legs, she hunched forward, the ends of her long hair sweeping the glossy surface of his desk. “A report so heavily redacted, I could barely read it through the black lines.”
“A necessity, but I’m sure you got the gist of the information. A marauding band of…”
“Criminals.” She smacked her fist on the desk, causing the pens in the holder to dance. “I’ve heard that line a million times. It’s a solid talking point, but why would common criminals attack a U.S. Embassy outpost? Do you think they were trying to steal computers? Watches off the embassy staff? Cushions from the pool furniture?”
“They’re criminals.” Cordova’s left eyebrow twitched. “I suppose they’re going to steal whatever they can.”
“Why choose a building guarded by U.S. Marines? And why do common criminals in Nigeria have RPGs?”
The congressman shot up in his chair. “Where did you get that information?”
“It wasn’t from the watered-down report you sent me.”
“Ms. Moreno, Lana—” he closed his eyes and took a deep breath “—I truly am sorry for the loss of your brother. He was a hero.”
“He was a hero for getting murdered during a common robbery?”
“He was a hero for serving his country honorably, and I’m going to look into the possibility of naming a park…or something after him in our home town of Greenvale.”
“A baseball field.” Lana gazed at the pictures of Cordova’s family that graced the wall behind him—his son in his baseball uniform and his daughter in a ballerina tutu. “Gil loved baseball and was a great player. He could’ve played some ball in college or the minor leagues, but he chose to enlist instead.”
“Like I said, a true local hero.”
Her eyes snapped back to Cordova’s face. “He was a hero because he and his brothers in arms tried to protect that outpost from a planned attack. Whatever was going on there required more than three marines to guard it, and they deserved backup, a response from other military in the area. I know about that, too.”
“I’m afraid the Committee is not going to open up an investigation based on some half-truths you learned from some anonymous source and your brother’s journal that you haven’t even read yet.” Cordova’s jawline hardened. “I’ve given you all the time I have today, Ms. Moreno, and you can run to the press all you like and paint me as the bad guy, but there’s nothing more I can do for you.”
She pushed out of the chair, her legs like lead beneath her, all the fight drained from her body. She automatically extended her hand across the desk. “Thank you for seeing me.”
The congressman’s face brightened as he squeezed her hand. “Anytime, Ms. Moreno, but make an appointment with Tessa next time and come alone.”
“I will.” When he released her hand, she avoided the temptation to wipe it on the seat of her jeans.
He circled around his desk and showed her out of his office door, a big smile on his face in case a camera or two lurked in the waiting room.
As she walked toward the exit, her knees weak and trembling, she nodded to Tessa behind her desk, clutching the edge, looking ready to bolt.
When Lana reached the door, Cordova called after her. “A baseball field, the Gil Moreno Field. I’ll get right on it.”
“Gilbert.”
“Excuse me?”
“The Gilbert Moreno Baseball Field.” She twisted the handle and bumped the door with her hip, pushing through the double doors.
The cold air slapped her face when she stepped onto the empty sidewalk and her nose started running. She shoved her hands in her pockets and turned the corner of Cordova’s office, which occupied the end spot of a newer strip mall. He probably had nicer digs in DC.
Dragging her hand along the stucco wall of the building, she meandered toward the back alley. She couldn’t do this anymore. She had nothing. She was going to fail her little brother when he needed her most.
She did a half turn and propped her shoulders against the wall, but her meeting with Cordova had sapped all her strength. Her knees giving out on her, she slid down the wall, the suede of her jacket scraping the stucco.
She ended in a crouch, dipping her head, the tears flowing freely down her face. “I’m sorry, Gil. You deserve so much more than a baseball field. You deserve the truth.”
A footstep crunched beside her and she jerked up her head. A tall figure loomed over her, the sunlight creating a bright aura around the stranger’s head.
Slowly he crouched before her, caught one of her tears as it dripped from her chin and said, “The truth just might get you killed, Lana.”
The raven-haired beauty in front of him dashed the back of her hand across her runny nose and smeared a streak of black mascara toward her ear, where a row of silver studs pierced the curve.
“Who the hell are you?” The tough words belied her trembling bottom lip, full with a juicy cherry tint.
Logan pulled back and blinked his eyes. He knew Lana Moreno was pretty, but he didn’t expect her attractiveness, slightly muffled by a red nose and puffy eyes, to hit him like a sledgehammer.
He stuck out his hand. “I’m Logan Hess, your new best friend.”
“I already have a best friend—” she narrowed her eyes “—and I already have a media contact. I’m working with Peyton Fletcher. She has my back.”
“Oh, I doubt that.” He dropped his hand onto his thigh, rubbing his knuckles across the denim of his jeans. “I’m not with any news organization.”
The lips he’d been admiring flattened into a thin line. “Cordova’s office? Is that why you were warning me about the truth? You did warn me, didn’t you?”
“C’mon.” He spread his arms. “Do I look like a politician?”
Her dark eyes tracked from the top of his head, flicked sideways across his leather jacket and traveled down his jeans. When she reached the silver tips of his black cowboy boots, her nostrils flared.
The inventory got him hot and bothered, and he willed Lana to keep her eyes pinned to his boots so she wouldn’t notice his response to her assessment a little higher up.
He got his wish, as her eyes flew to his face. “As a matter of fact, you do kind of look like a politician—the smooth kind who tries to fit in with the locals with expensive designer duds no real Greenvale farmhand would ever wear…or could ever afford.”
Ouch. His erection died as fast as it had come on.
Logan tipped back his head and laughed at the sky, laughed so hard he fell backward, his backside, covered by his nondesigner jeans, hitting the dirt. His hands went out behind him, and he wedged his palms against the ground to keep from falling back any farther.
“You’re a pistol, little lady.” He put on his best Texas drawl. “Would they say things like that, too?”
One side of her mouth twitched. “Yes, they would. That accent though, it sounds legit. Where’d you pick it up?”
“Same place I got these fancy duds.” He slapped the side of his right boot. “Dallas. So, if you think you Greenvale, California, cowboys are the real deal, you’re dreaming.”
“Got me.” Lana held up her hands. “But if you’re not a reporter and you don’t work for Cordova, I repeat my question. Who the hell are you? And don’t say Logan Hess. That name means nothing to me.”
He’d