by Rachel Lee
She gave a humorless laugh. “I’m an investigator. I don’t get to do much investigating at the moment. No, now I’m training all the time to be the best of the best or something like that. The military-type training is something I never really wanted. I just wanted to be an investigator. But I suppose they’re teaching me to be a better one. At the very least I’m learning to slot in quickly with different teams and their investigations, learning to arrive in the middle of something that’s ongoing and so awful that it can’t wait indefinitely for resolution.”
“But it’s not something you volunteered for?”
“No. You don’t get to volunteer all the time. I was selected. I could have refused it but…”
“But what?” he prodded gently when she fell silent.
“Frankly? I was chafing at Lejeune. I think I know why they pulled me out of the Middle East and sent me there. It was so I couldn’t make any more noise about Mary. They hoped I’d get so busy so fast I wouldn’t have time to think about her. It almost worked. But maybe somebody sensed that I was still nosing around a bit.”
“Were you?”
“Most definitely. So off to CRFO, where I don’t have the tools to pursue a cold case. Where if I even tried I’d probably get disciplined, because that’s not my mission now by any stretch of the imagination. No, my job now is to prepare for upcoming problems, to be ready to go tactical at a moment’s notice, to join other teams in a crisis, basically.”
“That sounds elite.”
“That’s a matter of perception I suppose.”
He hesitated, reaching for his coffee cup, and sipping before he spoke. “Do you really think they’re trying to shut you down?”
She didn’t answer immediately. The truth was, when looking at it in those terms, she couldn’t say that. Not honestly. Not even after the email. That had come from a person, not the NCIS. “Truthfully? No. I don’t think there’s some grand conspiracy to keep me from finding out who killed Mary, or who those rapists are.”
“Then what do you think, really?”
“That the NCIS doesn’t care beyond what they consider to be a rational allocation of resources. That overall they judged this situation to be wasting those resources in terms of continued investigation. Because, honestly, we didn’t come up with anything useful in a couple of weeks, and if you don’t find anything useful by then, especially in a war zone where evidence can’t be protected and people won’t talk, the likelihood we’d get a bead on Mary’s killer was slim at best. Especially when it had a lot of the aspects of an insurgent attack.”
He nodded.
“So basically, while there might be an individual or two who have something of a real reason for wanting me to leave desert ghosts alone, the organization as a whole doesn’t care except that I not waste their time and money on a case there’s almost no hope of resolving.”
“So maybe they sent you to CRFO—did I get that right?—simply to put you to best use. Maybe they figure you’re flexible and smart enough to do a tough job.”
“Maybe. That’s what I’d like to believe.”
“But you don’t.”
She sighed and shook her head. “I’m not paranoid by nature, Dom, but something about this stinks somehow. It stinks to high heaven. Sometimes I wonder if they’re trying to protect me by yanking me away from this case, rather than just shut me up.”
He stiffened a little. “You think Mary’s killer could come after you?”
“That sounds paranoid to the extreme, doesn’t it? I don’t know. That’s the problem in a nutshell, I don’t know. I have instincts. Intuitions. They tell me something is going on. But just what’s going on I don’t know.”
He fell silent, sipping coffee, clearly ruminating. After a minute or so he remarked, “So I need to keep an eye on you.”
“On me? Why?”
“I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you while you’re here.”
“I told you, no one knows where I am. I didn’t tell a soul. And even if I had, I only expected to stay a few hours.”
He nodded slowly.
Uneasiness began to prickle along her nerves. “Dom, no one knows where I am but you. Even so, like I said, I have no reason to think someone would come after me personally, except maybe to fire me.”
“And you’re probably right.”
“Of course I am. If I had any reason to think otherwise, I wouldn’t have brought trouble with me to the door of Mary’s husband and kids.”
One side of his mouth curved upward. “I don’t think you would have. But I don’t stay in business by ignoring even the remotest possibilities that occur to me.”
“Well,” she said, putting her mug down, “if you think it’s even a remote possibility, then I should leave now.” The second time that day she had tried to leave. This time it occurred to her that she might not be trying to escape his suspicions, that she might have brought a threat to his door. Why? Because she didn’t believe anyone would have bothered to follow her. If they wanted her out of the way, there were ample opportunities during her training in Georgia.
No, she was trying to escape her growing attraction to Dom, and the discomfort that came with it. Chicken.
She rose, but he rose instantly and reached out, taking her upper arm in a gentle grip. “No. You’re not leaving.” He released her quickly. “We’re going camping with the boys this weekend. They’re looking forward to it. Frankly, so am I.”
She watched as his gaze drifted down to her mouth, then lower to the mounds of her breasts. In an instant his eyes snapped away, but she had caught the look, and her entire body responded to it in a flash.
No, she told herself. No. But it had happened, and she couldn’t deny that it had. Standing there, looking at Dom as he turned back to his chair, she knew she was getting into deep trouble. Their worlds intersected at only one point: Mary. That wasn’t enough to build on. In fact, it was a damn good reason to keep clear.
Slowly she sank back onto the couch, hoping her cheeks didn’t look as flushed as they felt. She had come here hoping to find a clue to a killer, not a romance, not a passion, not a fling. Nothing was going to change that, not her unexpectedly strong response to him, nor even the way her arm tingled where he had touched her.
She leaned back in the couch and lifted her mug again for something to do with her hands. Because, disturbingly enough, they itched to touch Dom. To find out if those wiry muscles were as hard as they looked. To trace the contours of his face and discover if his lips were hard or soft, to put her hands on his narrow hips and…
Whoa! She looked down into her coffee as she waited for her suddenly racing heart to slow down. Wrong time, wrong place, wrong guy.
Too bad her body wouldn’t listen.
She tried to tell herself she was feeling an attraction to an American archetype: the good-looking cowboy. Unfortunately, she already knew it was more than that. His gentleness, his inner quietude and calm…those seemed far more attractive to her than just his rugged face or well-built body.
She could easily understand why Mary had fallen in love with him. He must have seemed like an oasis of peace to a woman who daily dealt with health emergencies and high stress.
“So you’re SWAT now?” Dom asked, apparently feeling a desire to fill the silence.
“I’m training, yes. I most likely won’t be used in that capacity, even if there’s a call for it. But we all get the same training.”
He shook his head. “That’s some job.”
“It can be an adrenaline rush at times.” She shifted a bit uneasily on the couch. “I’m not really an adrenaline junkie. It’s not something I need or want. Sometimes it comes with the job, or life events, but it’s just not my thing.”
“Mary was an adrenaline junkie.” He said it without any hint of judgment.
“Yes, she was. Not that she went out looking for things to give her that rush, but she certainly seemed more comfortable with it than I am.”
“No, let’s be honest here
.” Dom sighed. “Mary needed it. Not in a bad way, but she thrived on it. Which is why she worked in an emergency room, and why being in Iraq never overwhelmed her. It might wear her out, but it lifted her, too. I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that. We need people who can thrive in those circumstances.”
“We do,” she agreed. “What about you?” She asked even though she already suspected the answer.
“I deal with it, but I’d rather avoid it if possible. I prefer an even flow to my days. You could say I’m a river and Mary was a waterfall.”
The comparison drew a smile out of Courtney. “That’s apt. For Mary at least.” And she liked the idea of Dom as a slow-moving river, steady and reliable.
“I never could figure what she saw in me,” he admitted. “I’m dull by comparison.”
She shook her head instantly, troubled that he felt that way. “You know, waterfalls need rivers. Rivers feed them.”
At that he gave a quick laugh. “Maybe so. Maybe so.”
No maybe about it, Courtney thought. She suspected that Dom’s steadiness was the river from which Mary drew some of her strength. And she could certainly see why.
All of a sudden a knock came from the front door. Dom looked a little puzzled as he rose and went to answer it. Opening it, he revealed a large man in a deputy’s uniform.
“Micah,” he said, sounding surprised.
“You hole up any more, man, and we’ll send out search parties.”
Courtney watched as he invited the tall, exotic-looking man inside.
“Courtney, this is Micah Parish, an old friend. Micah, Courtney Tyson. You two might have a bit in common. Courtney’s with NCIS. Coffee?”
“You know I never turn down coffee.” Micah crossed the living room in a couple of strides, and offered his hand to Courtney. “My pleasure. So I take it you’re not here on a social visit?”
Courtney hesitated, and Dom came to her rescue. “Well, she will be over the weekend, when she goes camping with us.”
Micah evidently was too sharp to let it pass. “I see. Or do I?”
Dom hesitated, then said as he turned toward the kitchen, “She thinks Mary was murdered.”
Dom continued on his way to get the coffee, but Micah almost visibly stiffened. His pitch-black gaze sharpened as he looked at Courtney. “You sure about that?” he asked.
“Not enough to charge anyone yet.”
“But you can’t live with not knowing?”
“No,” Courtney admitted. “No. I can’t.”
Micah nodded slowly, then folded himself onto the other easy chair, the one Dom didn’t use. As if he were very familiar with this house and its customs.
“Fragging, we used to call it,” he said, his gaze still fixed to her. “Now why would someone want to frag Mary? She was a good woman.”
“She was my informant on a case involving the rape of some Iraqi women most likely by a couple of our marines.”
“That would do it, all right.”
Dom returned carrying a mug for Micah and topped off all the cups before he returned the pot to the kitchen. Micah lifted his and took a deep swallow, waiting, as if he didn’t want to discuss anything until Dom was present.
“So what got you all riled up enough to come out here?” Dom asked as he resumed his seat.
Micah’s head tilted a bit. “Maude mentioned you and the boys didn’t come in for dinner tonight.”
“Who’s Maude?” Courtney asked.
“She owns the diner in town,” Dom replied. “I didn’t suggest we go tonight because you’re not all that fond of fatty foods.”
“And Maude,” Micah remarked patting his flat stomach, “sure knows how to pile on the fat.”
“Oh. Well, you should have gone anyway,” Courtney said. “I can manage.”
“That would be rude,” Dom said.
But Courtney was still thinking about something else. “So you and the boys skip a meal at a diner and someone notices?”
“Small town,” Micah said. “Everyone notices just about everything. Maude was naturally worried, but for Maude alone I wouldn’t have got worried enough to barge in. No, you missed your usual feed run on Thursday, and Cal Barkel mentioned it.”
Courtney felt an urge to laugh. “So around here you’d better keep to your usual schedule?”
“So it seems,” Micah remarked. His dark eyes danced a bit.
Dom shook his head. “I don’t need to make a feed run until sometime next week. As you can see, we’re alive and well.”
Micah nodded again, sipped his coffee. “Ms. Tyson’s arrival must have hit you like a ton of bricks.”
“Yes. Briefly. In the end, though, it doesn’t make a whole lot of difference to us.”
“It could wind up making a big difference psychologically.”
Courtney flushed. For the first time it occurred to her there might have been other reasons for telling her to let desert ghosts lie. Reasons that had nothing to do with justice but rather with the feelings of the family. It was entirely possible that her thirst for justice and knowledge wasn’t shared by everyone.
But almost immediately her resolve stiffened again. No one could possibly want murderers on the loose. Murderers and rapists. No one.
“I’ll be fine, Micah,” Dom said. “It won’t change my circumstances one bit. And I suspect Mary would want those rapists caught, if Courtney can do it.”
“She most definitely wanted them caught,” Courtney agreed, feeling a warm flush of gratitude toward Dom. “She wouldn’t have agreed to work with me otherwise.”
“That’s my feeling,” Dom said. “It’s what Mary would have wanted. For me, it doesn’t change one damn thing.”
Later, upstairs alone in his bedroom, Dom stared out through a window over his moonlit pastures and outbuildings. He could see the horses, quiet in the night, thinking about whatever things horses thought about on moonlit nights when the world was quiet and no threats stalked them.
He tried to keep his own life as simple as that of his horses, but of course, no human could ever live that simply. And he honestly wasn’t sure that horses didn’t face their own complexities, both in surviving and caring for their young, and in dealing with humans.
But right now they were relaxed and hardly moving, guarded by three dogs who sometimes probably irritated them, but likely made them feel more secure, too.
Old Native American stories told of how wolves often came into their encampments and spent the night among the horses, without disturbing them, waiting for a chance to pounce on some tossed away food morsel. Maybe horses and wolves had a longer history than most people realized. Like humans and wolves. Certainly his dogs seemed to prefer the company of the horses, although when the winter started to get bitter they often wanted some time in the barn or the house. By contrast, the horses simply hunkered together and shifted positions so that none of them was always on the outside of the herd’s gathering, bearing the brunt of the wind.
Wolves, horses and people. They took care of their own kind, and sometimes they took care of each other’s kind. The dynamics always fascinated him.
Like Micah coming to check on him tonight because he’d missed his two regular trips to town. Trips he’d started making for the sake of the boys, to give them something to look forward to. Back when they were little and Mary was still with them, those trips had been a lot less frequent. But now…the boys needed them. And maybe he did, too, at least some of the time. Contact with others of his kind.
He hoped Mary approved of how he was handling the boys. But she probably did or she wouldn’t have been willing to leave them with him while she went to Iraq. She must have believed he was a good enough dad to be a bit of a mom, too.
He sure hoped so.
Regardless, tonight he was aware of how much he’d sunk into routine. At first it had saved him from anxiety about Mary, and then from grief over her. There was always something that needed doing, something that he could get out of the way rather than put off.
But Courtney’s arrival had made him look at himself and his life with fresh eyes. He wondered how dull she found it. Maybe even sad.
He didn’t find it dull or sad himself, but he was uneasily aware that not everyone would agree. Maybe not even Mary who had clearly needed more in her life than the ranch.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the empty darkness. “I’m sorry, Mary.”
He guessed he’d been inadequate in some ways, although Mary never once complained. She certainly had known how he lived when she had married him.
He pressed his forehead to the chilly glass of the window, no longer seeing the horses or anything else. He felt as if Mary were standing beside him, as she often had when they’d looked out on their shared world before tumbling into bed.
Courtney. He could only imagine how alien his life must seem to her. But not even that could unsettle him as much as the building attraction he felt for her. It was an attraction he didn’t want. It could lead to nothing good. He wasn’t the kind of man to have flings, and she wasn’t the kind of woman who would want to bury herself on a ranch.
But the initial guilt he had felt for noticing Courtney as a woman had faded with surprising speed. No, he didn’t feel guilty about it anymore. It wasn’t a betrayal of Mary in even the remotest sense to feel the natural attraction of a man for a woman.
And it was just attraction. She’d leave, probably early next week, and it would fade away, lost among many more powerful memories.
She was too thin, he reminded himself. Not his type at all. He was probably just feeling the natural urges of a man who’d been celibate for a few years. Nothing more.
But even to himself that sounded weak. There was something else he liked about Courtney, something that was drawing him besides the sexual. How did he know that?
Because she wasn’t his type.
The almost circular reasoning amused him for a moment or two, and he lifted his head from the glass to look out again at his pastures, his horses.
They were his life. Them and the boys.
He sure as hell didn’t need any more complications than he already had.