Joy shook her head, and he liked how her hair flowed around her shoulders, how the light reflected off her copper highlights. He’d wondered how good it would look down, out of that prim French braid she’d worn while in uniform. Now he knew.
“Why the hell go undercover if you can’t communicate what you’re finding out?”
“My job is to neutralize the bad guys, Joy. I have to use my judgment to determine when to come out of my covert role. With one of the most highly decorated generals in US Military history in the sights of these bastards, calling in my status isn’t exactly a priority. My team will figure it all out. They probably already have.”
“Won’t your boss be worried that you were killed in the explosion?”
“Maybe.” Her sincerity made it too easy to spill his guts, but he’d never compromised classified information before and wasn’t about to start now.
“Sorry—I don’t need to know any of this,” she said. “Just tell me what you need from me.”
“I need you to dig up whatever you can on Grimes. There has to be a reason they’re after him. It’s not merely that he was the lead GI over there during the most successful and intense allied operations.”
“I’m not sure what I can learn that hasn’t already made it into the press, but I’ll try.”
“That’s all I’m asking, Joy. I can hold out for a day or two before I have to report in.” He wasn’t about to give her any more details. She needed to understand that she could trust him, but he couldn’t put her at risk by knowing too much, either.
She looked at her watch, and he smiled.
“You still wear a watch, even with your smartphone?”
“Some of us are old-school. Anyway, I’ve got a job to do and I’d better get moving or I’ll find myself fired on the first day. Lawyers don’t have the flexibility FBI agents do.”
The banter was reminiscent of the joking they’d done to break up tension during the trial. Always aboveboard, always professional, never with any sexual innuendo.
The way it had to stay.
* * *
“AFTERNOON, MA’AM.” THE base guard stood in front of the sentry post and saluted Joy as soon as he handed back her ID. Security was especially tight. They’d searched under her vehicle and had her open all her doors and back hatch. Not usual for someone with an active-duty ID.
“Have a good day.” She saluted back and drove through the gate. The Naval Air Station Whidbey Island sign seemed to mock her, as did the sign with smaller print that stated persons coming aboard the Air Station were subject to search. She’d never had reason to feel the words were directed at her until today.
She was becoming a criminal.
Not technically, not yet. She could turn her car around and go home and tell Brad to take off, give him a fair lead time before she called the police and got herself out of the entire mess.
No one would blame her for not wanting to participate in an anti-terrorist op. Most would applaud her for doing what she could to help. The press and public would never find out about Brad—undercover agents weren’t news-eligible.
She’d called the office a second time and told her boss that she had a medical appointment on base that was part of the procedure for her separation from the Navy. A bald-faced lie on her first day in the new job. It sucked lying to the person who had trusted in her enough to give her this job after her eight years as a JAG. She hoped Paul would not only understand but also support her actions.
She was doing the right thing, wasn’t she?
You know you are.
Brad was the kind of patriot who’d inspired her to serve in the military in the first place. He was willing to risk everything—including his life—to keep his country safe and free. To preserve the national defense. This morning he could’ve asked her to be his lawyer, to represent him in case his fears became reality and he was charged with killing a suspected terrorist. Instead, he was seeking information to further protect General Grimes and to figure out the source of this evil.
Her tires crunched on the gravel lot in front of the base’s legal offices. It took her a while to find a parking space. She was grateful that the placard with her name on it, designating her personal spot, had been removed when she’d left almost two months ago. Better that no one would be able to readily notice her car.
She’d remained dressed in her new suit and with her hair down around her shoulders instead of fastened in a French braid, the way she’d had to wear it in uniform. She hoped no one would recognize her as the former Commander Alexander. At least not immediately.
She inhaled the familiar smell of ammonia and stale coffee as she entered the executive area. Her new office in the law firm smelled like lavender and more expensive coffee.
“Commander Alexander. Bored already?” Shelly Jenkins, the receptionist who’d seen dozens of JAG officers come and go during her tenure, smiled and stood to greet her.
She wished she could spill it all to Shelly. More than a receptionist, she’d been another woman in service and a strong ally while Joy worked here.
You can’t tell anyone. For their sake.
“Hi, Shelly. Nope, not bored. I’m getting ready to start my new job and wanted to stop by and see Dennis. Is he in?” She knew he was; he’d just texted her. It was paramount that her presence back on base look like nothing more than a friendly drop-in.
“Sure is. Let me tell him you’re here.”
Thirty seconds later, Joy sat across from Navy Commander Dennis Leighton, the JAG who’d relieved her.
“Are you in trouble, Joy?” he asked abruptly. They’d spent too many hours working together for Dennis to believe she’d stop in for a coffee chat.
“Not exactly. But someone close to me may be. I have to tell you up front that I can’t give you any information, and that I’m taking advantage of the two days remaining before my ID has to be turned in.” Joy had resigned her commission, and since she didn’t have enough years, she wouldn’t be retiring and getting a new retiree’s ID. Once her terminal leave was over, she’d be a total civilian. No more shopping at the base commissary, no more cosmetic purchases at the Navy Exchange, no more gym workouts on base. Certainly no showing up at her former command, looking for what might be classified information that she no longer had clearance for.
“I trust you implicitly, Joy. You wouldn’t be here unless you believed in what you were doing.” Dennis leaned back in his chair, his desk filled with files and stacks of paper.
“I know you have a heavy caseload,” she said. NCIS had infiltrated a drug ring in the enlisted barracks, and the resulting arrests had given the legal department a year’s worth of defense work. Now with the offshore explosion, the JAG office could be inundated with testimony and the legalities created by a possible terrorist act.
“That’s also why I know you’re here for a very good reason. What do you need, Joy?” Dennis looked relaxed, his head tilted slightly, his hands clasped behind his head as he tipped his chair back. Joy knew his calm demeanor was deceptive. Dennis was a gifted lawyer who would go far, whether he stayed in the Navy or got out to make his mark in the civilian courts. He was observing her closely, looking for every nuance in her expression. She’d expect no less.
“I need access to the cases I worked on almost two years ago.” Three tours ago, by Navy standards. After Norfolk she’d gone on to a quick tour on the USS Abraham Lincoln based in Everett, Washington, and then did her last tour here on Whidbey.
Dennis blinked. He clearly hadn’t expected this. “You want me to go into the Navy JAG database and retrieve them?”
She shook her head. “No.