turin look like skylarkers.”

“Slackers,” Julianne translated for Dallas.

When the pilot made it clear that he had no further information to share, after taking the obligatory, but probably not incriminating DNA swab, Julianne and Dallas left the ready room.

“Another dead end,” she complained.

“Not entirely. It’s the first time we learned that the rumor might not have started until after her body was found.”

“Meaning that it could have been begun by the killer. To deflect suspicion from himself.”

“Or herself.”

“Or herself,” Julianne agreed with a lack of enthusiasm that suggested she wasn’t buying Lieutenant Harley Ford as the murderer.