June 22
AGENT ELLEN TANNER HOPED she didn’t throw up. A licensed psychotherapist, she realized yet again that she didn’t always have neat, tidy emotions. This was disconcerting to her, but reality.
As she almost ran down the white-tiled hall, Ellen juggled her black briefcase and her bulky knapsack. She ignored the California palm trees outside the window. She was going to be late!
It was the first day on her new job—her new life. Commander Dornier, the commanding officer of JAG in the area, had kept her a little too long on the first floor of the building, regaling her with stories. She’d been assigned to the office of the Judge Advocate General at the San Diego Naval Station. She was to go to a second-floor office in Building 56 and introduce herself to her new JAG cohort, Lieutenant Jim Cochrane.
Ellen discovered the naval station sat on some of Southern California’s most valuable real estate. Too bad Building 56 didn’t afford a view of San Diego Bay, or the fourteen piers that housed every variety of modern naval ship, from Spruance class destroyers, Arleigh Burke guided missile destroyers, to state-of-the-art killing machines known as Aegis class cruisers. Aircraft carriers also used the busy facility, which employed forty-five thousand naval and civilian personnel. A two-star admiral was in command of this military beehive of perpetual activity. How would Lieutenant Cochrane react to her? Breathless, Ellen searched for office 204 and tried to control her frazzled emotions. At thirty-two, she realized she had to make the most of this unexpected opportunity. After a hellish and bleak two years, she couldn’t stand the thought of not succeeding at this new job. Gulping, she skidded to a halt in front of room 204. Lifting her hand, her anxiety mingled with hope and dread, Ellen knocked.
At the polite knock at the door, Cochrane snarled across his shoulder, “I’m taking no prisoners today.” Without looking up, he spread open the first file’s contents. He leaned back in the protesting chair until it struck the reference table, wobbled slightly and then stabilized to bear his weight. He had no appointments until this afternoon, and with the mood he was in, maybe the person on the other side of his door would get the message to leave him the hell alone.
But then Cochrane heard the door open. Frowning, he let the chair thunk down. It creaked in protest as he turned to see who had come in without invitation. His eyes widened. A petite woman in her early thirties, with curly red hair framing her face, stared back at him. Her eyes were a willow-green color, reminding him of the soft spring leaves on the huge old willow near his family’s homestead in Possum Holler. He felt a tug in his heart—a strange reaction to have to a stranger, he figured. He was two years into a nasty divorce that had left him raw and swearing he would never look at another woman again, or even begin to entertain the idea of a second marriage.
The woman was obviously a civilian, since everyone in his world wore a standard Navy-issue uniform. This woman’s narrow denim skirt outlined her slender hips and extended to just above her thin ankles. Her Birkenstock sandals wouldn’t qualify as proper foot gear in the U.S. Navy, much less the Chinese Navy.
His gaze ranged upward. She wore a loose white lacy blouse and long, beaded ear bobs, both of which underscored her femininity. Cochrane mentally corrected himself; his Missouri Ozarks upbringing was showing again. They were called earrings, not ear bobs. A very old, brown leather knapsack hung across her right shoulder. The words rainbow child and hippie crossed his mind.
“Yes?” he barked, knowing it wasn’t very polite, but not caring.
“Lieutenant Jim Cochrane?” Ellen’s heart banged away in her chest. The man did not look happy to see her. Despite his scowl, Ellen admitted he was very handsome. Probably in his thirties, if she was any judge.
“Reckon you’ve got him. What do you want?” Jim tried to ignore the warmth in her eyes—and the way his heart thudded once in reaction to her. Maybe he shouldn’t sound so darn hard and crusty. She seemed like an innocent sheep wandering into a wolf’s lair.
Ellen smiled nervously and placed her briefcase on his cluttered reference table. She shrugged out of the knapsack and set it down on the floor next to her. Fingers trembling, she began to rummage around in the briefcase. The officer’s glare unnerved her. She hadn’t expected this kind of a welcome.
“I’m Agent Ellen Tanner. I’m from Washington, D.C. I work for the Office of Inspector General, Department of Defense. I’ll be your new partner.” As she handed him her credentials, their fingers met accidentally. His were warm; she knew hers were icy with anxiety.
Cochrane had the urge to laugh hysterically, because someone had to be playing a joke on him. He bet this was the work of Lieutenant Eric Hillyer, another legal eagle in the JAG office. That little road apple was always rigging up some type of practical gag. Hillyer assumed Jim was lonely and pining for a woman and a relationship. This was probably his meddling, an effort to fix him up. No way.
Cochrane decided to play along, and took the identification case from her long, delicate fingers. He tried to ignore the way his fingertips brushed hers, and how he enjoyed the sensation a little too much. The photo ID of Ellen Tanner repeated all the official information she’d just imparted. Looking up at her slightly flushed face, he handed it back to her. She seemed friendly and was obviously trying to put him at ease.
“Now, Miss OIG, what’s this all about? You must be a joke. What could the DOD possibly want with the likes of poor ole me?”
“I’ve been accused of being a joker from time to time, Lieutenant, but not a joke. Certainly someone told you I was coming?” Ellen dropped the badge case back into her briefcase. What was wrong with this guy?
“Coming? No, they didn’t,” Jim answered tightly. Her briefcase slid to one side before she caught it and proceeded to snap it closed. He had to stop himself from reaching out and helping her. It was a natural reaction in him to help a woman, but the divorce had left him jaded and hard. Or so he’d thought—until now. With her. This hapless redhead. Jim was stymied by his powerful emotional response to Ellen Tanner. It left him feeling dazed. No woman had ever snagged his attention like this. What the hell was wrong with him?
Shifting the strap of the knapsack back onto her left shoulder, Ellen said, “I can show you my travel orders, Lieutenant.” Maybe he was one of them: a bean counter, someone who dotted every last i and crossed every last t. Ellen didn’t think that was a bad thing except if carried too far. She saw Cochrane give her a wary look, his intense gray gaze assessing her with a careful scrutiny he probably used in his courtroom trials. His hair was black, cut military short and emphasizing his pallor. Obviously, he didn’t see much of the sun. A real indoor desk jockey, perhaps.
“That’s not necessary, Ms. Tanner.”
Casting a look around, Ellen said, “Didn’t your C.O., Commander Dornier, notify you of my arrival? JAG caseloads need outside support due to the increased number of staff being assigned to Iraq and Afghanistan.” Tilting her head, she gazed into his face. “I’m here to be of help to you, Lieutenant.” She saw his eyes widen in shock. Wide-set, intelligent gray eyes that would just as soon turn her to stone. Great… Her heart sank. He was not pleased at all.
Jim sat rigidly in the chair, afraid to believe his ears. He couldn’t speak. Frowning, he rubbed his chest where his heart thudded. Hard. And not from any joyous revelation. Well…maybe it was. What on earth was going on? He shouldn’t be drawn to her.
Ellen nervously touched a few errant strands of her crinkly red hair. “Lieutenant? Did you hear me?”
“I heard you.” He saw her face go soft with pity—for him. Oh, balls of fire! Every time she looked at him, his heart lurched as if he were a lovesick teenager. Jim felt as if someone had just slugged him and he was reeling from the blow.
“You’ve seen the newspapers,” she reminded him. “There’s been a lot of good reservist people leaving the service.”
Grimly, he nodded. No kidding, he wanted to say. But he didn’t trust himself to speak. In fact, he hadn’t trusted anyone for the past two years. His career had gone from brilliant to shit, and he was still struggling to get out of the tub of the latter and back into the good graces of his superior.
“I think you’ve got me mixed up with someone else, Agent Tanner. I reckon I am plowed under, but…” He swept his hand toward his messy desk, piled high with the files of legal cases begging for his attention. “As you can see, I’m up to my rear end in jaw-snapping alligators right now. But it’s nothing I can’t handle on my own.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. He tried to give her his best dour look to convey that he knew what the hell he was talking about. Did it work?
The nerve of this dude! Ellen bit down on her lower lip and counted to five before she spoke. “I see you’ve got a lot of work, Lieutenant Cochrane. My orders clearly state I’m to work with you. Perhaps you should talk to your immediate superior and get this confusion straightened out so we’re both on the same page?”
Her voice was firm and pleasant, but it grated across his raw, exposed nerves. Unwinding his long, lean frame from the creaky chair, Jim muttered, “Stay put. I’ll try to find out who you’re to work with.” Gulping hard, he stood there battling the shock over her arrival.
“Sure…” Ellen supposed she should take his attitude personally, but she refused to do that. Mr. Cochrane had problems and they weren’t hers. He was going to try and get rid of her before she was even on board! Well, shoot! And here she’d thought a change of location would help her savaged emotional state.
Jim moved down the passageway—as far away as he could from this greenhorn who was supposed to be an OIG agent. She didn’t look businesslike at all, much less capable. Now, if he’d met her at a bar or something, he’d be interested. But here? No way. As Cochrane strode along the highly polished tiled corridor, he passed the legal offices on his left. To his right were the yeomen and personnel clerks, all busy at their gray metal, standard-issue desks.
He tried to get a handle on his emotions. Was Tanner right? He was going to get civilian help? That would add insult to injury. He fervently hoped not. Commander Leo Dornier, his commanding officer, had a large, windowed office at the end of the second floor. Built like a bulldog, Dornier was in his early fifties. His face was a series of circles: apple dumpling cheeks that were always flushed a dull red, a round chin, and a mouth that turned downward toward the sides of his jaw.
In the three years that Cochrane had worked for Dornier, theirs had been a stormy relationship. But Cochrane didn’t fault his C.O. completely. Jim’s marriage breakup during the last two years had been messy—still was—and his work had suffered accordingly. As a result, Cochrane’s Ozarks attitude—of letting things slide and not prioritizing them—had earned him dubious honors with Dornier.
He halted and rapped his knuckles lightly against the door bearing Dornier’s name. Jim wondered if he was being punished for some as yet unknown sin he’d committed.
“Enter,” Dornier boomed, looking up from his huge dark maple desk. He had just placed the phone back onto its cradle.
“Why was I expecting your visit, Mr. Cochrane? This just proves the grapevine works faster than official channels, as usual. Too bad we can’t package it and sell it. That would lower the Pentagon budget, don’t you think?” He waved his hand. “Don’t answer that. Come on in.”
Cochrane came to a parade rest in front of his superior’s highly polished desk. The fact that Dornier’s office looked painfully neat, with not a paper out of place, and Jim’s office looked like a class 1 disaster area, once again emphasized the difference between them. “Sir, I just had an Agent Ellen Tanner from OIG come into my—”
“That’s correct.” Dornier reacted with a slight smile. “One wouldn’t think a government steamroller could move so fast. But it has this time. I just talked to Agent Tanner for a bit and sent her down to introduce herself to you.” He looked out the window as if to gather his thoughts.
“She says she’s here to help me with my caseload,” Jim rasped disbelievingly.
“Yes, that’s right. She’s your new partner, Mr. Cochrane.”
“But—why?” Jim tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. He watched Dornier’s small, piercing brown eyes zero in on him. Every time his C.O. gave him that mean-old-sow-protecting-her-young’ uns look, he knew he was in for trouble.
“There’s not a thing I can do about this assignment. I just got off the phone with Admiral Burger, who gave me the background on this new wrinkle out of the Pentagon.” Dornier waved a thick, meaty hand in exasperation.
“Someone from the Pentagon thought it a brilliant idea to take bored OIG agents and integrate them into JAG, the Naval Criminal Investigative Service and the Criminal Investigative Service to help us with our investigation load. Admittedly, this war situation is slowly plowing us under, because we are severely understaffed due to our JAGs being assigned to the Middle East. People haven’t quit committing crimes just because we’re shorthanded. The Secretary of the Navy’s request just went to the Deputy Inspector General, Department of Defense. Neither the admiral nor I expected things to move this fast. That’s the reason you weren’t informed of this new assignment.” He squinted, then motioned him toward a chair. “Agent Tanner caught me by surprise, too. I’d heard of this plan, but hadn’t expected it to get put into motion so quickly.”
Dismayed, Jim reluctantly sat in the chair catty-corner to Dornier’s magnificent desk. Dornier rarely invited anyone to sit in his office. This was a very bad sign.
Cochrane’s hands were tense against his thighs. He felt pure, unadulterated rage. But he couldn’t betray his feelings here. The havoc in his life from his divorce had already placed him on thin ice with his C.O. “Sir, with all due respect—”
“Can’t do it, Lieutenant,” Dornier growled, looking down at the sheaf of papers needing his signature. “Wake up and smell the coffee. This support idea is entirely beyond my control.” He stood and placed both hands flat on his desk, then leaned forward. “Mr. Cochrane, you will work with Agent Tanner. This is a test in the U.S. Navy, to see if the whole plan flies or not. It’s a one-year assignment, and could be extended, depending upon caseloads and personnel availability. It’s a flux situation with no black-and-white answer for now.”
Cochrane thought about rebutting, but decided against it. Rising out of the chair and coming to attention, he said, “Yes, sir.”
“Oh, and tell Agent Tanner I’d like to see her once again after she gets settled in. According to her superiors, she’s considered an irreplaceable asset to the OIG. Unfortunately, she has no investigative experience, so you’ll have to train her. I hear she’s smart and catches on fast. She’s a Jungian trained analyst by trade. That won’t hurt us. We’re always needing a shrink’s advice in our cases. Nice to have an ‘expert’ in-house, eh?”
“Yes, sir.” But not in his office. And not working with him!
“One last thing, Mr. Cochrane.” Dornier fixed him with his best you’d-better-not-screw-this-up look.
“Yes, sir?”
“Powers higher up than you and me have designated this little test as ‘very important.’ So, the partnership is equal. Agent Tanner is not here to fetch you coffee or deal with all the unpleasant little tasks on cases you don’t like handling. She’s not your secretary or assistant. It’s up to you to make this a success. Is that clear, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, sir, very clear. I’ll make it work.” How?
Dornier smiled. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Dismissed, Mr. Cochrane. In the next week, we’ll find you a bigger office, so the two of you can fit into it.”
Hell’s bells! Jim left the room in shock. He didn’t hear the normal workplace sounds, the low voices, or see the people looking in his direction as he stalked angrily back to his office. Tanner had no investigative experience! Of all things to saddle him with! Gone was his easy, rolling gait. He marched stiffly down the passageway, feeling like a boiler ready to implode. His pa’s soft voice came back to him. Son, don’t bawl over spilt milk. Jest find yerself ’nother cow to milk, instead.
Jim’s gaze flew down the passageway. Ellen Tanner was in his office, leaning against his reference table, awaiting his return. She stood out like a sore thumb—completely out of place in his world of sharp, crisp uniforms. Her hair was wild, her face winsome, her green eyes gentle, not cocky. She was a damn shrink. And what the hell was a “Jungian” analyst? He’d never heard of that type before. What had he done to deserve this curse? He was more frightened of her as a woman than as a cohort at this point. Some unknown power drew him helplessly to her on an emotional level. That scared the living bejesus out of him because of his split from Jodi.
His heart was pounding, jumping up and down and doing somersaults in his chest at the moment. He was feeling terribly vulnerable, completely off guard.
Slamming the door behind him, Jim glared at Tanner. “Okay, so we’re partners,” he snarled. Ouch. He saw the hurt leap into her eyes at his nasty growl. This wasn’t the real him. He’d never snarled at a woman. Raking his hand through his hair, Cochrane railed at himself over his lack of manners. Ellen Tanner was a hapless pawn in this game, too. He shouldn’t be firing salvos at her, but he was scared to death.
“Lieutenant, I think we need to talk about this situation, don’t you? You’re obviously unhappy.” Pissed off. Angry. Disappointed. Ellen could add a litany of other adjectives that were clearly etched in his expression, voice and body language. She tried not to take it personally, but dammit, she was only human, after all—analyst or not. Worn out by the last gutting two years of her life, she felt wounded by his glare.
Jim turned. Those balmy green eyes had suddenly become focused—on him. Gone was the softness. He felt as if he was under the gaze of a red-tailed hawk intent on nailing her hapless prey. “Agent Tanner, the last thing I need right now is talk. I’ve just been informed that you’re my partner. We’ll get a larger office sometime in the next week. That’s the only plus in this as far as I’m concerned.” Panic struck him. Talk? Not a chance! She was a shrink. She was trained to talk. Cochrane did not want her inside his head, or have her expect him to spill his guts to her.
“You’re acting like this is a death sentence, Lieutenant. I’m not your executioner.” Although he wanted to be hers, no doubt.
“It is, and you are,” Jim said, defiance in his growl. Double ouch. His fear was turning to anger to keep her at arm’s length. Did she already know he was drawn to her? Hell, she was probably married. There was no wedding ring on her left hand, however, he noted. Cochrane struggled to tuck his real feelings down into a black hole. She was trained to see beyond the exterior of a person. Anxiety riffled through him. Taking a stack of files, he dropped them on the edge of his desk near the cabinet. “You civilians would never understand.” He twisted to look up at her from his crouched position over the files.
“Try me,” Ellen said, shifting into her therapist mode. “I think military people and civilian people possess the same brain and heart, if my memory serves me correctly. Or am I missing something in our dialogue?” She wouldn’t take his jabs lying down. Coming from an Irish and German ancestry, Ellen was going to fight for herself in this situation, not wimp out.
“This ain’t about anatomy and physiology, Agent Tanner.” He was amazed that she seemed so unflappable. Those green eyes were so focused, so assessing as if she saw deep into his soul. His heart pounded with fear. With longing. “Being a civilian, you don’t have the foggiest notion of how the military works.” He saw her eyes narrow speculatively upon him.
“Colorful analogies, and you’ve got an interesting accent. Where are you from, Lieutenant?” Maybe if she turned this personal and stroked his ego a little, he’d settle down.
“Around here,” he snarled in his best Ozarks drawl, “Ah’m knowed as Hillbilly Cochrane. You’ve heerd ’bout the Hatfields and McCoys? Li’l Abner? Wall Ah’m from them thar hills of Mazurey, Agent Tanner. Ah din’t war shoes till high school. Ah got ’em off when Ah cud. I hate shoes.”
As Jim stacked other files into some semblance of order, he continued. “Mah pa is a moonshiner by trade. He makes the best white mule in Mazurey. Mah ma is a witchin’ woman anna herb doctor. Me ahn mah brothers were always in trubble.”
Ellen stared blankly at him. Good God! What had he just babbled? And in what foreign language? She blinked a couple of times, trying to assimilate his words.
Cochrane could see her trying to understand his thick Missouri accent. Hill talk was a different language, although he’d been told that it was very close to Old English as spoken in seventeenth century England. Jim had learned years ago that his Missouri accent could work for or against him. People tended to trust him more easily on the one hand. On the other, during a courtroom trial, he had to rein in most of his accent or people assumed he was dumb and slow—which worked against him and his client. When Jim entered college, he’d been looked upon with prejudice due to his roots. Most outsiders thought of him as an ignoramus.
Managing a slight, conciliatory smile, Ellen said, “I’ll give you points for being colorful and truthful, Lieutenant.” Maybe humor would ease the tension between them?
Jim stared up at her. Nope, she wasn’t thrown off the trail of bread crumbs he’d just scattered before her. Damn. Smart and beautiful. As he unwound from his position, he rubbed his palms against his tan slacks. “That’s my specialty,” he answered. She looked faintly amused, but not in a way that made fun of him. No, her head was tilted like a bird checking out a worm—and he was the worm.
“Lieutenant, I feel you’re projecting a lot of misplaced anger toward me,” Ellen began gently. “I didn’t ask to be assigned to you. I have a high regard for the military and volunteered for this job. I had no idea where I’d be assigned.” That was the truth. The other truth, which she didn’t tell him, was that she was fighting to get away from her old life and to start anew.
“Really?” Jim was sardonic, and that wasn’t like him, but frustration was boiling up through him and he was helpless to cap it. Glaring at her, he answered his own question. “You haven’t a clue, Agent Tanner. Do you? I don’t care what you do back at the OIG for DOD, it’s still a civilian job. You can return to that job when this one-year trial balloon is over. It won’t work. I have to train you on the job with time I don’t really have. That sucks.”
Running his fingers in frustration through his dark, cropped hair, he added caustically, “Not only do I get saddled with a woman for a partner, she’s a civilian. What the hell have I done to deserve this?” He really didn’t want an untrained partner, regardless of gender. But here she was: bright, pretty, gentle and very nurturing. All those things he so desperately craved and had lost. His heart kept going up and down like a roller coaster in his chest.
“Maybe it’s not as bad as you think,” Ellen protested in a stronger voice. “I’m a fast learner. I’ll try not to be a pain in the butt to you.” Realizing that Cochrane was not going to compromise, she erected strong, firm boundaries. Apparently the only thing he respected was fighting fire with fire. Ellen could do it, but she was so damn exhausted emotionally that it took a huge effort to assume that kind of warrior facade.
Laughing harshly, Cochrane cleared a chair for her. “I reckon you’re in Hollywood la-la land when it comes to understanding the military way of doing things.”
“La-la land is a delusional world, Lieutenant. I can assure you, I operate out of cold, hard reality.” Ellen moved to the chair, and sat down. She placed the knapsack on the floor and folded her hands primly in her lap, her level gaze never leaving his. “My father was an FBI agent for thirty years. My mother still works as a policewoman in Minneapolis, where I was born. I think I have the blood and background to be a source of support for you, not the opposite.” Ellen wasn’t about to be scared off by this officer.
Sitting down in his chair, Cochrane thought her parents’ backgrounds were a hopeful sign, but quickly nixed the idea. He said, “Someone is trying to hornswoggle you. Because of the training you’ll need, my job will be twice as hard.”
“Hornswoggle. Is that word from the Ozarks?” She didn’t like that he was disempowering her by using a language she didn’t understand.
“It’s hill lingo. It means to pull the wool over your eyes.”
“I won’t slow your investigation efforts.” Compressing her lips, Ellen gave him a narrowed-eyed look. “Aren’t you being a bit paranoid about this?”
“Paranoid? You can be calm as you want, Agent Tanner, but I see the handwriting on the wall.” Jim closed his fist and looked away. On the corner of his desk was a gold-framed photo of his six-year-old daughter, Merry. “This might be a trinket on your own career agenda, but it’s like someone has just handed me a live grenade after they pulled the pin.”
“I disagree,” she insisted, her gaze on his. Despite his dislike of her, Ellen found herself drawn to the officer. That was crazy. And then she laughed silently to herself. Crazy wasn’t a word she threw around lightly, but in this case, it sure fit.
“Well, you just go right ahead and disagree, Miss OIG.” The phone rang. Jim yanked it off the cradle. He answered like a snarling dog protecting its bone. “Lieutenant Cochrane speaking.”
“Mr. Cochrane?”
His brows shot up in surprise. Instantly, Jim wiped the derision from his tone. “Yes, sir, Captain Allison.” Why was the head of the JAG office and the civilian-run Criminal Investigative Services at USNAS Giddings, the Top Gun facility just north of San Diego, calling him? Automatically, Jim picked up a pen and pulled over his ever-present yellow legal pad.
“I need your help, Jim.”
Cochrane liked Captain Allison, and he’d worked with him on a number of investigations in the past. Although Giddings had its own civilian NCIS and JAG departments, Allison called him in on some investigations because Jim had always done an excellent job. It looked good for his career to have that continue. “What’s going down, sir?”
“Lieutenant Susan Kane, one of our best Top Gun flight instructors, was found dead in her condo this morning over in La Mesa. That’s not far from you. I just talked to your boss, Commander Dornier, and he’s agreed to cut you loose so you can help us investigate this case. We think there’s a possible homicide involving Lieutenant Kane. The La Mesa Police Department watch commander, Lieutenant Carl Erlewine, just gave us a call. It’s his turf, and we’re requesting a collateral investigation, under the circumstances. I can’t use military law and procedures on civilian property.”
“Yes, sir,” Jim said.
“I need someone who’s sharp and can deal with civilians. You’re to talk to Detective Jerry Gardella, whose on scene already. Let me give you the address. I’d appreciate if you’d drop whatever you’re doing and get over there right now, while the L.M.P.D is still conducting their evidence collection at the crime scene.”
“I understand, Captain. Tell me what you’ve got so far, sir….”