Breakpoint (8 page)

“Even if such alleged note does actually point to terrorism, the NCIS is charged with detecting, deterring, and disrupting terrorism against the Department of the Navy, personnel, and its assets worldwide.” Julianne, who’d worked with the agency on several JAG cases, quoted the agency’s mission statement.

“Granted. But while NCIS can stretch the boundaries, it’s still a military organization. The government doesn’t want to be caught with its pants down the way it was on 9/11,” the naval officer said.

“Any possible connection has to be explored,” he continued. “Using any means available. Which is why THOR, which has authority to go deep black and is answerable solely to the president and commander in chief, was created in the first place.”

From the edge in his voice when he’d stated the name of the new agency, and from the way his jaw was set, Julianne got the impression that he was less than thrilled by its inception.

She exchanged a brief look with O’Halloran. His expression suggested that for once they were on the same wavelength.

“As you’ve both been told, the original cause of death was suicide. But now that’s been put on hold. I wish I could tell you more, but apparently it’s on a need-to-know basis.”

And he obviously hadn’t been invited into the loop. Change “less than thrilled” to “totally pissed off.”

“Of course, the Navy is more than willing to assist our government in any way possible.” The hardness of his eyes and the muscle jumping in his temple did not even begin to match his words. “We also welcome an investigation into whatever occurred on the
O’Halloran
.”

“The
O’Halloran
?” Surely he couldn’t be serious. “That’s the name of the carrier?”

“Named after Captain Declan Cormac O’Halloran,” he confirmed, “A naval hero in the War of 1812.”

Well. Wasn’t that going to be just nifty? Going aboard the carrier with the former Air Force CCT who carried the same name as their boat would probably be like showing up with Bono.

Then again, Julianne thought, maybe that would make people more likely to talk to them.

“I’ve got to admit,” the bane of her existence spoke up, “other than the name coincidence, which I have no idea whether or not has anything to do with my family, I can’t quite understand why I’ve been assigned to the case.”

“I hear you’re an expert at computers,” the commander said.

“I’m pretty good,” O’Halloran allowed with what Julianne, who’d studied his records with a fine-toothed comb, knew was false modesty.

From what she’d been able to tell, there wasn’t a top-ranked computer science school in the country who hadn’t actively recruited him with full scholarships. Which would have allowed him the chance to make millions, maybe even billions, once he graduated.

Yet, for some reason, although he’d attended Cal Poly, he’d dropped out after his sophomore year and joined the Air Force, where, as a CCT, he’d essentially used that near-genius mind for good, in the service of his country as an information warrior.

Another reason, she suspected, that the Air Force hadn’t even considered court-martialing him.

Yet he left the service anyway to go to work with the SEALs with whom he’d obviously formed a
Band of Brothers
bond during what had to be a horrific day in those snowy Afghan mountains.

“But if all they want me to do is search through the dead sailor’s laptop, just about any competent teenage computer geek could do that.”

Since Julianne had no more clue than he did what he was doing on this investigation, she merely shrugged and turned back to the lieutenant commander.

“What time will we be leaving in the morning?”

“You’ll go wheels-up at zero-nine-hundred,” he said. “From MCBH at Kaneohe Bay. I’ve arranged quarters for you here. Tomorrow morning you’ll be driven to the base.”

Along with having spent two years of her childhood at Pearl, Julianne had also been stationed here herself early in her career. Which was why she knew that although the drive from the naval station to the marine base from where they’d be taking off should take only twenty-five to thirty minutes, during morning drive time they’d be hitting a lot of traffic. A lifetime of living by a strict twenty-four-hour clock had left her a stickler for punctuality; no way did she want to get off on the wrong foot by arriving late.

“As much as I appreciate your offer of hospitality, Commander,” she said, “I believe it might be more practical to spend the night at MCBH . If there are accommodations available,” she added tactfully and with what she hoped was the proper amount of respect.

“You represent the commander in chief.” He sounded no more pleased about that idea than he had the first time he’d brought it up. “The marine housing officer will ensure that you’re both well taken care of.”

He picked up the phone and instructed the ensign who’d led them to the office to make the arrangements. Then he stood up, apparently declaring the brief, less than illuminating meeting over.

“Here’s the information I was given.” He held out the thin manila file to Julianne. “Make this happen,” he instructed her. “ASfuckingAP. Because when it hits the media—and it will when the ship arrives here, if not before—if we don’t have answers, it’s going to turn into one hell of a goat fuck.”

Julianne could not argue that. “Yes, sir,” she said, once again feeling odd not to be saluting before leaving the office.

The master of arms, who’d driven her from the airport, was waiting by the car when they approached and immediately stiffened to attention.

“I guess once you’re an officer, you’re always an officer,” O’Halloran murmured.

“Believe me, it doesn’t earn any brownie points out in the real world.”

He beat the MA for the back passenger door, opening it for her. “Hey, I don’t have any grudge against stripes,” he assured her. “I was just saying.”

“Well, I strongly doubt that it’ll pull any weight on the carrier.” She climbed into the backseat and fastened her seat belt. “In fact, we may run into even more resistance because we’re civilians. And I’m former JAG, which no military personnel ever wants to see show up on the scene. . . . Oh, hell.”

“What?” he asked as he climbed in beside her into the back of the sedan. He was larger than he looked, with that lean, rangy runner’s body. Julianne felt oddly crowded.

“I just realized why they chose you to be my partner.”

“Why?”

“For your charm.”

“Wow.” Twin dimples winked in his darkly tanned cheeks as he grinned. “Talk about playing your cards close to your chest.” His wicked brown eyes skimmed down to the front of the starched blouse she’d worn with a slim, knee-length khaki skirt that had once been part of her uniform. “The other four times we’ve met up, I would’ve bet dollars to Krispy Kremes that you figured me to have about as much charm as a western rattler.”

“Betting is against Navy regs.”

“Yeah. Like sailors never gamble,” he scoffed.

“Putting that aside, just because I’m immune to it doesn’t mean I can’t recognize an admirable weapon in your manly arsenal,” she said coolly as the driver pulled away from the dock. “According to everyone who was in that bunker after the helo crashed on the mountain, you were, in large part, responsible for keeping the mood up. Especially during that time the young Marine was dying.”

His eyes, which had been glinting with laughter, shadowed. The dual dimples disappeared as his jaw tightened.

“That was a rough time.”

“But you managed to lighten things with your so-called rules for speed dating and tricks for juggling women around the globe.”

“Ouch.” Amazingly, that dart appeared to hit home, because he actually flinched. “I don’t know what you were told, but I want to go on record, right here and now, as saying that rumors of my womanizing have been greatly exaggerated.”

“You may be surprised to hear this, but I don’t care one way or the other.” Since she had no intention of being one of those juggled women. “My point was that you made an ugly situation better.”

Julianne decided that since it would be hovering between them, interfering with their mission, she might as well get things out on the table. “And I made it worse.”

“Short of everyone else dying out on that mountain, I can’t think of much more that could’ve made the day worse. And no offense, LT, while I’ll give you props for being one helluva lawyer, even you didn’t have the power to affect anything from the time that helo took off. Though I will admit that you damn sure took any fun out of surviving.”

“I don’t want to beat a dead horse by arguing over details again,” she said. God. Of all the partners in all the world, she had to end up with this one? “Since it’s behind us.” And she’d lost. “But I am sincerely sorry that your mission went so wrong. Of course I regret the loss of a single life.”

Turning her gaze to sailors walking across the street, their black armbands signifying they were shore patrol, she took a breath to steady her nerves, which always got tangled whenever she thought back on that investigation. “I also regret I had a duty to perform.”

“A duty that, in your eyes, was to use those SEALs to set an example.”

She wasn’t going to try to deny it.

“I understand that Spec Ops—especially when they’ve gone black—operate under different rules. That they have to be able to improvise on the spot and they’re allowed more lenience when it comes to regulations than other troops.

“But there’s a very thin line between effective Special Operations and loose cannons. The military—the country—can’t risk arming the latter.”

To her surprise, he smiled just a bit at that. “Were you always a white hat/black hat kind of person? Or did you develop that at the academy?”

Again, she wasn’t surprised he knew she’d attended Annapolis. “Something wrong with appreciating order?” she asked as they paused again at the gate leaving the base.

“Nothing at all. The problem is that a helluva lot of the world doesn’t share your belief system. Which means that sometimes rules have to be bent, and you have to have people willing to operate outside the lines.”

“In those murky gray areas.”

“Exactly. Besides, because of that presidential order last year allowing cross-country raids, what we did is now technically legal.”

“The operative word is ‘now
.
’ It wasn’t then.”

He hadn’t apologized for his actions during those long hours of her investigation. Julianne knew he wouldn’t now. But there was one thing she needed to get straight right off the bat.

“Look, I realize that we’re probably not each other’s dream partner.”

“Speak for yourself,” he said easily.

“See?” Julianne folded her arms. “That’s what I was talking about. It’s that charm thing. You actually believe that if you compliment me, I’ll melt into a little puddle of feminine need willing to do your bidding.”

“Would you?”

She shot him a frustrated look. “Not on your life.”

“Too bad. Since it was an appealing fantasy. While it lasted. And while I’m not going to deny that working with a partner who smells like freshly mown grass rather than piss, sweat, goat dung, and month-old socks, is a definite change for the better, given that I’ve had more time to consider the possibilities of us working together while on the flight down here, I came to the conclusion that we could make a dynamite team.”

“And why is that?”

“You’re sharp as a whip, you’ve got a memory like the proverbial steel trap, and even more important, you’re used to listening more to what people don’t say than what they do say. The same skills that made you such a killer JAG prosecutor should make our interviews aboard ship easier.”

“Boat,” she murmured.

“What?”

“A carrier’s usually referred to by its crew as a boat.”

“I thought boats were technically small enough to be put on a ship. Except for subs, which used to be carried aboard ships.”

“That’s true. But for some reason, whenever my dad or any of the guys who hung around our house while I was growing up talked about a carrier, they called it a boat.” Despite the seriousness of their reason for being together, she couldn’t help smiling at a distant memory. “Except for when they were referring to them as floating gray POSs.”

He laughed at that. “I’ve been on some planes and helos I felt the same way about over the years.” He glanced down at the folder she was holding. “So, it doesn’t look as if we’ve got a whole lot to start with.”

“No.” She shook her head. “But we’ll get more.”

“Absolutely. And you know, that thing you said about my alleged charm?”

Julianne was still kicking herself over that comment. “What about it?”

“I can see, if you were a guy, having you play tough cop and me play good cop might work. Not”—he held up a hand, as if forestalling any objection—“because I’d necessarily be seen as easier, because I like to think of myself as a manly man.”

“You won’t get any argument from me there.”

His eyes lit up again; the damned dimples that should have taken away from his blatant masculinity, but for some mysterious reason didn’t, flashed. “Why, thank you, darlin’.”

“I’m not your darlin’.”

“Don’t take it personally. It’s merely a term we tend to use in Texas. Like ‘buddy.’ Or ‘son.’ Hell, I’d refer to my grandmama O’Halloran the same way.”

“I don’t know whether to be reassured by that. Or insulted.”

He shrugged shoulders that strained at the seams of his shirt. He might no longer be on active duty, but it was more than a little obvious that he hadn’t given up his daily PT. From what she could tell, beneath that khaki shirt his body was rock hard. And, she suspected, really, really ripped.

“It’s the truth. But my point, and I was trying to make one—although I gotta admit that perfume or soap or shampoo or whatever female thing you’ve got going that smells like a new-mown meadow is distracting—is that we both have our individual talents and skill sets.