Vicki Hinze - [War Games 04]

by Kill Zone (epub)

  “Bruce.” Jackson swallowed hard, clearly reeling. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and he sucked in a sharp breath. “Where is my brother? Is he all right?”

  She stared at him.

  “Good God, I can’t believe I even asked that.” Jackson jumped to his feet. “What a stupid question.” He shoved his hands through his hair, gripped his skull as if to keep it from exploding. “Laura is dead. How the hell can he be all right?” Jackson blinked hard, fast, and furious. “How will he be all right ever again?”

  Morgan wanted to comfort Jackson, but there were no words that could comfort. Nothing she could do would make any of this easier to take, so she simply sat there, waiting for him to absorb the initial shock and to indicate he was ready to hear more.

  Soon, he stilled and looked down at Morgan. “You aren’t answering me.” A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Where’s my brother? He needs me. I … I have to get to him, be there for him.”

  Morgan rose to her feet slowly and clasped his arm. “You can’t go to him right now, Jackson,” she said, compassion softening her voice. Her eyes stung, and her throat threatened to choke closed to avoid the words she had to say next. “I’m afraid Bruce can’t see or be with anyone right now.”

  Jackson’s face bleached white. “Is he …” His voice failed; he couldn’t make himself ask the question.

  He didn’t have to; that much she could spare him. “Bruce is alive,” she hastily assured him, sensing he was too raw and wounded to bear much more. “But, well …”

  “Damn it, woman.” He gripped her upper arms and squeezed. “Stop this agony and just tell me.”

  “I’m so sorry, Jackson.” Morgan looked up at him, tears sliding down her cheeks. “Bruce has been arrested for Laura’s murder.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Under the pretense of getting Jackson some water, Morgan excused herself and lingered outside the office to give him a few minutes alone to absorb the double shock that had him reeling.

  She walked down to the employee’s lounge and then snagged two bottles of water from the fridge and a tissue from a box on the counter to dry her face. Strong emotions were hell on her, and there couldn’t have been any stronger grief than over a loved one being accused of committing the murder of another loved one. That had to be positively the worst. Nothing in her experience rivaled Stern’s pained response, and she wondered if he was so traumatized by the double whammy of two loved ones involved or by the depth of his love for them. How the hell Jackson had remained upright during that emotional onslaught, Morgan had no idea. Just the secondary impact of his response had her staggering.

  “You okay, Morgan?”

  Recognizing Commander Drake’s voice, Morgan turned to face the petite redhead with short, spiky hair, and nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

  Compassion lighted her eyes. “Pretty rough going in there, huh?”

  Having experienced none rougher, Morgan avoided the commander’s eyes and let her gaze drift down her light blue blouse to her dark blue slacks. “Very rough,” she admitted and dragged in a shuddery breath. “He loved her.”

  Surprise flickered through Colonel Drake, and Morgan quickly clarified. “No, not like that. He loved her like a cherished sister. She was good for Bruce. Jackson appreciated that and he, well, he loved her for it.”

  “Oh, good. That’s good.” Relief washed over Sally Drake’s face, and then a flush of frank honesty. “Sorry, but the last thing we need to add to all this is those kinds of complications.”

  “I agree.” Drained, Morgan slumped back against the countertop.

  Drake hitched a hip on the corner of the table. “What about Bruce? Did Stern love him, too, or was there sibling rivalry or something?”

  Jackson’s emotions about Bruce had been so strong that Morgan had had to disengage or she would have been flat on the floor. “No, no rivalry. The man definitely loves his brother.” His emotions on Bruce were stronger, broader, vast … She needed a minute to sort through them all, let them fall into their proper place. Gripping both bottles of water in one hand, she brushed at her forehead, still feeling the blast of heat from the adrenaline surge that had come with Jackson’s reaction to the news. “I think he’s pretty much felt responsible for Bruce his whole life. I’m not sure why, but I am sure it’s more parental than brotherly, and it’s extremely protective …” She opened her mouth to go on, but a protective urge clamped down on her throat and she instinctively stopped.

  “What?” the commander prodded.

  Morgan shifted, her back against the counter, and looked down at her foot. The scrubs’ footie was scuffed, though she didn’t recall doing it.

  “Morgan?”

  She looked over at Drake from beneath her lashes, not wanting to disclose her other certainty. It had slotted, and she had a full grasp on it; she just didn’t want the information shared. But the commander had that look in her eye. She wasn’t going to grant quarter.

  Resignation slid through Morgan. “He feels guilty,” she confessed. “He’s absolutely consumed with it.” It had come on like a flash flood and swamped him, but nothing came with it to indicate why. She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know why.”

  “Guilty?” Commander Drake reached around Morgan and retrieved a bottle of water from the fridge, unscrewed the cap, and then drank down a long swallow. “You’re going to have to talk to him and find out what that’s all about. It could be connected.”

  “I know.” Morgan pursed her lips; felt the chill of the bottles in her hand penetrate deep beneath her skin and into her bones. “I’m just giving him a few minutes to collect himself.” She paused, swallowing as his pain revisited her, and then added, “He’s had a lot to absorb in a very short period of time, Commander. Me shooting him, twice; the abduction—he has to be experiencing betrayal issues on all that. Then Joan’s interrogation—which we both know is brutal all on its own—and then Laura’s death and Bruce’s arrest for her murder.”

  “I do realize he’s been through the mill, Morgan,” the commander said. “Actually, I’m surprised he’s not falling apart.”

  Her voice took on a hollow tone that cued Morgan she needed a minute, so Morgan gave it to her. She didn’t mean to intrude, but Drake’s emotions were so strong Morgan couldn’t shut them out. Sally Drake was remembering the murder of her own husband, Kenneth, and her reaction to it. She’d felt guilty, too. Her guilt ran so deep it still kept her from getting involved with another man. Her spicy personality attracted many who would jump at the chance—but that guilt had her keeping them at arm’s length and, gauging by its force, would continue to do so for a long time to come.

  A damn shame. Morgan wished for Sally Drake’s sake that it could be different, but she totally understood why it couldn’t and wouldn’t. Kenneth had been killed by mistake. Sally had been the intended target, and the reason had been directly related to her job as S.A.S.S. commander. On the surface she’d coped reasonably well with that survivor’s guilt, but it still gnawed at her and she was nowhere near ready to accept it and put it to rest. In truth, it probably never would go away—and unless it did, she’d never allow another man into her life.

  The prisons we build …

  Turning her attention away from the commander and back to the subject didn’t bring much relief. “Jackson is falling apart,” Morgan said. “Inside.”

  “Of course, he is.” Commander Drake cleared her throat and her mind of thoughts of herself and Kenneth. “Maybe he’ll be one of the lucky ones.”

  Lucky? Confused, Morgan frowned. “What lucky ones?”

  Drake met Morgan’s eyes. “The ones that see the guilty party brought to justice.”

  “Would that be lucky?” His brother was the accused, for pity’s sake.

  “If this leads back to Thomas Kunz and away from Bruce, yes, very lucky.”

  Following her now, Morgan nodded. “Have you seen Jazie and Taylor Lee?”

  Drake nodded. “Jazie is examining Laura’s body now. Dr. Vargus is m
onitoring,” she quickly assured Morgan. No exams occurred without oversight personnel in the room. Morgan took every precaution to protect her team’s credibility.

  “Taylor Lee is waiting her turn in the conference room.”

  Shoving away from the counter, Morgan nodded. “I’ll be down as soon as I’m done with Jackson.”

  A little frown wrinkled the skin between Sally Drake’s eyebrows, and she checked her watch. It caught the overhead light and sparked a glimmer that made Morgan blink. “Bring him down to the morgue with you,” she said.

  Reluctance fell to revulsion and swept over Morgan. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Commander. He’s pretty fragile right now.”

  “Exactly.” Her eyes hardened. “You said that when emotions are most tense, you pick up the most information.”

  “That’s true, but he’s very vulnerable right now and I really don’t—”

  “It’s not humane, you’re thinking,” Drake said. “I understand. I really do. But we can’t afford to be gentle here, and Captain Stern wouldn’t want us to be. You said so yourself.”

  Baffled, Morgan crossed the mental minefield. “I said … what?”

  “He loves his brother,” Drake replied. “Listen to me, Morgan. Laura is already dead, and Bruce could die. We’re 90 percent sure Laura was killed away from the base. That means the locals will have jurisdiction, and that means—”

  “They could seek the death penalty.”

  “I’d bet on it.” The commander nodded. “We need to get as much information and evidence as we can—fast—before we lose jurisdiction and possession of the body.”

  “All right.” Morgan understood the urgency, but she didn’t have to like it. “I’ll ask him to come downstairs,” Morgan said. “But I won’t force him to see his sister-in-law if he chooses not to do it. I can’t, Commander. It would be a total ethics breach, and I’m not willing to sacrifice him when it isn’t absolutely necessary.”

  “That won’t be a problem.” Commander Drake sent her a certain look forged by her own experience and memory. “You won’t be able to keep him away. He’ll want to know everything there is to know firsthand.”

  “You’re probably right,” Morgan conceded, then left the lounge and returned to Joan Foster’s office.

  In the hallway outside, she paused and drew in a breath, hoping courage and stamina came with it, lied to herself that if she weren’t exhausted this wouldn’t be impacting her as strongly, and then stiffened her shoulders and tapped on the wood.

  “Come in, Dr. Cabot.”

  “I’m sorry, Jackson,” she said against the plank. “Can you get the door for me?” She could open the door herself, but she wanted to give him a few seconds more to compose himself. She transferred a water bottle so she held one in each hand.

  With an echoing creak, the door opened and she met Jackson’s gaze. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face flushed. “You okay?”

  Of course, he wasn’t. But he did seem to have taken the worst of the shock. If he had, he’d lie. If not, he’d break down again. She watched for signs.

  He dropped his gaze. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

  He lied. Progress. She passed over a bottle of water. “I thought you might need a drink.”

  “Thanks.” He took it. The hand that brushed hers shook. “I could use something stronger than water.”

  Controlled. In enormous pain, but controlled and aware. “It wouldn’t help.”

  “No, it wouldn’t.” He sighed, rolling his shoulders.

  She walked over and sat down on the sofa. “I hoped maybe we could talk for a few more minutes.”

  “You’re a shrink, right?”

  She hated the moniker but nodded, cutting him slack.

  “Forget the psycho-babble. I don’t want or need it. But I do want to talk—actually, to listen. I want you to talk.” He stiffened his shoulders, withdrew, and buried his emotions. “What happened to Laura?”

  The investigator in him had kicked in. ‘He would mourn plenty, and likely for a long time, but he’d do it later. Right now, he wanted answers. And, thankfully, Morgan could tell him all she knew and discuss the situation freely. That wasn’t typically an option for her, and it removed a lot of barriers and challenges. She was just weary and afraid enough of Thomas Kunz and G.R.I.D. and this entire mission to be grateful for that. “We honestly don’t know much … yet. But I’ll tell you all I do know.”

  “Full disclosure?” He sounded more surprised than pleased.

  And she suspected that was exactly the case. Full disclosure was rare in her medical field and nearly nonexistent in their shared counterterrorism realm. “Yes.” She looked him in the eye. “You have my word on it.”

  Weighing its worth, Stern flicked the bottle cap with this thumbnail and sat down beside Morgan on the leather sofa. The cushion swooshed under his weight. “You can start with why you shot me on the Sunrise rather than just summoning me.” Bitterness crept into his voice. “Last I checked, I was still responding to direct orders.”

  Betrayal. “I know it sucks, okay? And I am sorry, Jackson, but as I explained, we didn’t know whether or not you were a G.R.I.D. operative. If we’d summoned you, we would have conceded a crucial advantage.” From his blank look, he didn’t follow. “The kill zone,” she said.

  Acknowledgement dawned in his eyes, but the corners of his mouth dipped down and his jaw tightened. “Wait a second,” he said, plenty angry but even more perplexed. “On the Sunrise you still didn’t know who I was, and you didn’t find out until after I was brought to Providence and Dr. Foster had done her …. whatever you call what she did. It sure as hell wasn’t like any debriefing I’ve ever had.”

  “We call it deprogramming,” Morgan revealed.

  The implications sobered him silent. He blinked rapidly. “Yet you breached the kill zone, brought me here, before you knew.”

  “Yes.” Morgan met his gaze without apology.

  “I have a feeling I don’t want to know why.”

  “Probably not now,” she admitted.

  “But I will eventually.”

  “No doubt or illusions about that.” She lifted her shoulders. “And when you do, I’ll answer as honestly and accurately as I can.”

  Satisfied, he changed the subject. “Which brings us back to why you brought me here.” His voice dropped a notch, turned wooden. “Do you think I killed my sister-in-law and set my brother up to take the blame for it? Or what?”

  “No, Jackson,” she assured him. “We know you didn’t kill Laura or frame Bruce for her murder.” Morgan didn’t add that they’d only become certain after Joan had deprogrammed him. Some things were better left unsaid.

  “Then what made it imperative to determine my identity before bringing me into the U.S. and, more specifically, to Providence?”

  “G.R.I.D. intelligence intercepts.”

  His eyes narrowed. “On what?” He recognized hedging when he heard it, and he was having none of it. “And I guess I do need to know now how you determined my identity on the Sunrise. Otherwise, there’s a logic gap in your actions I’m having a hard time working around.”

  Morgan wasn’t sure how to respond honestly and accurately and still come out with any credibility. Never in her life had a man readily accepted her intuition as a valid reason for an action, and there was no reason to suspect that Jackson Stern would be any different.

  Oddly, she would normally tell him, since she had authorization, but she didn’t want him to look at her as if she’d sprouted two heads. She wanted him to … well, to continue to be … aware of her, because whether it was good or bad or wise or idiotic, she was definitely aware of him. She had been on the Sunrise, and she was now. “I’m not refusing to answer you,” she said softly, “but I would rather not be specific about it at this specific point in time. I’m sure you understand,” she said, alluding to reasons she knew he’d interpret to be related to operational security measures.

  A muscle under his left eye ticked. “Laur
a.”

  Morgan took a drink of water and then responded. “I knew Laura, Jackson.”

  “How?”

  Morgan braced for his investigation and offered to open it, hoping he’d see it as a gesture of good faith. “She came to my office for a counseling session about a week ago.”

  Guilt crashed through him, over to her, and he dropped his gaze to the floor. “I knew I should have come as soon as she called.”

  “What do you mean? The call on Sunday?”

  “No, last week.” His voice was filled with self-recrimination and regret. “She was worried about Bruce,” he said. “But she always worried about Bruce.”

  “So you didn’t put any weight on her call?”

  “No, I did,” he told her. “But apparently, not as much as I should have.” He forked a hand through his hair, cranked his neck, and glanced up at the ceiling. “It was a bad time. I tried, but I couldn’t cut loose before now. Work, you know?”

  Morgan nodded. “Then she told you that she and Bruce were having domestic difficulties. Or were you not aware of that?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly tag what she said as domestic difficulty. She wasn’t about to leave him or anything.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  Jackson hesitated, then made his ethics call. “I guess confidentiality doesn’t much matter to her anymore, and it could help Bruce.”

  “It’s possible.” Not probable, but possible.

  Jackson leaned forward, propped his elbows on his knees, and looked back down at the floor. The weight of the world rested heavily on his shoulders. “She told me Bruce had become distant before he went to Iraq. She figured he was disturbed about the assignment, but he didn’t talk to her about it.” Jackson lifted his gaze to meet Morgan’s. “She thought he’d be fine once he got the work behind him and got home. But when he came back, things weren’t better between them; they were worse.”

  Getting mixed signals, Morgan shifted on her seat. “It often takes time to readjust.”