The Officer Breaks the Rules (11 page)

“Fuck off,” Jeremy growled and disconnected the call.

Dwayne was still shaking with laughter five minutes later when he double-clicked to
call Madison’s laptop. She should have had enough time to get home and shower by now
after her shift. He knew she liked to check email and surf online a little bit before
crawling into bed. And since he still had a good thirty minutes before he had to report
to his office, he could see what was going on at her end of the stick. Just a little
friendly fishing expedition between friends, to see what was going on with Jeremy.

The program rang once, then twice, and then she answered. But the
she
who answered wasn’t Madison.

It was that cute little thing from a few weeks ago at Tim and Skye’s place. What was
her name… Victoria? No. Veronica. That was it.

“Well, hey there.” Though unexpected, he wasn’t displeased with the turn of events.
“You making a habit of breaking into people’s homes and using their laptops?”

The little blonde’s eyes widened and her mouth formed an adorable O of shock. Then
she shook it off and glared at him. “I didn’t break in. I live here.”

“I thought you lived with Tim and Skye.”

“Only temporarily. Now I’m Madison’s roommate. As of last week,” she added quickly,
like he was going to check to see if her story added up.

She was something new and interesting, that was for sure. “I think I believe you.”
Her brows lowered at the words and he chuckled. “I thought I’d give Madison a call
before I went in to work. But she’s not there, huh?”

“No. I think one of her patients was ready to deliver right as she was going to leave.
So she got caught up a little longer than expected.” Folding her hands in front of
her, prim as a schoolteacher from two centuries before, she asked, “Can I take a message
for her?”

Lord, he liked the way she talked. All proper and dignified, until something sparked
her up, and then she could spit fire with those eyes like nobody’s business. “Nah,
just looking for some conversation, as usual. Nice to see a friendly face sometimes.”

Immediately, Veronica’s face softened. “I’m sure it would be. I’m sorry she isn’t
here at the moment. I assume your time is limited for contact.”

“You assume correctly.” He thought for a moment, checked his watch, then made a decision.
“How about you talk to me instead?”

“Me?” she squeaked. “You wanted Madison.”

“I did,” he conceded. “But she’s not available and you are. And as we’ve already been
introduced—”

“Hardly,” she cut in, but she smiled as she said it.

“As we’ve already been introduced,” he repeated, “I consider you a friendly face as
well. So. Care to make a Marine a happy man and give him a touch of home?”

She bit her bottom lip and looked around, as if scared someone would catch her being
friendly and punish her. Then she sat up a little straighter and nodded stiffly. “Of
course.”

Good girl. “Tell me about yourself.”

She blinked twice, owl-like, and tilted her head to one side. “What do you want to
know?”

“Anything you want to tell me.”

“I love the color yellow,” she said with a smile.

That genuine smile, without artifice, without guile, without any sort of agenda attached
to it, warmed something deep in him that he’d thought permanently frozen a long time
ago. “I could see that about you. And yet, you’re wearing blue.”

She quirked her mouth. “I don’t think yellow looks good with my hair,” she said, voice
dropping as if imparting a secret.

“I happen to think yellow would look very nice on you. But I’m partial to blue myself.”
He stared at the prim little button-down shirt, thinking how odd it was that she had
every button—even the one at her throat—done up. Most women at least left the top,
if not a few more, undone in a casual setting. But the image somehow seemed naughty
while also nice. Like it was a temptation set there to make him want to undo a button
or two. “Tell me something else,” he urged, enjoying the little game they seemed to
be caught in.

She did the lip-biting thing again, eyes drifting to the side in thought. Then she
smiled. “I hate tofu.”

He smothered a laugh behind his hand, disguising it as a cough. “That doesn’t tell
me much. I think everyone does.”

She made a face. “Not Skye. She loves the stuff, though I don’t know why. But I tried
not to complain. I was a guest, after all.”

Veronica had good ole Southern manners written all over her. But she didn’t carry
the accent. “Where are you from?”

It was as if someone flipped some internal switch inside her, cutting out all the
light that made her glow inside. “Nowhere special.”

“Everyone’s from somewhere special.”

“I disagree.” One hand crept up and started playing with the golden braid that hung
over her shoulder, the end swinging in front of her breasts like a pendulum. The braid
looked thicker than his wrist, and when she let it go, he’d bet it swung down close
to her waist. He hadn’t seen hair that long in… ever.

“Dwayne?”

“Huh?” Smart. Real smart answer. He shook out of his mental, almost hypnotic, daze
and blinked. “Yeah?”

She frowned a little and tilted her head. “Are you sure you don’t want to leave a
message for Madison?”

He checked his watch once more and sighed. “Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind asking her
to run over to my apartment when she has a chance and just do a once-over?”

“Your apartment? You have one here?” Veronica looked utterly confused again.

“Yup. I don’t live out of my truck while I’m state-side. It’s locked up, but I do
like someone to run by every so often just to check. Madison has a spare key.”

“Of course.” Veronica nodded again, her neck so tight he wondered how her head didn’t
pop off and roll away. “I’ll pass along the message.”

She reached in front, and he realized she was going to click off. So he said, “Ronnie.”

She looked up. “Hmm?”

He liked that she didn’t even seem to realize he’d called her Ronnie this time. “You’d
look good in yellow.” He closed out before she had a chance to. But even as the screen
went black, he saw a small smile creep onto her lips.

Dwayne stood, stretched, and grabbed his travel mug he loaded with coffee once he
got to his office area. But even as he walked out into the smothering Afghan heat
and immediately felt sweat pooling in the small of his back, he couldn’t keep the
grin from spreading across his face. Getting to talk to Miss Veronica again was unexpected,
but as it turned out, it was one hell of a nice way to start the day.

***

Madison opened the door to Dwayne’s apartment and coughed once at the smell. Not a
bad smell, but definitely an apartment that hadn’t been opened in a while. Though
he’d been careful to empty his kitchen of all food and make sure his trash was gone,
being closed up for months on end gave the apartment a musty smell that any home would
suffer from.

Guilt hit her as she opened a window to air the place out. She made a mental note
to come back more often and do the check. She should have thought of this before.
And a week before he was due home she’d run over to air the place out better and give
it a good scrubbing. Though she was no neat freak herself—the same couldn’t be said
for her brother—she liked things clean. And though he wasn’t a slob, Dwayne was, at
the heart of it, a bachelor. He didn’t notice streaked mirrors or dust on shelves.

At least his place wasn’t as bad as Jeremy’s. Dwayne had a nice two-bedroom apartment
that, while not perfect, was adequate for having people over to watch a game or order
pizza and hang out. Jeremy lived in little more than a shoebox, though who knew why.

Madison made a quick run through all the rooms, checking windows to make sure they
were still secure and keeping an eye out in case anything looked off. But all was
well with Dwayne’s little apartment, and she felt better knowing she’d given it a
little chance to breathe and double-check the security. She’d come back again in a
month to do so again.

She sat down on his armchair, smiling when she sank in to the well-worn, well-loved
leather. D and his big body certainly made a dent in the cushion. She missed him.
Missed having that brotherly connection with someone not actually related. The guy
was fantastic with advice, and she never worried about him being too protective like
she did with Tim. She curled in just a little, tucking her feet under her. He’d have
known what to do with Jeremy. And he would have kept his mouth shut about it, too.

Too bad she’d missed their chance to Skype the other day. Luckily Veronica had been
there to take the message and talk to him. Though oddly, now that Madison thought
back, her roommate had blushed fiercely while giving her the message. Veronica was
shy; maybe the encounter had startled her.

No. She threw that thought away. D was sweet as a kitten and could charm any woman
into thinking he was harmless. No way would he scare even the sometimes-timid Veronica.

She slapped her palms on the armrest and pushed up. Time to get back to her own apartment
and do a little cleaning. She’d been neglecting that chore the past few weeks.

As Madison walked to the door, something swinging in the breeze of the open window
reminded her she needed to close and lock it. Good thing, too. She did so, then looked
back to see what caught her eye.

Keys, a few different sets, swung from a post by the door. One would be for Tim’s
townhouse, naturally. Tim had a key to Dwayne’s place as well. Just a piece of security
for the guys who lived alone. Or, well, alone until Skye showed up.

She took a step toward the door, then stopped.

If Dwayne had a key to Tim’s place, then he likely had a key to Jeremy’s as well…

No. That was wrong. It would be a complete invasion of privacy.

But instead of her feet pointing toward the door, somehow she found herself walking
to the key rack instead.

One key ring had smaller keys, like for a mailbox. Likely one to his apartment, and
one to his PO Box. The second key ring had spare keys to his truck, which she knew
was stored safely. But the third ring had two house keys. One with a piece of tape
with a T written on it in marker. The other, a J.

Bingo.

As if watching someone else’s hand, she reached up and snagged Jeremy’s key from the
ring and slipped it in her pocket.

Jeremy walked into his office and shut the door, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. The
sight of the unfinished paperwork still piled up on his desk made him close his eyes
the rest of the way in defeat. He had to stop beating himself up, writing so late
into the night. It was killing him. For one moment, he leaned his back against the
closed office door and sighed, just savoring the quiet.

“Son.”

His head snapped back and cracked against the door frame. “Jesus Christ!” He rubbed
a hand over the already-tender place that would likely have a goose egg tomorrow.
“Dad. What the he—I mean, what are you doing here?” His father lived on the east coast
now. Not quite the same thing as having your parents walk across the street for dinner
three nights a week.

Stan Phillips stood from his chair in the corner to his full, imposing six-foot-three
inches. “Saving your ass, that’s what.” When Jeremy just stared at him, his father
shook his head. “Not even going to say hello?”

He straightened and held out a hand. “Good to see you, sir.” His father gave a firm
shake back, then motioned for Jeremy to grab a seat behind his own desk.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he muttered as he sat down in his own chair. His father had
a way of making Jeremy feel about seven years old again. “What’s going on, Dad?”

His father sat as well, ramrod straight in the chair, like he had a steel rod instead
of a spine. In some sort of ridiculous moment of defiance, Jeremy found himself slouching
just a little, crossing one boot over his other knee, totally relaxed.

It was his damn office, anyway. He had the right to slouch if he wanted to.

And if that made him childish, he was going to pretend it didn’t.

“This place is still as pathetic as it was last time I was here.” As if to make an
example, Stan took a long glance around the office, its bare walls, the lack of anything
moto in the entire office.

Yeah, so he kept the walls a little sparse. Tim’s office had his Academy diploma and
commissioning papers hung up, along with a few pictures of him and Skye now. Dwayne’s
walls consisted of pics of battle buddies and moto-style quotes that he claimed help
push him through the tough shit. Both had framed awards they’d won over the years.
They both loved that stuff.

Jeremy preferred to just keep the place clean. Sterile. This wasn’t his home, he didn’t
need to decorate it to get work done.

“Anyway, I had a trip to Twenty-Nine Palms set up already. Flew out from JFK yesterday
morning, got some work done. Since Palms is only three hours from here, figured now
was a good time to come over and kick your ass for motivation.” He raised one silver
brow. “You should be coming up in the boards for Major soon, right?”

Leave it to his father to not warn him about a visit. No, not a visit. Surprise inspection
was more like it. “Tim is,” Jeremy said instead. “Should see the promotion in the
next two to six months, I think. At least from word around here.”

“And you?”

He sighed again and let his head drop back, the chair swiveling from side to side.
Mostly because he knew it annoyed the hell out of his father. “No, Dad. I would have
mentioned it.” Something he wouldn’t have mentioned… not pushing for the promotion.
And not being disappointed that his name was left off this round of the Major boards.

There was always next round… which he also hoped to avoid like guys avoided the draft.
Ironic, given he was already
in
the military.

“They’re going to phase you out if you keep getting passed up,” his father warned.

Jeremy scoffed. “Hardly. It was the first possible round.”
I
couldn’t be so lucky.
Having the decision taken out of his hands completely? Heaven.

His father nodded and steepled his fingers by his chin. “That’s true. So, plans on
how to approach things so you are definitely in on the next round?”

Jeremy made a big show of shuffling papers together on his desk. Papers he’d just
have to reorganize later because he screwed them all up shuffling what didn’t need
it. “Hey, why don’t we go grab some dinner?”

His father checked his watch and frowned. “It’s not even seventeen hundred yet. You
always bug out this early in the day? No wonder—”

“It’s a slow week. And I’ve done everything I can for today.” Jeremy stood, waiting
for his father to stand as well. “We can go grab some Mexican.”

At that, his father smiled a little. “Is the best place to eat still that hole in
the wall—”

“Off of Seventh Street.”

“That made the whole block smell like nacho cheese and tequila?” His dad slapped him
on the shoulder. “Sounds good. Let’s go.”

***

Twenty minutes later, Jeremy realized dinner had been the worst idea of his life.
Sure, he had something to do with his hands now, and the change of scenery was nice.
Not to mention the homemade guac and salsa went a long way to filling the hole in
his gut skipping lunch had provided.

But now he was trapped, waiting for his meal, with nowhere to run, no excuse to leave,
and no way to quit the conversation if he didn’t like how things were heading. There
was no “end call�� button when you were face to face.

“Tell me about this girl you were thinking of seeing.” His father frowned as he picked
up a chip. “You’re not still thinking of that one. Right? The Navy nurse?”

Thinking
of
seeing
. Right. Exactly how he’d put it. “Dad. My dating life—or lack thereof—is really not
on the table for discussion. Can we talk about something else?” To prove his point,
he shoved a chip piled with guac in his mouth, eyes burning just a little as the spices
filled his tongue.

Stan shook his head. “No can do, son. I’m worried about you. Think you might be hitting
the ten-year slump.”

“The ten-year slump. Is that anything like the seven-year itch?”

“Smart-ass.” But his father’s lip twitched. “You know exactly what I mean. Marines
come up on that ten years in, and doubt starts creeping in. It’s piss or get off the
pot time. Where it makes no sense to go another three years if you won’t go the full
twenty. So they start asking themselves… ‘Am I tired of all this shit?’”

Yes.

“‘Is this the career for me?’”

No.

“‘Will I get out?’”

Fuck
if
I
know.

Stan pointed at him with a chip. “Don’t get sucked into it. Keep your eye on the ball.
Your head in the game.”

“Your nose to the grindstone?”

Stan scowled.

“Sorry, were we not listing as many clichés as we could think of?”

His father sighed, the sort of sound that signaled disappointment more than anger
and made any child wary of their parents. “Insolent. You always were insolent. Do
you know how many nannies I went through over the years thanks to your ability to
run them off?”

Jeremy sat a little straighter. This was the first time his father initiated any sort
of comment in regards to his childhood. Most of the time, their tone was not up for
discussion. Ever. “No. How many?”

His father barked a laugh, eyes glazing a little with memories, a chip dangling from
his fingers, forgotten. “Dozens. Too many to count. I swear, I couldn’t keep a good
nanny for you more than a month when you were younger. You’d hatch some scheme to
scare them to death, and they’d take off screaming. Smart-ass that you were.” He said
it with pride though, removing any sting the insult might have carried.

Jeremy remembered that much. He’d scared them all off because, in his young, innocent
mind, if there wasn’t a nanny around, his father would have to spend more time with
him.

Never worked. There was always a new nanny.

“Why did you stay in then after Mom died and your current commitment was up? Why stay
in?”

His father sighed and stared out the window to the street. His eyes stared at something,
but Jeremy knew that something wasn’t out the window. It was in the past. “The Corps
was my life.”

Why
not
me? Why couldn’t I be your life?
But he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Not now, not twenty years ago.

“It’s all I knew. I had a plan. We had plans together, Samantha and I. Twenty years
in, retire, start working as a contractor. Good life, solid plan. Your mother, God
love her, was with me for the long haul.”

A heavy silence hung between them. He didn’t need to say it.

And then she died.

Jeremy wasn’t sure what to say to that. So he figured, given they’d already strayed
to depressing waters, keep going. “Why didn’t you remarry?”

“Hmm.” His father thought that through a little while, taking the time to scoop some
salsa and chew thoroughly. “You were young at first, and it was all I could do to
figure out how to survive with a child and a demanding career. Then I was gone more
than I was here. And I think, in the end, I just…” He shrugged. “I’m not sure. I couldn’t
wrap my mind around taking the plan I’d created with your mother and putting another
woman in there. Details changed. But the plan remained the same.” The distant look
evaporated and the hardened hazel gaze swept back to Jeremy. “And I did the best I
could with you. You had a good childhood. Right?”

“Right.” Because it would break his father’s heart to hear otherwise.

As if reading his mind, Stan shook his head. “I know I wasn’t there as much as I should
have been. But you had your grandma and grandpa—my parents—when I was gone on training
trips.” Which was often. “And it was hard. You should have had your mom there with
you, every time I deployed.”

Agreed. But life wasn’t fair. Jeremy took a swig of his warming beer to wash the unfortunate
taste of regret away. His childhood, in retrospect, had mostly sucked. Being bounced
around from house to house based on his father’s training plans or deployment schedules.
Having to switch schools even more than the average military brat because his grandparents
lived somewhere else.

And yet, his father had done his best, provided with what he had, what he knew. And
though he was heavy-handed and a stubborn pusher about it, Stan had wanted what he
thought was best for his own son.

Stan leaned back and relaxed a bit. “That’s the problem with this woman you mentioned.
This active duty nurse.”

Ah, shit. So this was where it was leading. “Dad, I told you—”

“No, no. Hear me out now. You’re both in the military. Might seem convenient. Even
appropriate. You know what the other one is going through. You can commiserate about
the shitty hours, the time away from home, the training. The works.”

All true, so far. And even something Jeremy hadn’t thought of yet. There really were
benefits to Madison’s career. Huh.

“But then you start having a family. She gets put on shore duty while she’s pregnant,
and for a while after that. It’s nice, yeah? She’s home a lot, got the tight little
family unit. Then
bam!
” Stan’s slapped a hand on the table, rattling the salsa dish, tipping over the chip
basket. “She’s back on regular duty and you’re split up. She gets sent somewhere else
entirely. You’re stationed in opposite ends of the country. Or hell, different countries
entirely. One of you deploys. The other’s out on a mission somewhere. And what happens
to the kids?”

Jeremy sat, frozen. It was like another fucked-up version of his life all over again.
Getting shuttled around to whatever relative had time to care for him when his dad’s
number was up to head out somewhere again. No stability, even within the already-unstable
military lifestyle.

Even if he got out, there was uncertainty in that. Would he find a job soon enough?
Would he be any happier getting out than having stayed in?

Would his father still respect him?

One thing was true. Though the military had its own sense of uncertainty, there was
a certain sort of peace knowing you would be paid every month, that you had health
care. And it was only for another ten years…

Shit. When did he start agreeing with his father? “Dad—”

“I care about you. I want the best for you.”

That stopped Jeremy in his tracks. Raw, true emotion, without all of the military
BS to tone it down.

Stan stared at the table for a moment, then coughed and straightened. “So. Where do
you think your monitor will send you next?”

Jeremy sighed and grabbed his beer and signaled with his hand for another. Yup. Dinner
was a mistake.

***

Now
or
never. Now or never.

Matthew’s words echoed through Madison’s head as she sat on the couch, then stood,
then paced, and finally sat down again.

Where the hell was he? She’d entered Jeremy’s apartment—if you could call it that;
she preferred to refer to it as the Gateway to Hell—more than an hour ago. Sure, she’d
given herself some time to beat him home and was relieved when his bike wasn’t out
front. But now it was starting to feel like this wasn’t her best laid plan. In fact,
not a great idea at all.

Was she the crazy lady who broke into a man’s home to seduce him? Would this end up
on the ten o’clock news?
Desperate
female
arrested, suspected mental disorder
.

Oh, Jesus. She was spinning. It wasn’t as if she was digging through his underwear
drawer or spraying her perfume over his pillow or anything. She was a friend who happened
to have a key—whether through ill-gotten gains or not—and was coming over for a friendly
visit.

Nothing creepy about that, right?

Looking for a way to distract herself, Madison took the three steps over to his desk
chair and sat down, determined to separate all the loose papers into piles. Or at
least wipe away the five decades of dust covering his monitor. Lord. She sneezed just
looking at it. Grabbing a tissue, she wiped until the screen was no longer covered
with some sort of filmy gray. She took a second tissue and started carefully wiping
down the keyboard. She even flipped it upside down, trying to shake out the crumbs
from who knew how many meals eaten while he sat in front of the computer. Since he
didn’t have a kitchen table… probably all of them. The man seriously made Skye look
like a neat freak.