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  The accused, Staff Sergeant Rowan A. McKinley, requests your presence as independent military counsel…

  Phillip’s face drained of color. His gut twisted. Breathing was out of the question.

  Odd, when he had been thinking of her only minutes before. But then, when didn’t he think of her?

  Beautiful, talented Rowan McKinley… The one woman he held up against the others. The one who hadn’t bothered to return his heart before she’d walked out of his life.

  What the hell is she doing in the Marine Corps? More importantly, what had she done to need the services of a Marine defense attorney?

  Time stopped as he grappled for the stack of papers—or maybe it took a giant step back. In either event, Phillip couldn’t put two coherent thoughts together. Before he could read on, the door to his office flew open. The tan, inquiring face of his best friend and fellow attorney, Captain Zachary Taylor, poked around the doorjamb.

  “I got a call from a friend of mine at the base in Twentynine Palms. There’s been a murder involving a staff sergeant, some woman by the name of—”

  “McKinley,” Phillip muttered. Afraid Zach would see the true depth of his feelings, he kept his gaze locked on the papers. “The case has been offered to me.”

  Zach lunged for the papers, snatching them out of Phillip’s grasp. “Well, aren’t you Mr. Popularity. Let’s have a look-see.”

  He scanned the request form, eyes widening. “Why you? You’re not a defense counsel. This staff sergeant could have any military attorney at that base or even a civilian lawyer, providing she could afford one.”

  Zach glanced up before Phillip could mask his feelings. The teasing stopped as Zach’s deep brown eyes narrowed with suspicion. He knew Phillip too well. A definite downfall in having a best friend.

  “What is she to you?”

  “What was she, you mean.” Phillip met Zach’s steady gaze with one of his own. “She was once the most important person in my life.” His mouth twisted and he whispered, “The bitch.”

  Zach tossed the papers back to the desk. “That’s funny. I’ve known you for over eight years and you’ve never mentioned her.” He dropped into the chair across from Phillip, resting his feet on the edge of the desk. “Why the big secret? What’s the story?”

  Phillip sighed and copied his friend’s position. Zach’s ability to focus on and unearth information was uncanny. Now those relentless abilities were focused in his direction. He forced a deep breath and sketched out his turbulent history with Rowan McKinley.

  * * * *

  Rowan drew her knees up against her chest and wrapped her arms around them in an effort to control her shaking. Nine hours of confinement in this tiny cell and she still hadn’t been allowed to speak with or see anyone—not that they would listen to her, anyway.

  Fools.

  She took pride in her work. Her record reflected that. Legal administration might not be the blood and guts of the Corps, but it was important. Every separation, every investigative report that crossed her desk was dissected until nothing was left in question. So why would her word be doubted when she suspected foul play in the Lava training area?

  Imagining things. That was what Rowan had been told over and over again, despite the five seemingly unrelated incidents that had come across her desk in the last month. Only Charlie would listen and now he was dead.

  She was sure the command would see she was right, but the finger of blame was now pointed in her direction.

  Rowan rested her head on her knees then winced as the bruised and swollen side of her face protested at the contact. Rocking back and forth on the metal-framed cot, she tried to quell the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. It was so close in the holding cell and she was so alone.

  “Stop it!” She pushed the words through clenched teeth. “This isn’t going to help you at all.”

  She flicked her gaze to the camera mounted in the corner of the room on the other side of the cell partition. Its baleful eye watched her every motion, allowing her no privacy. This portion of the room was small, too small. The cell’s dimensions barely spanned ten feet across. Even the dim light in the hallway didn’t help.

  Rowan closed her eyes. Breathe. Take deep breaths. No hyperventilating.

  Phillip was her only chance at getting out of this. She had to be strong—strong enough to endure the claustrophobia closing in, strong enough to face him again.

  Phillip. She had forgotten nothing about him. How could she when she lived with his image every day? The way the sun gleamed off his golden head, the ready smile and his eyes.

  God, those eyes! They could burn like quicksilver when his temper flared or glow a soft, satiny gray when they made love.

  She was probably a fool for contacting him after all these years. But there was no doubt she needed his help and she would accept whatever consequences resulted from having him back in her life. Only Phillip could save her now. That was, if he accepted her request for his services.

  The hallway door opened. The roar of the evaporative coolers lessened. A military policeman walked in and glared at her through the bars. “Your request for counsel has been expedited. They’re waiting for the captain to either accept or decline the case.”

  “How long will that take?” Rowan fought in vain to keep the quiver from her voice. “When will I be able to contact my family?”

  “You work in legal. You tell me.” He lowered his voice. “Frankly, I hope you get what you deserve. He was a friend of mine, murderer.”

  He slammed the door in his exit, putting pressure back on the cooler. The roar this time was nothing compared to the pulse of blood in her ears.

  “Yeah, he was a friend of mine, too,” Rowan replied to no one.

  She tucked herself into the farthest corner of the cot, her despair as smothering as the walls surrounding her.

  Chapter Two

  The sound of the Jeep’s tires scattering gravel jolted Phillip from his thoughts. Zach roared up to the rented bungalow, jerking his vehicle to a sliding stop in front of the carport.

  Phillip gripped the edges of the armrest to keep from being launched head first into the windshield. “You will let me know when you bring the ride to a complete stop, won’t you?”

  “Sorry, old man.” Zach grinned. “Just remember to keep your arms and legs inside the car at all times and you’ll be fine.” His humor faded. “If you decide to—”

  Phillip cut off further discussion with a slice of his hand. “I’ll let you know.”

  He swung his legs over the edge and jumped from the Jeep, then drew in a deep breath of ocean-salted air. “I just need to think about this case.” He scowled. “And thirty-three is not old.”

  Smiling once more, Zach sketched a mock-salute and tore out of the driveway, leaving Phillip in a small cloud of dust as he dug into his pocket for house keys.

  The rent for the small, one-bedroom cottage was high, especially for the ocean view, but the solitude was worth the cost. It overlooked the Pacific from a cliff-side perch. A small rocky pathway was the only access point down to the beach. Everything was quiet except for the rustle of the encircling palms and the faint crash of the sea on the rocks below. In fact, the house was unusually silent.

  Phillip eased the key in, unlocked the door and slipped into the front hallway without a sound. Cocking his head, he strained his ears against the quiet. A sudden yet faint noise from the kitchen at the back of the cottage brought his head up.

  He crept through the living room and paused at the door to the kitchen. It was ajar. Rustling noises reached him from within, punctuated by a crunch-crunch. He narrowed his eyes and shoved his shoulder into the door, flinging it wide.

  “Oscar!”

  The mangled remains of a garbage bag lay in the center of the kitchen, its contents strewn across the linoleum floor from wall to wall. In the center of the mess lay the object of Phillip’s ire. The large gray Weimaraner was frozen in place, tongue extended in the act of licking the last morsels
of chili out of a discarded tin can.

  With a bark of pure joy, Oscar leaped to his feet and jumped at Phillip. His stubby tail wagged furiously and his food-stained muzzle smeared a trail of chili grease all over the front of his master’s once-immaculate courtroom uniform.

  “Down, Oscar!” Phillip tried to push eighty-five pounds of exuberance off his chest. “Damnation, dog. You are the most ill-behaved beast I’ve ever had the misfortune to own. I ought to drop you off at the nearest zoo. I’d swear you’re as big as an elephant, anyway, and definitely the right color.”

  He paused in mid-shout, looking into Oscar’s love-filled amber eyes. Useless. With all the emphasis Phillip placed on rules and order in every part of his life, he had failed miserably with this particular facet. He supposed the unconditional affection Oscar gave was more than enough compensation for his dog’s habit of rooting around in every garbage pail he could find. Besides, it was his fault for not taking out the trash before he’d gone to work.

  He sighed and gave Oscar’s head an affectionate scratch then cleaned up the aftermath of the dog’s afternoon snack.

  Later that evening, Phillip sat out on top of the carport in a lawn chair, watching a blood-red sun sink into the calm Pacific Ocean. In one hand, he held a snifter of vintage cognac—a gift from his sister that he was sure had set her back more than a few dollars. In the other, the legal paperwork from Twentynine Palms. Oscar lay at the foot of the carport ladder, occasionally issuing a gusty sigh and looking woebegone at having been left below.

  Phillip thought of Rowan and the agony she had caused when she’d left him without a word nine years before. He shook his head and winced at the memories.

  I was a fool to trust her.

  He went over the paperwork for the umpteenth time and weighed the possibilities of the case. What attorney wouldn’t drool over a murder case, no matter which side they took?

  “What do you think, Oscar? This case is going to be a big one for whomever takes it. It will make them a major player, if you’ll pardon the pun.” His mouth twisted in a cynical smile at the idea of being promoted to major.

  Oscar tilted his head and his stubby tail shook his backside as he gazed up at Phillip.

  “What’s she doing in the Marine Corps, boy? I don’t know how she knew where I was or what I was doing. She’s supposed to be a teacher, not a staff sergeant.”

  But then, hadn’t his career choice also changed from those crazy college days? Dreams were one thing. Reality was another.

  He took another swallow of cognac, feeling his thoughts drift off to the first time he’d met the lovely Rowan McKinley.

  It had been a perfect September day in Washington, D.C., and like a lot of his law school classmates, Phillip had gone down to the park-like expanse of the Mall to lie on the grass, bask in the warm sun and try to get some homework done amid the bustling din of the visiting tourists and sun-worshipping students.

  A misguided Frisbee had changed all that. His anger over being smacked square in the face by the flying projectile had faded when he’d caught a glimpse of the long, bare legs of its owner. That memory still managed to steal his breath and arouse him more than he could handle.

  He closed his eyes and saw her again.

  She had been beautiful, with shining, waist-length hair the color of new copper and tall—taller than most girls he knew, almost six feet, he would later discover. Her long, coltish legs had been lightly tan and had sprinklings of freckles.

  His gaze had traveled upward, past her slim hips and gently rounded breasts to her face, elfin in shape with a slightly pointed chin and small, delicate nose. She had anxiously watched him with golden-brown eyes as she’d repeated a question that he had not heard and to this day could not recall. He’d been too mesmerized by her tending to his bleeding cheek with the worn blue bandanna she’d pulled from her slender neck.

  It had been the beginning of the wildest, most wonderful and most heartbreaking affair of his life. After nine years, he still agonized over those memories. To let her back into his life now? It was personal suicide. Yet, professionally, it could be the coup de grace of his career—that next rung on the ladder, the next challenge he was looking for.

  He swallowed the rest of the cognac and climbed down to scratch an ecstatic Oscar behind the ears.

  “Well, boy, what do you think? Do I save the only woman I’ve ever loved or let her rot in jail for walking out on me nine years ago?”

  Oscar whined and dragged a wet lick across Phillip’s face. With a laugh, he wrestled the dog to the ground, tickling his belly. “You’re right, boy. This is just another assignment, not a trip down memory lane.”

  Oscar jumped to his feet and barked.

  “All right, big guy. One good run down the beach, but then I’ve got some work to do.”

  * * * *

  Rowan tugged the olive-drab blanket around her shoulders, not that she needed it. Desert heat combined with rising humidity made the cell’s evaporative cooling worthless. The wool made it worse. Still, she clung to it in the hope that it would provide some measure of security, however small.

  Every muscle in her body ached from the killer’s attack the night before and the MPs manhandling during her arrest. She tried to shut her eyes against the walls that closed in around her but flashed them open at the slightest sound.

  She focused on the roar of the coolers, hoping it would drown out other noise. Then she found herself cursing the blasted thing. She needed to hear, needed to be alert. With night approaching, she wouldn’t put it past the guard to try something.

  A month ago, she never would have suggested such a thing. Now she knew better. One of their own—a military policeman—was dead. Justice was not an option. Revenge could be. Any action taken against her would be conveniently swept under the carpet. It was a terrible feeling to suspect conspiracy everywhere, yet finding herself behind bars had stolen the last of her optimism.

  Rowan’s stomach rumbled. Throughout the day, she’d refused meals out of fear of what they might contain. She would not allow hunger pangs to win now. She had to hold out a little longer. Another clenching of her stomach muscles made her wince and she shifted uncomfortably on the lumpy mattress.

  Voices in the hallway outside the door drifted to her cell. Rowan raised her head, heart pounding, expecting to see Phillip’s tall form. Disappointment plunged her spirits when the door swung open and she saw one of the defense counsels from her own office.

  She doubted Captain Connors ever cracked a smile. He was always worrying about all those around him. A father-protector barely in his thirties, here he was rushing to her aid, his serious face interrupted only by the nervous habit of shoving his gold wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose.

  He waited until the escorting MP left. Once the outer door slammed shut, he walked forward and curled his fingers around the bars of her prison.

  “I came to see how you were doing.”

  “I’ve certainly been better. Have you heard anything from Captain Stuart?”

  “Nothing yet, but it’s still early,” Captain Connors replied. “Look, Staff Sergeant McKinley…Rowan. If it matters, there isn’t a soul in the office who believes you did this. If you would just let one of us help you—”

  “I want Captain Stuart.”

  “He’s an arrogant, obnoxious son of a bitch.”

  Captain Stuart perhaps, but not her Phillip. How little they knew of him. Still, people did change with time.

  “A son of a bitch who has never lost a case his entire career in either defense or prosecution, sir. If you were going to be tried for murder, wouldn’t you want those odds on your side?”

  He sighed. “Yeah, I guess I would. Because you are part of our office, a prosecutor has already been appointed from Camp Pendleton—Captain Laura Cushing, a real crackerjack. She’s been up against Stuart before and knows his strategy.”

  “You talk as if you believe he’ll take the case.”

  “A climber like him
wouldn’t turn it down. It’s too high profile, which is also probably why Laura Cushing agreed. Win or lose, any attorney involved will be watched closely, their performance evaluated. That kind of promotion potential is hard to resist.”

  “Even for you, sir?”

  “Especially for me, because I want to help you. We all do.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind if Captain Stuart refuses.”

  He pushed away from the bars. “Your mother is on her way to see you. I’ll let you know when I hear something.”

  Rowan watched his departure. With her head tilted, she listened for the sound of her mother’s approach.

  Her mom entered the cellblock alone an hour later. Her status as a civilian did not warrant the courtesy of an escort. She appeared upset and panicked. When she entered the small room and stopped before the barred enclosure, Rowan longed to throw herself into her mother’s arms.

  Emma McKinley could normally pass for a woman ten to fifteen years younger. Rowan had always hoped she’d inherited those genes. Her mother was trim and took care of herself. She still had the power to turn heads of all ages. But tonight, worry made her look all of her fifty-two years then some.

  Stumbling to the bars, she grasped the loving hands that reached for her.

  “Oh, Mom—”

  “Hush, sweetheart. I came as soon as I could. Why in the world did you have to go snooping? Couldn’t you leave well enough alone?” Her gaze took in the livid bruise coloring Rowan’s cheek and she winced.

  “You haven’t been asked to give any statements yet, have you?”

  “No, honey, not yet.” Mom seemed upset and understandably so. “I still think you should talk with your colonel. Tell him what you told me—your theories about your friend’s death.”

  “I’ve tried, Mom, but everyone thinks my hypotheses are pretty far-fetched.”

  Her mother opened her mouth.

  Rowan interrupted. “Please, Mom. I know what you’re going to say, but you going to the colonel to explain isn’t going to help, either. I’ve been targeted because I know too much about something. If the word gets out that you know what I know, that person or persons could target you, as well.”