Always Faithful Read online

  Table of Contents

  Legal Page

  Title Page

  Book Description

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  New Excerpt

  About the Author

  Publisher Page

  Always Faithful

  ISBN # 978-1-78686-244-0

  ©Copyright Caitlyn Willows 2017

  Cover Art by Posh Gosh ©Copyright August 2017

  Edited by Jamie D. Rose

  Totally Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Totally Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Totally Bound Publishing. Unauthorized or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2017 by Totally Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, UK

  Totally Bound Publishing is a subsidiary of Totally Entwined Group Limited.

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Totally Simmering and a Sexometer of 1.

  Rules of Engagement

  ALWAYS FAITHFUL

  Caitlyn Willows

  Book one in the Rules of Engagement series

  They hunt a killer who will stop at nothing to protect his identity, even if that means threatening the one link between them—their son.

  When Staff Sergeant Rowan McKinley is charged with murder, she wants the best defense counsel the Marine Corps has to offer—Captain Phillip Stuart. Seeking his help means opening old wounds. It’s a risk she must take to save herself.

  Phillip swore he’d never have anything to do with the one woman who had not only broken his heart but had crushed it. Helping her was personal suicide. But professionally, it could be the coup de grace of his career—that next rung on the ladder, the next challenge he was looking for.

  The love and passion each thought gone sparks to life—only now it is forbidden by military law. Knowing the rules and adhering to them are very different matters. But who should make the sacrifice when both are destined to soar to the top of their ranks?

  The choice might be taken from their hands. There is a killer with just as much to lose who will stop at nothing to protect his identity, even if that means threatening the one link between Phillip and Rowan—the son Phillip never knew he had.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Don Quixote: Miguel de Cervantes

  Jeep: FCA US LLC

  Frisbee: Wham-O Holding Ltd.

  Cub Scouts: Boy Scouts of America Corporation

  Mustang: Ford Motor Company Corporation

  Diet Coke: Coca-Cola Company

  Styrofoam: The Dow Chemical Company Corporation

  Matchbox: Mattel, Inc.

  Etch a Sketch: Spin Master Ltd.

  Dodge: Chrysler LLC

  The Munsters: NBCUniversal Television Distribution

  NBA: NBA Properties Inc.

  Legoland: Lego Juris A/S Corporation

  Toyota: Toyota Jidosha Kabushiki Kaisha Corporation

  Disneyland: Disney Enterprises Inc.

  Ford: Ford Motor Company Corporation

  Dove: Conopco, Inc.

  Prologue

  Staff Sergeant Rowan McKinley studied the steel warehouse from every angle she could see. Since her only viewpoint was from Charlie’s battered old truck, that wasn’t easy. The security lights being out made it doubly hard. There wasn’t another person around or any sign of another vehicle. No activity whatsoever. Everyone and everything was tucked away for the evening, as it should be at midnight.

  She glanced at the man beside her. The darkness kept her from seeing his face clearly, but she knew it would be lit with excitement. For lack of a better term, she could almost smell the testosterone in the air. Or is that beer? She’d swear he’d been drinking, even if she didn’t want to admit that to herself.

  It was all Rowan could do to keep from shaking. What in the world had she been thinking to come here? She was a legal specialist, not an MP, not CID and certainly not NCIS. Her stubborn determination to prove herself right had gotten her into this mess—a dangerous mess at that. And if Charlie had been drinking, she had been even stupider to get into a vehicle with him.

  Rowan wiped her sweaty palms on her camouflage trousers. Her heart pounded so hard she’d swear he could hear it.

  Where were her priorities? She had a child to think about. Why should she care if someone was stealing government property? She’d reported her suspicions to anyone and everyone who would listen. Why in the world couldn’t she have left it at that? She’d done her duty.

  But no… Like a modern-day Don Quixote, she’d had to go tilting at windmills. All things considered, her sanity was as questionable as that foolish old coot’s.

  She studied the hulking white building once more. No guards walking their posts. It looked quiet enough—safe, despite the lack of security lights. It should have put her at ease, but it only set her nerves on edge.

  “Charlie, I don’t like this. It doesn’t seem right. I think we should leave.”

  He chuckled and gave her a playful slug on the arm. “You’re being silly.” After drawing his pistol, he slid from the truck and silently made his way to the building. Easy to be brave when you’re a walking giant.

  Rowan frowned when he walked inside. The door wasn’t even locked. Now that was odd. Too easy. A trap? Possibly. Charlie was too gung-ho or too inebriated to notice—or maybe he embraced the challenge, the danger, the rush.

  Rowan glanced around. She was a sitting target.

  She searched the floorboard debris of to-go cups for something to use as a weapon. Nothing, not even a floor mat. For one brief second, she considered cranking the engine and getting out of there but dismissed the cowardly plan. She would not leave Charlie. They were safer together.

  Curling her fingers around the door handle, she shoved her shoulder against the truck door. It groaned as it opened, announcing her presence to anyone who might have doubted it before.

  Crouching low, Rowan ran to the building and ducked inside. Darkness enveloped her. Pitch black. Smothering. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. Panic clutched at her stomach. In vain, she fought the claustrophobia, the overwhelming fear, the need to battle her way free and the urge to scream out her frustration.

  Arms wrapped around her midsection. She stood frozen and lost. She heard scuffling off to her right. There was a blur—a sense rather than sight of moveme
nt. Then pain shattered through her head.

  Chapter One

  Always faithful. Semper Fi. Captain Phillip Stuart shook his head at the term. ‘Faithful’ didn’t include forcing yourself on young girls or stealing cash out of a platoon buddy’s locker when they were out to sea on a training mission.

  What has the Marine Corps come to? Thieves, murderers and rapists? The lot of them should be taken out and shot.

  Of course, doing so would put military lawyers out of a job. Heaven forbid the little slime balls didn’t get a fair trial. Phillip was eternally grateful he no longer dealt with defense cases.

  Shifting slightly on the hard courtroom chair, he straightened his papers and listened to the continuing drone of the defense attorney’s voice as she pled her client’s case. He didn’t know why she bothered. The look on the jurors’ faces indicated they had already found him guilty. It didn’t matter what extenuating or mitigating matters she threw out. Her client would go to jail for a very long time. He shifted again and let the squeaking wooden chair show his annoyance.

  Laura Cushing shot him a glare from where she stood before the members. Good. He’d broken her concentration. Not easy to do. She was a tough opponent. But this long, drawn-out trial was stretching all their nerves to the breaking point.

  After a few closing words, Laura sat, looking satisfied with herself. She was good. He was better.

  Phillip stretched to his full six-four height and flexed his shoulders. With all the stealth of a jaguar stalking its prey, he approached the center of the courtroom.

  Intimidate the witness. Impress the members. That was half the battle. A deep breath, a casual glance toward his opponent’s table, then…

  He attacked, going straight to the heart of the case. He dissected Laura’s defense point by point, pulling apart the pieces with the precision of a surgeon. He let his words drift into the minds of those military members seated as the jury. Then, with the same lack of speed, he resumed his seat. The chair groaned under his weight.

  Phillip sliced a glance at the defense table. The accused sat there, a fresh-faced young man all of nineteen. His big hands were clasped before him as if in prayer. It set Phillip’s teeth on edge. What right does he have to pray? Those young girls had begged and prayed before he’d forced himself on them. Had he listened?

  Laura snapped to her feet and marched forward to take his place. It was no use. All the golden words she summoned could not save her client. Phillip knew it and so did she. After thirty minutes of deliberation, the members of the jury and the rest of the courtroom had realized it, too.

  Phillip listened to the sentence with smug satisfaction. Twenty-five years at Leavenworth. That was what he called justice, although castration might not be a bad idea either.

  In the back of the courtroom, one set of parents cried while the others—those of the victims—sighed with relief. The accused—the guilty—let his head drop. It was the only display of emotion he showed. No tears. No regrets. He didn’t flinch. Phillip fought the urge to demand to know if the man felt remorse for anyone but himself.

  Once the judge had left the courtroom, the prisoner escort came in. Then the young Marine started bawling. Yeah, he had regrets—that he’d been caught. His father refused to look his way while his mother rushed to his side. She wrapped her arms around him in a hug he refused to return.

  Rather than watch the guy be hauled away in shackles, Phillip celebrated his victory with a cigar on the back steps of the military justice building. How many times had he reflected on past and future glories in such a way? Lately, though, the battles left his stomach sour, more often than not.

  There wasn’t much he hadn’t heard over his career. Most of it sickened rather than shocked him. Now, prosecuting the rabble of the Marine Corps tired him. Time to reach for the next rung on the ladder.

  After graduating law school, he’d thought the way had shone clear, focused, his career path set. He shook his head. His goals had been regimented at the time. They had been all he’d had—a means to forget.

  Unfortunately, they were still all he had. Phillip wasn’t sure he wanted those same goals anymore.

  The door opened behind him. A rush of cool air brushed over his shoulders and back then stopped when the door closed. Phillip knew without looking that it was Laura. He could smell her perfume—an elusive scent that evoked memories of a long-ago time and someone else he wished he could forget.

  She dusted off the step and eased down beside him, careful not to snag her hose on the concrete. Resting her forearms on her knees, she stared ahead.

  “Congratulations. Another victory for the great and powerful Phillip Stuart.”

  He chewed on his cigar and absorbed the view of the gray mountains surrounding Camp Pendleton.

  “Sarcasm, Laura? How unlike you.”

  “Cut the crap. That boy didn’t deserve twenty-five years in prison and you know it.”

  “Please save me the she-asked-for-it speech. You didn’t have to listen to the sobs each and every time those girls told their stories before trial. Don’t tell me it was faked every time. I know better.”

  She tilted her head his way. “Come on, Phillip. He’s only nineteen, still a teenager himself. It was consensual. Daddy caught them and she cried rape. If that girl shed tears, it was only because she got caught. This has been nothing but a witch hunt with an excellent cast of performers. The girl’s past conduct showed that.”

  “Irrelevant. Forensics evidence proved their story.”

  “It proved they had sex. There was no evidence to support assault of any kind.”

  “We’re not talking about one girl here. We’re talking about six. There’s no way you’re ever going to convince anyone all six of them were lying. Get your bleeding-heart head out of the sand, Laura. We’ve had this discussion before. It’s over. Case closed.”

  “Obviously, but have you asked yourself this? When you were nineteen, can you honestly say you could resist the charms of a willing sixteen-year-old?”

  He leveled a frosty stare her way.

  Laura gave an exaggerated wince. “What was I thinking? How dare I suggest you would be less than perfect?” She slowly shook her head and gave a soft, humorless laugh. “You are the most handsome man I’ve ever met—Mister Perfect, aristocratic features, golden hair. Poster Marine all the way. But you’re dead inside. You have no feelings, no compassion. Your eyes are the coldest gray I’ve ever seen—like a frozen pond in the dead of winter. I pity the woman who winds up with you.”

  He blew a puff of smoke into the air. “I take it then that you’re saying it’s really over between us?”

  She gave a small, bitter laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself and don’t play that game with me. It’s been over for quite some time now. It was never anything more than an occasional dinner with a friend, as far as I’m concerned.”

  But the remorse in her eyes told a different story. He had regrets, too. He’d wanted her to be the one to erase the memory of another, to make him love and care and see goodness in the world once more. In the end she, like the few other women he’d dated over the last nine years, fell short of that need. She had been a stand-in, nothing more. Comparing Laura to—

  No. Don’t go there. It hurt too much. It always did. If he lived to be a hundred, he doubted the pain and bitterness would ever die.

  Phillip looked away to give her some shred of dignity. Or was it to hide the guilt seeping to the surface like a festering wound?

  Laura pushed to her feet and slipped quietly inside the building.

  He ground out his cigar on the cement steps and returned to his office. Victory no longer tasted sweet. Behind his gray metal desk, some stability returned.

  His gaze drifted around his office, taking in the mementos of his career with the Marine Corps—his Amphibious Warfare School awards, the jump school medals in their rosewood frame, a souvenir shirt commemorating his time served in the Mediterranean aboard the USS Boxer. If there was an opportunity, he’d
taken it. Anything to further his career. Somehow it still wasn’t enough. Even though his career was flourishing, he felt an emptiness he could not define.

  The small picture of his family shoved into the corner of his desk caught his eye. The four Stuarts stood together at his graduation from Naval Justice School, looking uncomfortable. His father exuding aristocratic disapproval. His mother and sister Claudia smiled uncertainly as the camera caught them in such an atypical family moment.

  They’d never understood why he’d had to do it—why he’d turned his back on the Stuart fortune. Phillip hadn’t bothered to explain. The year before, Claudia had come to the same realizations he had. Like her brother, it had taken a broken heart to open her eyes.

  He turned the picture face down. On second thought, he shoved it into his drawer under a pile of paperwork. With everything else going through his mind, the last thing he needed to resurrect was his relationship with his family—particularly his father.

  “Excuse me, sir?” His clerk stuck his head in through the office door. “There’s a package for you. It just arrived from the Commanding General at Twentynine Palms. Must be important because they made sure I signed for it.”

  Phillip tore his gaze from the closed drawer. “Thanks, Corporal.”

  He shut his mind to his family and accepted the bulky envelope. Once the door closed, he rummaged through the desk for his platinum letter opener, a concession gift from his father upon graduation from law school. Phillip kept hoping someone would steal it.

  Then why keep the damn thing? The answer came too quickly. It was a trophy—a reminder of what his father was and what Phillip prayed he would never be.

  With a flick of his wrist, he sliced open the envelope. The contents slid out onto the desktop and bold type near the middle of the page leaped out at him.