Duplicity (5 page)

“When I’m convinced you’ve honored it, I will. But not a moment before then.” She stood up, gathered her briefcase and her purse, then dug down into the leather compartment holding her wallet. She fished out a quarter and tossed it onto the table. “When you decide to act civil and tell me something I can use to save your ass, call me.”

“You? Save my ass?” He grunted, proving he couldn’t fathom that possible. “Right.”

Furious, she turned and walked out of the room.

Adam glared at her back. “Fluff.”

Tracy seethed all the way back through Cell Block D. Defending the man threatened to destroy her career, to endanger her life, and he had the unmitigated gall to call her fluff?

He certainly had. He considered her a lightweight, totally incompetent. That infuriated her. Hell, everything about him infuriated her.

But even through her fury, she had to admit Burke was nothing like she had expected. From the photos Janet had pulled, Tracy had known he was gorgeous. Tall, broad shouldered, lean-hipped. Strong chin, firm jaw, and a long, straight nose. Though little evidence of his good looks had been apparent under the bruises and swelling, those would heal. His physical appearance would definitely be an advantage in a jury trial. What she hadn’t expected was his attitude. He’d broken the mold. Not once had he acted like a typical defendant. He hadn’t justified his actions, blamed someone else, or rationalized.

That stumped her.

After a brief chat with the unit commander, a charming man miraculously no longer too busy to see her, she headed out to the shadeless-parking lot, to her Caprice.

Breath-stealing heat poured out of the car. Tracy climbed in, started the engine, and cranked the airconditioner up on High, still trying to puzzle out why Burke had broken the mold. His acting unlike the typical defendant brought her no comfort. In a I sense, it made him even more dangerous. In only a few moments, Adam Burke had had her questioning his guilt, Command, Higher Headquarters, and herself.

She dumped her purse and briefcase on the passenger seat, then stared at the rearview mirror, into her own distrustful blue eyes. Why would Command assign a junior Staff JAG to defend such a high profile, volatile case?

Chapter 3.

Adam hated being wrong.

He had been wrong, of course, and he had admitted it. But this time admitting it grated deeper, and that made him hate it even more. He despised having to give that sanctimonious, biased incompetent credit for anything, but facts were facts, and Tracy Keener had been right. She was all he had.

He had refused to believe that was possible. Had been certain that someone would take his side. But not one person from Intel, one neighbor or friend or family member, had come to see him, much less offered to help him. His family avoiding him didn’t surprise him. If they had come, that would have been a shock. He’d been an outsider since the day he was born, and he was damn grateful for it. And his friends numbered few. In his line of work, they had to; well-meaning friends could cause complications, and they would resent his secretive nature. But his Intel family … He couldn’t believe they’d slashed and severed without hearing his side of this. Yet they had. And that cut him deep.

Stiff and sore from the beating, he paced his cramped cell, staring at the iron bars denying him freedom. How had this happened to him? How had he, a dedicated member of the United States Air Force, a man who had built his life on ideals that demanded duty, honor, loyalty and more personal sacrifices than he cared to recall ended up behind bars as a criminal? He’d risked his life his entire career to prevent crimes against the United States and, by God, he had the scars to prove it. Yet no one-not one single person-believed him innocent. Hell, no one even gave him the benefit of doubt.

Stiff and sore and now tense, he forced himself to do some stretching exercises to loosen up, even though it was mid-afternoon and the heat inside the cell was at its smoldering peak. Bracing a foot flat against the wall, he leaned into it. Pain, sharp and swift, shot through his ribs. His head swam, and a wave of nausea rushed up his throat. Doubling over, he grabbed his side. No matter what that quack of a doctor had said, his damn ribs had to be broken.

When the pain dulled, Adam blew out a sharp breath and straightened up. If he had sustained such a beating on the street, he would have been put on leave and ordered to stay home to recuperate. If on a mission, well, treatment would have depended on whether or not he had already accomplished his tasks. If so, he’d hibernate until he was strong again. If not, he’d keep pushing until he had finished the job. That was the drill. Duty first.

But he wasn’t on the outside or on a mission. He was locked up, accused of crimes he couldn’t even imagine committing. And that angered him into breaching military courtesy and moving to the cot. What the hell else could they do to him?

He rocked back, letting his head drop down to the plastic-covered pillow. It crackled, irritating him more. He’d slept in worse places out in the field. In the blistering hot desert, after hiking miles through a hellish sand storm to bring needed intel back to the unit. In a mosquito-infested swamp, armed to the teeth and awaiting orders to infiltrate enemy territory. In a mountain crevice during a blizzard, huddling there after gathering intel needed for a preemptive strike. But when he got out of here, he swore he would never again sleep on a pillow encased in plastic.

Would he get out of here?

Fear that he wouldn’t surged through him, and his muscles clenched. Sweat beaded at his temples, trickled down his face, and again he heard Keener’s voice. You do understand that the prosecutor is going for the death penalty, correct?

Didn’t the incompetent realize he already had been convicted? That whether or not the honchos succeeded in getting him legally convicted and sentenced to death, they’d already stolen his life?. He had been stripped bare. Left with nothing. Even if he proved his innocence, his Intel operative days were over, With all the publicity and exposure-he was worthless to Intel now.

Worthless.

He stared blankly at the ceiling, feeling isolated and empty. He had lived and breathed his life as an operative. Since his divorce from Lisa four years ago, he hadn’t had a personal life, only his work. Even if he did get out of this, what was left for him?

Duty first.

The first Intel rule drilled into his head during basic training kicked in, commanding him with the authority of a direct order to keep a tight focus on the big picture. More important than what he’d have left, was what the country would have left. How would this incident impact it?

That, Adam didn’t know. Until he did, he couldn’t rest. His oath, his honor, forbade it.

He chewed his lower lip, thoughtful. Who had done this to him? Why had they done it? The war-readiness exercise had taken extensive planning. No one invested in extensive planning except to commit a deliberate act. And an act of this magnitude-one that sacrificed lives established irrefutably that it had been committed for a specific purpose. A purpose, Adam sensed deep in his gut, that would cost his country plenty unless it was revealed.

He dropped a frustrated fist to his cot. He damn well should let the nation pay those costs. But even after what had been done to him, he couldn’t do it. Besides the bastards who falsely accused him, innocent people would pay the price. People he had sworn to serve and protect.

Folding an arm above his head, Adam fingered the shiny quarter he’d held like a talisman since Keener had tossed it at him. She was something else, Incompetent, but interesting. Beautiful, of course, or she wouldn’t have been chosen as his defense counsel, yet not conventionally beautiful. More pretty with a haunted air about her that made her seem tragically mystical. That combination, he grudgingly admitted, was even more irresistible than classic beauty-and more dangerous. Men instinctively reacted to her beauty, and women sensed the tragedy behind her haunted air and responded protectively to it. Having an in with both sexes gave Keener a hell of an edge.

Adam let his hand slice down his prison grays, thigh to knee. Okay, so she had endured her fair share of problems. Maybe a few more than her fair share. And he had been hard on her. She’d deserved it, but she hadn’t had to take everything he had dished out like a pro. Yet she had. She’d left the meeting furious with Adam,‘but she’d still stopped by the unit commander’s office and, with a respectable amount of righteous indignation, she’d insisted Adam be isolated to avoid future beatings. She had also demanded a fullscale investigation of the beating to determine who had inflicted it-the Heavies, or the guards. That had taken guts.

Not that she realized it-or, believing him guilty, she wouldn’t have done it-but her arranging his move to the hole had been a lucky break for him. It afforded him the privacy and latitude he needed to gather vital intel. Unfortunately, even with the move, there were still things he needed to do that he couldn’t do from any jail cell. I’m all you’ve got, and you’d best get used to it.

True. He flipped the quarter, caught it, then rubbed its ribbed edge with the pad of his thumb. But that didn’t mean he should trust her with what he knew about the incident. Should he take the risk?

That was the million-dollar question. The answer wouldn’t come easily. The stakes were damn high. He’d pay with his life.

Adam gave his pillow a punch. Keener was also friends with Dr. Randall Moxley. That was worth remembering, considering suspicions regarding Moxley had been unofficially reported to Intel and to the OSI. He could be disseminating sensitive information on confidential programs to outsiders. The Office of Special Investigations had been given a heads-up on the doctor, but they had no authority to make an arrest, as a formal report had not been filed.

Adam understood the reason for that. It wasn’t a matter of guilt or innocence, but a matter of evidence. Once a report was filed, with or without hard evidence, the OSI had to launch an investigation and follow the “guilty until proven innocent” military policy. Arrests would be made based on suspicion. Careers and lives could be ruined. So military and civil service employees had become wary of the formal reporting process, and they generally chose to meet informally with OSI agents to discuss “hypothetical situations.” Of course, the OSI tracked everyone involved in those hypothetical situations, and they shared their findings with Intel.

Such was the case with Tracy Keener. The suspicions against Moxley had unofficially been extended to the incompetent captain because of their friendship. Guilt by association. And Adam wondered. Could either of them be using their positions to filter sensitive information on programs that would render new technology obsolete prior to it even being developed?

After what had happened to him, Adam knew anything was possible. Anything at all. And he’d be foolish to forget Keener had been counsel on research-and development-project contracts before her ex-brother-in law, Paul, through Keener Chemical, had started bidding on them. Paul’s bids had made her acting as R & D counsel a direct conflict of interest, necessitating her transfer from her specialty, contract law, to criminal law. She had to resent that.

The steel. door to the solitary confinement block opened.

Adam rolled out of bed. Springing to the balls of his feet, he focused his full attention on who was approaching. The Heavies had jumped him in the dead of night. He’d been sound asleep. That wouldn’t happen again. Now, he had sharpened his two pencils and, whenever he slept, he tied his foot to the cell door with his shoestring. If the door opened, Adam would know it before someone blindsided him.

By all rights, the beatings shouldn’t happen again. He was isolated in the remote northeast corner of the brig, separated from the others. But the guards had keys, and someone had given the prisoners access to them before or they wouldn’t have gotten to Adam the first time. If it happened once, it could happen again. And if it did, this time, he would be ready.

His pant leg clung to his calf. Static electricity. He shook it loose and palmed his quarter. He had to find out who was behind this nightmare, and why they had dragged him into it.

Accept it, Burke. To find out the truth you need help. You need Keener.

He rubbed at his lower lip, angry at having been put in this position and hoping to hell her outrage at his being beaten was genuine. Surely a reaction that stark had to be honest. But either way, the bottom line read the same. He had to prove himself and protect the innocent. He had to risk trusting her. He had no one else.

Sergeant Maxwell appeared outside Adam’s cell, carrying shackles and cuffs. He unlocked the cell door and then pulled it open. Its hinges whined and groaned.

“Let’s go, Burke. You’ve got fifteen minutes’ exercise time.”

Adam was supposed to have an hour. Evidently, three quarters of his time had been rescinded because of the fight. Of course it had been blamed on him. “I want to call my lawyer.”

If Maxwell was surprised to hear Adam’s voice for the first time, he didn’t show it. “WHATEVER.” Working efficiently and effectively, he fitted the shackles onto Adam’s legs, the cuffs onto his arms, locked them, and then backed off. “It’s your time and your dime.”

Adam didn’t bother reminding the moron phone calls cost a quarter.

As they walked through the corridor, Adam covertly looked around. Six cells, all prepared and ready for prisoners, but currently empty. Odd, as the facility was supposedly overcrowded. Yet, from the lack of noise, he had suspected himself alone in the cell block. During his move there, his eyes had been too swollen to visually verify it. He would have had to turn his head to see into the cells, and looking would have been taken as a sign of weakness by the Heavies, a show of fear. The last thing a man who wanted to survive his facility stint showed the Heavies was fear.’

At the end of the hall, they turned right, into the activity room, which closely resembled the attorney/client conference room. Both were sparsely furnished, hot, and empty of other prisoners-. Circling a wide table, Adam walked over to the wall phone.