In the Dark (17 page)

Sebastian nodded again. "The prosecutor's name is Garret—Captain Garret. He's never lost a case."

"Oh, dear. Helen didn't say that."

"She doesn't know," Sebastian said with meaning. He rubbed his temple again. "It shouldn't have happened as it did," he added. "We have evidence to support Jaguar's innocence, but it wasn't presented in time. Lieutenant Lindstrom—the big man at Jaguar's barbecue?—he was shot yesterday. He found the weapons Commander Lovitt's been stealing."

"He found them!" Leila gasped. "Is he all right?"

"He will be. But he couldn't get the evidence to court in time. We tried to cast suspicion on Lovitt by linking him to the XO's death, but there's only circumstantial evidence to indicate that Miller's death wasn't a suicide."

"Miller?" Leila cocked her head. "Do you mean Jason Miller?"

Sebastian looked at her oddly. "Did you know him?"

"No, but he practically stalked Helen after Gabe disappeared last year. He dropped by to see her all the time. He even wrote her a love letter."

Sebastian's gaze sharpened. "She wouldn't still have it," he guessed.

"No, but I do. I think."

"You? Why?"

"Because Helen was going to throw it away, and I thought, this is suspicious. Here is the last man to see Gabriel Renault alive and he's professing to love Gabe's wife. How weird is that?"

Sebastian sat forward. "Where's the letter?" he asked with controlled urgency. "We need samples of his handwriting to show that his suicide note was forged."

"Can't you find that at the office?"

"We could, but he cleared out his files the day he resigned. And a signature alone—which is all we have—is not enough. Do you think you can find the letter?"

"I'll look for it," she promised, hating to let him down.

"I save everything," she confessed. "It's probably at my shop. That's where Helen showed it to me."

"Can we go and look tonight?"

"Tonight?" Her gaze flew to the clock on the wall. "It's almost midnight."

He drew a breath. "You're right. I'm sorry." He pushed to his feet, causing her heart to drop with disappointment. "There's no hurry. We have a week to prepare for the court-martial. If you find it before then, be sure to call me."

He headed for the door.

Leila got up and trailed him, tamping down the desperate urge to beg him to stay. "Do you ..." She stammered to a halt as he turned to look at her.

He stretched out a hand and stroked her cheek. The tender gesture took her by surprise. "I have to confess something to you," he said, looking unhappy with himself.

"What?" She froze, certain that he was going to break her heart, to tell her that it was over between them.

"You are going to be angry with me," he predicted, his eyes dark with regret.

Her eyes stung. Her knees began to tremble. He couldn't do this to her now—not when he'd made himself so appealing. He couldn't just break her heart so cruelly!

"There was nothing wrong with your car the other day," he told her.

What? Her car? What did her car have to do with anything? "I'm sorry?"

"There was no electrical problem." He reached into his pocket and pulled out her second set of car keys. "I compromised the wiring so that you would have to spend

the night with me. I'm very sorry, Leila." He took her frozen hand and pressed the keys into her palm. "My conscience would not allow me to keep the truth to myself. I only pray you will forgive me."

Forgive him? He wanted forgiveness?

Tears of relief sprang into her eyes, blurring the vision of his handsome face. He wasn't going to break her heart, after all.

"You'll need time to think about it" he deduced. He turned sorrowfully away, headed for his car.

"Sebastian, wait!"

He turned around. The hope that burned in his eyes reassured her that he was still very much intent upon keeping her in his life.

"There is nothing to forgive," she reassured him, softly. At one time, she might have thought differently. His subterfuge would have made her question his character, would have shattered her trust. But he'd proven by his actions that his motives were pure. "I had a beautiful time," she added, going out on a limb.

The smile he gave her melted away the last drop of fear. "We must do it again soon," he called, stepping off the curb to return to his car.

A misty rain dusted his hair and shoulders in tiny diamond like drops, clinging to him as her emotions did.

She watched him start his car, lifting a hand in farewell as he backed up and pulled away.

We must do it again soon.

She shut the door and leaned against it, weak in the knees.

Oh, Sebastian,
she thought with a sigh.
That day can't come soon enough.

Patuxent River Naval Air Station
28 September
~
10:14 EST

"He's back."

Luther roused to those strange words, uttered in Hannah's voice. He cracked his eyes to see her hovering over him, her hair fiery red instead of light ash-brown, her pretty eyes no longer hidden behind glasses. She still wore a dowdy brown blouse with a clown collar, but the color looked good on her.

He blinked back the grogginess that threatened to suck him back into a black abyss. Was he dreaming? He would know if she started unbuttoning her blouse.

But there was Westy marching around the foot of the bed to scowl at him. "We missed the Article 32 hearing, sir," he said, not exactly in an accusing tone but certainly an irritated one.

"What?" Luther rubbed a hand over his face hoping to relieve the feeling that he'd been bound up in mummy cloth. "What time is it?" Sun was shining brightly through the window, turning Hannah's hair to flame. "Why aren't you wearing your wig?" he asked her.

She thrust a newspaper at him that was sitting on his rollaway table. 'This is why."

Luther squinted at the print. Hannah pointed to the leading article at the top of the page, FBI arrests bill Westmoreland, director of CIA. "Westmoreland!" he exclaimed. Recalling his conversation with Valentino, his gaze flew to the date at the top of the page. He met Westy's unblinking stare. "Oh, shit." He'd slept through the night. "I thought you were going to call me."

"Oh, I called, sir," Westy said, his jaw muscles jumping. "Several times."

Luther looked at the phone beside his bed. "I didn't hear anything."

"That's why I came looking for you, but your watchdog out there caught me trying to rouse you. I'd have taken the CD back to the beach myself, only I had Hannah to think about, and I didn't think you'd approve of me taking chances. I've never caught so much hell in my life, sir," he said, referring back to Nurse Rex.

Luther winced. No wonder Westy was pissed.

"Stop scolding him," Hannah interrupted, putting a restraining hand on Westy's arm. "It's not his fault the nurse drugged him."

Luther was grateful to Hannah for coming to his defense, but that hand on Westy's arm bothered him. They'd shared a room last night.

With a coarse mutter, Westy turned away and stalked toward the bathroom.

Luther's brain kicked in. "Rex drugged me?" he asked. Anger made him kick off the covers as he recalled how the nurse had smiled so cunningly when she handed him the painkiller yesterday. "She drugged me," he repeated, gripping the metal railing on one side of the bed.
Bitch,
he thought. "Damn it! What time is it? Did we miss the hearing completely?"

"We missed it," Westy said from the bathroom as he splashed water on his face. "It's ten hundred hours, sir."

"Shit!" He'd never sworn so much in so short a time.

"Oh, for God's sake," Hannah said, bending over to pull clothing out of Luther's suitcase. "Stop with the theatrics. It's not the end of the world. So Jaguar's case goes to court-martial. Big deal. We're still going to get him off the hook."

She laid a carefully folded dress shirt, jeans, undershirt, boxers, and a clean pair of socks onto the rollaway table. "This gives us more time to prepare our testimony. I say we swing by the DIAC and look for the copy of Ernie's notebook. With Westmoreland arrested, it's got to be safe to go there now."

Luther looked from the clothes she'd set out to Westy's face as he emerged from the bathroom. "Valentino said not to assume that Hannah's safe yet, and first thing she does is throw off her disguise," he said, chastising his chief.

Westy flicked a hot look at Hannah. "What'd I tell you?" he said. "Now he's blaming me."

"Don't blame Westy," Hannah said. "I'm tired of the disguise. It's pointless. Lovitt knows who I am or he wouldn't have sent someone after me the other night, and the Individual is in custody. I should be safe."

Bill Westmoreland, head of the CIA, was the Individual. Luther tried to wrap his mind around it. "Why would Westmoreland want you out of the way?" he asked.

She heaved a sigh. "I don't know. He was named DCI when my father died. Maybe there's a connection there. Whatever the reason, he's out of the picture now. I can be myself again."

Luther just looked at her. He saw reason in her argument, but his neck felt tight with apprehension. Valentino's voice droned in his head.
This will be a test of your professionalism.
"So what are we doing, Chief?" he asked Westy. "Are we going to the DIAC?"

Westy stuck his hands into his pockets. "Might as well."

"We'll find the copy of Ernie's notebook which we can use in Jaguar's court-martial," Hannah added persuasively.

Luther groaned at the mention of a court-martial. "I can't believe I slept for twenty-two hours."

“I’m jealous," said Hannah. "How are you feeling? Can you get up?"

Luther swung his feet off the bed and sat up experimentally. He had a lovely purple bruise on the back of his left hand from the IV needle. Feeling only a mild discomfort in his shoulder, he put one foot to the floor and stood. To his dismay, he realized that the gown he was wearing didn't quite close in the back and he had nothing on under it.

Hannah flashed out a hand to steady him, Westy moved to the other side.

"How're you doing?" she asked as he shuffled forward.

"Pretty good," he said, holding her tightly so she wouldn't get a glimpse of his backside. He'd feel better after he peed.

"Maybe Westy should stay in the bathroom with you."

They turned identical looks of horror on her. "No," Luther said, "I'll be fine. Just bring me my clothes. Please." He waited for her to turn away before sidling into the bathroom sideways.

Westy chuckled as he realized what Luther was attempting to hide.

“Give me ten minutes," Luther said as Hannah handed him his clothes. He shut the door in their faces, humiliated, feeling anything but heroic.

Defense Intelligence Analysis Center
Bolling Air Force Base 28 September ~ 14:49 EST

At the DIAC's security checkpoint, Luther suffered a body search at the hands of a retired Marine master sergeant, who clearly nursed a grudge against SEALs in general.

"He squeezed my nuts," said Westy, who'd suffered the same search. "I almost broke his fucking nose."

If he wasn't in such terrible pain, Luther would have laughed at the scowl on Westy's face, but laughter was beyond him at the moment. Voices echoed off the marbled floor of the DIAC's lobby. He leaned against the wall, waiting for Hannah's new ID badge to be laminated. The painkillers he'd forsaken by walking out of the hospital early would have come in handy right about now.

Westy gave him a searching look. "You okay, sir?"

"Fine."

"You look like shit."

"Thanks. I love you, too "

"My godfather's expecting me," Hannah conveyed, breezing up to them. "He's apparently been worried sick " she added breathlessly. "I'll have to take a moment to reassure him I'm all right. Then we'll fetch Ernie's notes. This way to the elevators."

Luther followed her blindly. A clammy sweat made his undershirt cling to him. The elevator ascended, and he widened his stance to keep his balance.

Hannah finally took note. "Luther, you don't look good."

“I’m okay. Just need to sit down soon."

"We're almost there." She linked her arm through his in a gesture of solidarity. The pleasure of her touch took his mind off the pain for a moment.

She didn't have to touch him anymore. They weren't role-playing like they'd been in Sabena. But they were friends now, buddies. While the thought bolstered him, giving him the strength to step out on the fifth floor where the director's suite was located, it left him wanting something more.

A middle-aged woman in a pin-striped suit looked up from her desk of stainless steel and graphite. "Welcome back, Miss Geary," she called out warmly. "Mr. Newman is expecting you." She gestured to the open door.

Hannah pulled Luther along beside her. Westy followed behind. "Uncle Caleb," she sang out, "I'm back!"

A handsome man in his late fifties was already rounding his desk with his arms flung wide. "Hannah, my girl!" he cried, sweeping her into a hearty embrace. He held her close for an awfully long time, but Luther could see that the man's emotions were genuine.

"Let me look at you," the director said, putting her at arm's distance, at last. He inspected her from the top of her head to the gray pumps she wore. "You don't look any worse for wear" he decided, "considering everything you've been through."

"How much do you know?" Hannah asked.

"Not much. I've had my own people looking for you, of course. The rumor is that you were in Cuba! You'll have to tell me what that's about. At least, you're back where you belong. I can't tell you how worried I was."

"I'm fine, Uncle Caleb" Hannah said, patting his cheek. "Really I am."

For a moment, Luther thought the man might actually cry. "If anything ever happened to you..." he choked.

"Nothing bad is going to happen. Look, I have my own bodyguards." She turned to introduce Luther and Westy. "These are the SEALs who rescued me. Lieutenant Lind-strom..." Luther awkwardly extended his left hand, which Caleb Newman vigorously pumped. "And Chief McCaffrey."

Newman turned to Westy. "I can't thank you men enough," he said, shaking Westy's hand as he looked back and forth between them. "Please, have a seat." He gestured to the upholstered armchairs. "Hannah, dear, tell me everything," he added, moving around his desk to his own chair. "Then I'll give you my own take on this business with Bill Westmoreland."