The Marine

She nodded in acknowledgment and headed for the stairs to his second-story condo, her brain unnaturally sluggish given the choice she’d have to make.

If she could keep him out of jail, there would be nothing to prevent him from coming with her to Dependable.

If he pleaded guilty or she finagled the lesser charge and he paid the fine, the Marine Corps would be glad to be rid of him and she could give Joseph what he wanted, and he in turn would give her what she wanted.

But what if Rick Branigan was innocent?

She’d told him she didn’t care about his innocence or guilt, but she’d lied. She’d once been innocent and had had to pay the price for someone else’s actions. An injustice that had festered deep in her chest.

Lynn tucked the file folder under her arm and rubbed at one temple in an attempt to clear her thinking as she climbed the stairs. When she reached the major’s door, she opened it and entered quickly to keep the cat from escaping. She scanned the room as she latched the door behind her. Buddy was sitting on the glass-topped dining-room table, smack-dab in the middle of her files, and looking very much in control of his world.

A personal challenge if she ever saw one.

Lynn marched to the table. “Get off, cat.”

Not so much as a blink in response.

She picked up her briefcase and jammed the file containing the police report inside.

The cat stood, but only to stretch, raising his fluffy rear end in the air and digging his claws into her folders and papers. Lynn planted a fist on her hip and waited for him to finish. Once the claws were back in, she snatched a couple of the bottom files out from under him.

Buddy wasn’t impressed.

She muttered, “Stupid cat.”

The black phone on the kitchen bar rang, and they both jumped, Buddy off the table and Lynn back a step.

The phone rang again, and she glanced at the closed front door, wondering if she should let the major know he had a call. After the third ring and before she could decide, the answering machine kicked on and Rick Branigan’s voice, just as deep and compelling as it was in person, announced that he was out and instructed the caller to leave a message.

No “How’s it hanging?” or even “Hi,” but not rude, either. Just to the point, without embellishment. The man would not be an easy one to figure out.

She shouldn’t want to try.

The machine beeped and a woman’s voice filled the room. “Rick, honey, it’s Mom. You realize, don’t you, that it’s been ages since we talked. I called the base and all they would tell me was that you were unavailable. So, to keep from worrying about you, I’ve been convincing myself your answering machine must be broken.” A telling pause. “If you get this, please call me. And even if you don’t get this, you should still be checking in with your mother more often than this. The way you normally do.”

The woman was clearly striving to be light and joking, but there was a definite undertone of fear.

“I love you. Bye.”

Lynn stared at the blinking red light, the simple endearment making the backs of her eyes burn. Lynn would never have received a message like that from her mother, even if she were still in her life. It’d been years since the longing for family had been this bad.

Feeling ambushed, she swept the rest of the files into her briefcase with a careless hand and turned toward the door.

His mom didn’t know.

The thought stopped Lynn. She forced herself to consider. Why hadn’t he told his mother that his career, and freedom, were on the line? Because he didn’t want to face his mother’s disappointment?

Lynn shook her head. No. He struck her as the type who’d take it on the chin, sobbing momma or not. So why was he putting off the inevitable?

Because he doesn’t want to be talked out of doing what he’s doing.

The specter of his innocence rose again and made her conscience shudder. She shoved the uncomfortable sensation aside.

Maybe Major Branigan might find it easy to tell a stranger to go take a flying leap, but ignoring his mother’s pleas to make the best of the situation and get on with his life was another thing.

Hopefully, he’d be willing to get on with his life under the protective wing of the McCoys in Dependable, Missouri.

An idea bloomed in Lynn’s head and a renewed sense of determination surged through her with a power she’d come to depend upon.

She had no choice but to do anything she could to get Major Branigan in Dependable by July third.

Even if his momma had to drag him there.

WAITING IN HER hotel’s sunny, tropical-themed coffee shop the next morning for Ann Branigan to arrive, Lynn stared at the concentric rings of white that the cream formed as she poured the thick liquid into her coffee. She’d already dumped in the contents of two packets of sweetener.

She used to not allow herself the luxury of making what she considered a nasty drink more palatable, worried that she might be perceived as less tough somehow for not taking her coffee strong and black. But after meeting with such steady success at McCoy Enterprises, she’d lightened up a bit. She swirled her spoon around the cup until the coffee was a pale brown.

Maybe she’d lightened up too much.

Was that why she was having such a hard time sticking with her original neutrality regarding the major’s innocence or guilt? And was that why she’d agreed to wait until his mother could fly down from San Francisco to meet with her in person and talk at length about her son?

Lynn blew out a breath at her own foolishness and pushed the cup and saucer toward the center of the table, bumping the slender vase and its little purple orchids to the side. She’d only accepted being put off by Ann Branigan—after first telling the woman everything she knew, including the details of Marcus McCoy’s will—because it had become plain to Lynn less than two minutes into the conversation that the major’s mother was a woman to reckon with.

Ms. Branigan had not been happy to discover she’d been outed, that the secret she’d kept for so long was no longer a secret.

Thanks to the files Joseph McCoy’s lawyers and private investigators had compiled after the reading of Marcus McCoy’s will naming the women he’d paid off, Lynn had already known that Ms. Branigan was the owner of a very successful architectural design firm. Which was also how Lynn had known to get ahold of her. But Lynn had had no idea how strong a personality the woman would have.

Ms. Branigan had refused to give Lynn any insight into her son until they had a chance to meet face-to-face. Apparently holding on to a million-dollar secret for thirty-three years made her play things dang close to the vest.

But the major’s mom had promised in exchange not to see Rick or talk to him until after that meeting.

She’d better not. Lynn needed her firmly in the get-this-over-quick-and-quiet camp before Ms. Branigan spoke with her son.

And then Lynn could put the specter of past wrongs and the moral consciousness he’d stirred in her to rest for good and go back to never thinking about what was over and done with. She wanted to think only about her future.

A bright one without shadows or fear.

The sound of wooden chair legs scraping on tile brought her out of her thoughts and her head up. An attractive, petite older woman with close-cropped brown hair was pulling out the chair across from Lynn. She wore a tailored leather jacket that matched her hair, over a tan blouse and slacks. A bright red scarf tied jauntily around her neck gave her a splash of color and style.

“Miss Hayes?” she asked, even though she’d clearly assumed she had the right table. Her smile was striking, but tight—so similar to her son’s.

Lynn extended a hand. “Yes. And you must be Ann Branigan.”

“I am.” She slid into the seat with the ease of a woman used to breakfast meetings. The deep grooves on either side of her full mouth and her worry-clouded blue eyes made it obvious this was no regular business meeting to her. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”

“Thank you for flying down here.” Assuming you prove to be a help, not a hindrance.

“How could I not?” She settled in and waved away the waitress and her coffeepot. “While he might not believe it, Rick is the most important part of my world.”

Before Lynn could process the implications of Ms. Branigan’s statement, she asked, “So tell me, how could this have happened? Who has Rick been mistaken for?”

Lynn blinked. His mother had automatically assumed him innocent, despite all the facts Lynn had relayed to her during their telephone conversation the night before.

Lynn’s instincts reared up and shouted, Ha, I told you so! She stubbornly ignored them. “Ms. Branigan, your son confessed. Why would you think it’s a mistake?”

“Please, call me Ann. And I’m positive there’s been a mistake because I know my son, Miss Hayes.”

“Lynn,” she said, leveling the playing field. This woman was obviously the type who would cooperate only if she considered Lynn her equal.

Ann acknowledged her with a nod, then leaned forward, her round face radiating the strength of will her peppy attractiveness would normally belie. “Rick would never drive drunk, and he would never, ever, leave the scene of an accident, whether he caused it or not.” She settled back again. “You see, Lynn, my son is all about duty and honor.”

Lynn’s spirits plummeted. So much for losing moral consciousness.

Through tight lips, she admitted, “I noticed.”

“Hard not to. He lives and breathes the Marine code of honor, courage and commitment. Pretty much always has. When he was a teenager and found out that Semper Fi meant ‘Always Faithful’ he enlisted in the Marines’ college-bound program the next day.”

“Why?”

Ann inhaled deeply as she straightened the silverware in front of her. “When I asked him that very thing, he said he felt he had something to prove—whether to the world or himself, I’m not sure. What he didn’t say—would never say, but it’s something I’ve always known—is that he resents the choices his father and I made when I accidentally became pregnant.”

“You and Marcus McCoy,” Lynn clarified in a low voice.

“Yes. Neither of us wanted a long-term commitment. Marcus, understandably, didn’t want his identity revealed. I agreed to his terms because I’d be able to secure my child’s future by investing the money he was offering in my business. My hope had been that Rick would grow up and take over the company. He had different ideas. And I respect that.”

Different ideas that would cost Lynn her chance for guaranteed security. “But now that his ideas about his future have been effectively demolished, will you help me convince him to take the easiest way out of the trouble he’s in?”

“No.”

Shock loosened Lynn’s jaw, and she fought not to gape.

It must have shown, because Ann’s expression softened and she leaned near. “Not because I don’t want to, Lynn. But Rick—who I know loves me dearly—nevertheless deep down doesn’t respect me. He doesn’t realize that I’m aware of his feelings. And I believe that he struggles with them. But the truth is there in the choices he makes.”

Ann’s sigh held a mother’s regret. “I’ve never been able to influence him. Fortunately, his choices are always ones that I can be proud of. Though they’re not always in his best interest, as far as I’m concerned.” She shook her head. “If he’d chosen to work for me he’d be very rich by now.”

A gloominess stealing over Lynn, she muttered, “He already is very rich, thanks to the inheritance from his father. Very, very rich.”

Ann slumped back. “I suppose he is.” She shook her head again and tsked. “Poor Marcus. A grizzly bear. How awful.”

Feeling as though there was a grizzly bear of her own slobbering down her neck, Lynn clarified. “So you don’t believe you can convince Rick to accept my help or change his mind about this silent acceptance of whatever the punishment might be?”

“I wish I could. And I wish there was some hope that you could convince him yourself.”

Lynn sat up straighter. “What makes you think I can’t?”

“Because I can already tell that he’s going to react to you the same way he reacts to me.”

“Which is?”

“By doing the exact opposite of what you suggest.”

Dread churned in Lynn’s stomach like acid from the coffee she hadn’t drunk. “Why?”

Ann’s blue eyes glowed with certainty. “We’re too much alike, you and I.”

Lynn clenched her jaw. So she was on her own. Nothing new there. It appeared she’d have no choice but to discover the truth about Rick’s accident.

Then she could decide what to do.

RICK DREW STRENGTH from his frustration and lifted the heavier-than-normal weights away from his sides, his hissing breath loud in the deserted fitness room across the parking lot from his condo. While he’d never really thought much about the convenience of having a place to exercise at his condominium complex because he normally worked out on base, he’d found it a godsend in the days since he’d been released on bail. He probably would have exploded with frustration had he not been able to release some of the steam as sweat that drenched his white sleeveless T-shirt and black shorts.

Today he could have given Hercules a good go. It was already midmorning, and he was still going strong.

He couldn’t believe Lawyer Lady’s gall—

The door leading out to the parking lot opened. “Ah, it is you.”

Rick faltered and nearly dropped the dumbbells. Man, now she’s showing up when I think about her. Talk about a reason to stop thinking about her.

He turned to find Lynn striding toward him. Though how she practically marched in those heels was beyond him. The pale blue color and feminine cut of her suit coat and matching pants screamed girly-girl, but her in-charge walk, tightly pulled back hair and set jaw belied the packaging.

She was an interesting contradiction. And so not for him.

He turned away and readjusted his hold on the weights. “Butt out of my life, Miss Hayes.”

She came as close as she could without risking his hitting her as he went back to lifting the weights out to his sides. Not close, considering his arm-span, but close enough to make him unable to count as he raised and lowered the weights. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her cross her arms over her attention-grabbing breasts.

“I’m afraid that’s not an option, Major.”

The metal weights clanked as he brought them together in front of his hips. “Respecting other people’s privacy is always an option.”

“Not when your privacy is a matter of law—”

He jerked the weights upward. “I can’t believe you called my mother.”

“You’ve spoken with her?” Her tone had a sharp edge.

Boy, was she mistaken if she thought she could control Ann Branigan. No one put achieving her goals above all else like his mom.

He lowered his arms and brought the weights together. “Briefly.”

“So what did you two talk about?” She sounded as though she was worried about competition for the Supreme Commander seat.

He had to admit, Lynn Hayes was the first woman he’d ever met who might actually give Ann a run for her money.

He answered, “She called me this morning to tell me she was flying down to meet with you.” He tossed her a glare as he lifted his arms again. “Then she expects me to explain everything.”

“Will you?”

The hope in her voice had him gritting his teeth. She still didn’t get it.

“No. Why did you call her?”

“Her previous involvement with Marcus McCoy made contacting her a logical choice. I felt it was only right to inform her of his death, regardless of your level of cooperation.”

“You mean ‘lack thereof.’”

“Yes.”

The ghost of a child’s yearning for a deeper connection between the people who’d made him piggybacked on his unquestionable love for his mother and had him asking, “How’d she take the news that he’d been killed?”

“In stride.”

He scoffed. “That’s my mom.”

“It’s been a long time since she and Marcus were involved, Rick.”

He ignored her soft use of his name, the way it tempted him to see her as more than another problem he really didn’t need right now.

Aiming for a snide tone, he said, “Thirty-three years and nine months, to be exact.”

She shifted in front of him and looked him in the eye. Looked deep in him again. “Ah.”

He hated when she did that. “What do you mean, ah?”

“The whole ‘Always Faithful’ thing.”

To hide his surprise, Rick took his time setting down the hand weights. She would make a hell of an intel officer. “What are you talking about?”

“Just something your mother mentioned.”

“What my mom mentioned? About that—I don’t want you talking to my mother, or anyone else I know, for that matter.” He’d say the words, but he doubted she’d listen—

“Can’t do that,” she shot back.

He heaved a sigh, then told her flat-out, “You can and you—”

“I’m going to find out the truth about the accident, Rick.” She squared her shoulders and her stance, her jaw at a belligerent angle. “I’m going to uncover the truth, then I’m going to use it to find a way to get you out of trouble and back to Dependable so the terms of your father’s will can be executed. And give Joseph McCoy the gift of one of his grandsons for his seventy-fifth birthday.”

He mimicked her pose, but improved on it with a squadron’s worth of testosterone. “Like hell.”

Chapter Four

“You should have told me the truth.”

Pete Wright’s pale blue eyes and battered face didn’t show any sign that he was surprised by Rick’s choice of greeting, or by finding the best friend of his youth on his doorstep for the first time in months. Not since Pete had left the Marines for what he swore would be greener, less “confining” pastures. He simply lifted a bony shoulder in his typical shrug. A gesture that, as Rick matured, had begun to bug the hell out of him.

Now it made him sick to his stomach.

Pete raked his long, dark brown bangs back from his face, his once-military cut gone wild. “Dude, I barely knew my own name that night, let alone the truth. I’m barbecuing out back.” He turned and walked away, but left the front door to his apartment open by way of invitation. The stylized, but no less rude, gesture printed on the back of his black T-shirt sent a different message.

Rick pulled in a calming—and pretty much useless—breath and followed. The front room of the small, two-bedroom, first-floor apartment went as dark as a tomb when he closed the door behind him. The thick beige curtains were drawn over the large window to shut out the hot late-afternoon sun as well as the view of three green Dumpsters Rick had noticed in the small parking lot as he’d waited for Pete to answer the doorbell.

A stream of light knifed through the tiny eating nook when Pete elbowed his way past the same type of curtains that covered the sliding-glass doors. The screen door scraped along its metal track as he went out onto the patio.

Rick followed, clinging to his composure. He’d finally come here for the answers he hadn’t wanted before. He couldn’t have stopped the train once it’d started to come off the tracks and the details only would have haunted him more.

But now he had to know exactly what had happened that night, had to arm himself against the barrage of questions Lynn Hayes was sure to unleash on him.

He had to know everything, to stay one step ahead of her in her quest for the truth.

And deep down, he still held out hope that Pete would come to his senses and act honorably. He’d done it before—only at Rick’s urging—but maybe he’d do it again. A stupid thing to hope for, because Rick doubted he’d be able to allow Pete to even try. They’d dug themselves in too far already, with Rick’s initially taking responsibility.

The sharp smell of cooking meat along with the glare of sun on the six-by-six slab of concrete that constituted Pete’s patio hit Rick when he stepped through the slider, as it had countless times before. Only this time he wasn’t making a social call.

Pete was already back to manning the charcoal-briquette grill, spatula in hand. “Shut the screen door behind ya. Marissa hates flies.” He pressed the spatula against one of two thick hamburger patties. “Better yet, close the slider. The heat’s been getting to her. Those of us at the bottom of the hill don’t have the luxury of working AC.” Fat and juices sizzled and spat.

The ancient temptation to feel guilty about being among the haves when Pete had always been among the have-nots stirred in Rick’s belly, but he refused to let Pete toss him on the barbie along with the burgers. Nevertheless, the pounding that had started in his head after Lynn’s visit intensified to bomb blasts as he reached to close the sliding-glass door.

With heartfelt sincerity he asked, “How is Marissa?”

“As big as a house.”

A feminine voice called from inside the apartment, “I heard that!”

The curtain on the other side of the sliding door Rick had been closing was moved out of the way by a very attractive, very pregnant blonde.

Rick automatically searched her warm brown eyes for any sign of accusation. “Hey, Marissa.”

“Rick!” She greeted him with a wide smile softened by contentment. “Long time no see!” She pushed the patio door wide enough to hug him as best she could.

The intensity of his headache lessened as he hugged her back. When she pulled away, he glanced at the eight months’ worth of baby under her pink maternity tank top, and managed a crooked grin when he returned his gaze to hers. “I’ll say. And you’re growing more beautiful by the inch.”

She’d been pretty, petite and trusting when Pete had first met her on the beach last summer. From what Rick could tell, only the petite part had changed, by at least forty pounds, all of it sticking out in front of her. The thought of destroying her trust made his stomach turn.

“Boy, Rick, that smile of yours is enough to flip a heart or two on a normal basis, but combined with these pregnancy hormones…” She sucked air through her teeth. “It’s a good thing I’m a happily married woman.”

God, he hoped so. He slid Pete a look.

Pete’s attention was on the burgers.

Marissa said, “Jeez, we haven’t seen you since the wedding. Can you stay for an early dinner? We’ve been eating our bigger meal around now so I have plenty of time to digest before I try to lie down. It’ll just take me a second to make another patty—”

Rick held up a hand. “No, I can’t. Sorry, Marissa. But thanks anyway.”

She pouted, but she didn’t seem all that disappointed. “I understand. Now that you’re officially a major, you’re probably as busy as all get out.” She smiled brightly again. “Hey, congrats on that, by the way.” She cuffed him lightly on the shoulder.

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