The Final Line (30 page)

“If you’re not busy, we could use your help in the medical kennels,” Megan said, when Corey started to leave.

He followed Megan into the large, noisy room where the surgical patients were caged, along with puppies and kittens removed from their mothers too young. Megan went straight to a small kennel that held what looked like a Labrador puppy. The yellow pup yowled constantly and dread slowly curled through Corey’s system.

His anxiety must have shown on his face. Megan cradled the puppy to her chest as she crossed to him, wearing a reassuring expression. “This little boy doesn’t do well isolated in a cage. If you could just hold him for awhile, it’ll lower his stress level and make him easier to manage. Plus it’s better for his health.”

“If you say so.” Reluctantly, Corey took the small, surprisingly heavy puppy from her. The yellow ball of fur had quieted down when Megan had picked him up. Corey let the puppy stretch out along his forearm, head at his elbow, hind end cradled in his palm. He felt the pup heave a heavy sigh and almost immediately drift to sleep.

Megan gestured toward a rocking chair in the corner of the room. “Have a seat, relax, just rock him for a little while and let him sleep.”

Awkwardly, Corey settled into the chair, keeping the slumbering puppy carefully pressed to his chest. Miguel, another vet tech, entered the room and gave Corey a double take.

Smiling broadly at Corey, Miguel said, “Papi, you’re a natural.”

Corey snorted self-consciously. What did it say about the kind of man he was that he was more comfortable with an M16 in his hands, than he was a puppy?

The clinic staff came and went, paying Corey little attention, beyond polite courtesy, as they worked. He sat quietly, rocking the pup, gently stroking its back as it slept. He found himself smiling slightly, at the small, fuzzy yellow body. Corey ran a finger over the tiny toes on all four paws. He poked at the floppy ears just to watch them twitch as the puppy slumbered on.

Corey’s chest tightened with an unfamiliar affection. Maybe he wasn’t as lame at this as he thought he’d be. “Does this little guy have a name?” he asked as Miguel walked by.

“Folco,” Miguel replied with enthusiasm.

“Folco,” Corey repeated. “Why does that sound familiar?” Realization struck him like a blow. “No fucking way! You named him for a cartoon character?”

Miguel grinned eagerly. “You watch Thresden Squadron?”

“No, but a friend of mine does the voice for Folco,” Corey replied, already laughing at the idea of telling Sean he’d rocked his namesake to sleep today.

“Shut the front door,” Miguel said, looking stunned. “You’re not yanking my chain, are you? ‘Cause that would just be cruel.”

Corey chuckled. “No, the only reason I even know that show exists is ’cause he told me he did the voice for it.”

The puppy squirmed and gave an annoyed whimper. Corey shifted Folco so he could grasp him behind his front legs. The pup looked at him with sleep-heavy eyes, hanging calmly between Corey’s hands. He couldn’t help the warmth that pooled in his stomach, a sense of well-being spreading through his body.

“That’s right. You just go back to sleep.” Corey amazed himself that he was actually using baby talk. He brought Folco to rest against his shoulder, cradling the pup’s rump in the crook of his elbow.

“So, is this friend of yours hot?” Miguel asked, one hip leaning against the counter.

Corey chuffed a self-conscious laugh and hoped he didn’t blush. “I guess you could say that.”

“Ah, dawg, I knew it! It would absolutely suck if the voice of a kick-ass character like Folco was just a geek like me!” Miguel laughed as he left the room, arms full of medical charts.

Corey’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He fished it out clumsily, trying not to wake Folco. He realized he was fucked if he was thinking of the dog by name. His phone displayed Sean’s name and Corey laughed to himself.

“You have perfect timing,” he greeted. “Folco is currently sleeping on my chest.”

There was a long silence before Sean laughed. “You’re doing
what?”

“One of the vet techs here at the shelter named a puppy Folco, and the pup is currently asleep on my chest,” Corey explained, not bothering to keep the humor from his voice.

“I’m not sure what’s more fascinating,” Sean said through his laughter, “the thought that someone named a dog after my animated character, or that you have a puppy sleeping on your chest. No, scratch that, the name thing happens all the time. Please, please,
please
have someone take a picture of you and the puppy!”

“When Miguel comes back I’ll have him take one,” Corey replied. “I think he’d do anything you asked.”

“My fans are legion,” Sean quipped. “So, I take it the volunteering is going well?”

“I don’t know that I’m accomplishing much, but Folco seems happy,” He scratched the puppy’s neck just behind his ears and was rewarded with a soft groan of pleasure. “So you made it to New York safely?”

“Landed and checked into my hotel,” Sean declared. “You should see the size of this bed, I really wish you were here.”

“What a coincidence, ’cause I wish I was there, too.”

“I’ll be back by the middle of the week.” Sean sounded as though he was trying to be reassuring.

“Unless you get the part,” Corey reminded him.

“I still have to come back and make arrangements to live in New York for a year.” Sean made it sound so simple.

Corey had no reply.

“You still there?” asked Sean, hesitantly.

“Yeah.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you want this role?” Corey asked suddenly.

“It’s a great role,” Sean replied. “It would be my first lead role that isn’t part of an ensemble. But, the movie role I’m up for out there pays better and would give me greater exposure.”

“So, what does that all mean?” Corey was afraid to hope.

“I’d much rather take four months of work in California than a year’s worth of work in New York,” he answered succinctly. “But if I take this part, are you going to come visit me?”

When Sean had asked him that same question once before, Corey had been afraid to answer. He’d been afraid Sean hadn’t really meant it. “Yes, whenever I can get leave, I’d visit. But it still wouldn’t be that often.”

“I can take some time off once in a while. Give my understudy a chance to step up.”

This was the first time they had discussed the future at all. Corey’s chest loosened as Sean talked about a future that involved the both of them. Together. He was so fucked.

“I would like it better if you stayed local.” Sean had put himself out there. Only fair for Corey to do the same. “But if it’s best for your career to take the job in New York, then that’s the job I hope you get.”

Sean’s sigh sounded relieved. “We’ll work it out.”

Movement across the room caught Corey’s eye. He glanced up to find both Megan and Miguel watching him from the doorway, and both were smirking.

“What?” he asked.

“Oh, mijo, you have it bad,” Miguel replied with a shake of his head.

Megan sighed. “It’s always the good ones.”

“I gotta go,” Corey hastily said to Sean, his face flaming. “I’ll call you when I’m done here.”

“Have someone take a picture of you holding Folco!” Sean demanded before they ended the call.

Miguel was happy to oblige. Anything for the voice of Folco.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Corey stepped out of the dark colored sedan Captain Hirata had driven to the law firm office. He tugged the coat of his service uniform straight and placed his barracks cover on his head, brim low over his eyes. He slid his Oakleys on as Hirata also exited the vehicle, donning his own cover.

“Ready, Staff Sergeant?” the Captain asked.

“Ready, sir.” Corey wanted nothing more than to climb into the victor and head back to base.

“You’ll do fine,” Hirata said, leading Corey toward the office tower. “Remember, keep your answers as brief as possible and don’t volunteer information. Force them to drag clarification out of you. Don’t get defensive. It’s my job to keep them on track and to deny them access to sensitive information.”

“Yes, sir.” Corey swallowed hard. There were still critical details he didn’t remember. It also pissed him off that Nygaard was dragging them all through this. The fucking pussy couldn’t just man up and accept responsibility for his actions.

“They’re going to try to make you into the bad guy, or at the very least, an accessory to the cover-up,” the captain continued. “Remember, he’s the bad guy. You did nothing wrong.”

“Except when I say I can’t remember what happened and I sound like I’m hiding something,” replied Corey in frustration.

“Can you remember leaving the first structure?” Hirata asked.

“No, sir.” Stepping inside the building lobby, they both removed their covers and tucked them beneath their left arms.

“Then you’re not hiding anything. And it’s my job to control that aspect of the deposition.” Hirata punched the elevator button with a sense of finality.

They exited the elevator and Hirata walked directly to the tall reception desk. “We’re here for the Nygaard deposition,” he told the very young woman seated there.

After the receptionist held a brief telephone conversation, a legal secretary appeared and escorted them to a large conference room. Corey glanced around at the office as they passed through. It was everything he’d expected: rich wood, polished brass, plush carpeting that muted all sound. The conference table was long and made of dark, gleaming wood. One entire wall of the room was windows.

Captain Hirata had briefed Corey to treat this meeting like combat. Thinking strategically, Corey searched for the high ground and an easily defensible position with good cover. He moved to the head of the conference table nearest the wall of windows and set down his cover.

Hirata requested bottled water for each of them. Corey looked around the room as the captain selected the chair to Corey’s immediate right. This way, they both faced the only entrance to the room. Opposing counsel would have to look into bright sunlight to see either of them. The head of the table automatically conferred authority on Corey. He was satisfied with their strategic advantage.

Two men in expensive suits entered the room, with them was Michael Nygaard and a well-dressed woman of about thirty. She walked to the opposite end of the table from Corey and sat down at an open laptop. All three men arrayed themselves on Corey’s left.

“Captain Hirata?” the first man asked, glancing between the captain and Corey.

“I’m Captain Mirai Hirata, Marine Corps J.A.S. attorney.” He nodded in Corey’s direction. “This is Staff Sergeant Corey Yarwood, subpoenaed to be deposed regarding Sergeant Michael Nygaard’s defense against murder charges.”

“I am Jerry O’Brien,” the first man indicated the second. “My colleague, Martin Colvin. And you both know Sergeant Nygaard.”

Corey shook hands with both attorneys but dismissed Nygaard without a glance.

“Let’s get this started, gentlemen,” Hirata said, taking his seat and removing several items from his soft-sided briefcase. He set a legal pad and pen in front of himself and a small notepad and pen in front of Corey. “It’s going to take some time as it is, let’s dispense with the niceties.”

Hirata was all aggressive Marine. Corey hadn’t seen this side of him previously, and he was impressed.

The court reporter stood and adjusted a video camera so that it was aimed at Corey, then she turned it on. From the camera’s original angle, the lawyers had intended for Corey to sit in the center of the table, facing the door. He was darkly pleased to have upset their plans.

As O’Brien stated the date, time, persons present and the reason for the deposition, Corey saw that he had to squint any time he looked up from his papers. It was yet another small victory that added to Corey’s own combat advantage.

O’Brien read Corey’s service record, including his training and dates of his promotions. “Now, your previous billet was with first rec—”

“Excuse me, Mr. O’Brien,” Captain Hirata interrupted, “your summation of Staff Sergeant Yarwood’s credentials is incomplete.” He removed a file folder from his briefcase. Opening the folder, Hirata began to read additional details of Corey’s record. “His promotion to Lance Corporal was meritorious, as opposed to all of Nygaard’s administrative promotions. The Staff Sergeant was decorated for his participation in the investigation that led to the prosecution of those involved in the contractor scandal five years prior.”

Corey sat tensely in his chair, staring down at the pad of paper in front of him. He listened uncomfortably as Hirata listed Corey’s medals, commendations, and decorations. He knew it was necessary, though. Nygaard’s lawyers would emphasize similarities. Hirata was going to emphasize Corey’s integrity and spotless service record.

When Hirata was satisfied, O’Brien returned to his original line of questioning. He established that Corey and Nygaard were a part of a Recon platoon attached to the First Reconnaissance Battalion and deployed to Ghazni Province in Afghanistan.

Corey forced himself to make steady eye contact with O’Brien as the narrative and line of questioning drew closer to that critical time he still couldn’t remember.

“At this time, you had secured the structure, as ordered by Lieutenant Adams?” O’Brien asked.

“Yes, sir,” Corey answered.

“With the structure secured, you ordered Sergeant Nygaard to seek out hostiles on the perimeter?”

“No, sir.” Corey was ready to clarify when he remembered Hirata’s order not to volunteer information.

“You did
not
issue an order to Sergeant Nygaard?” O’Brien sounded eager and incredulous.

Corey gripped the arms of his chair. “Yes, sir, I issued an order to Sergeant Nygaard.”

“Staff Sergeant, you need to make up your mind,” O’Brien said waspishly. “Either you issued an order or you didn’t.”

Corey managed to suppress a sneer as he said, “My mind has not changed, nor has the nature of the order I issued to Sergeant Nygaard. I did
not
order the Sergeant to seek out hostiles on the perimeter.”