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  Sophie reached for her coffee and sipped, shutting out the echoes of footsteps in the hall as people left for the day.

  CAMPBELL: Such as?

  TATE: The old gun was loaded by crewmen opening the breech and jamming a new shell in. The new system has an autoloader.

  CAMPBELL: What kind of round are we talking about here?

  TATE: It’s a cannon shell.

  CAMPBELL: What’s the difference between that and a bullet?

  At that point in the deposition, Tate’s face had gone tight, his irritation showing through. Anger could be a good thing, since it made people slip up. She hoped maybe there was something in this next part she may have missed in earlier reviews.

  TATE: You don’t know the difference between a bullet and a cannon shell?

  CAMPBELL: For the record.

  TATE: The difference is a bullet kills with kinetics and a cannon shell blows things up.

  Then, Tate’s lawyer had silenced him, reminding the young captain to keep his cool.

  Did he have a quick temper?

  She jotted “Quick to anger?” in the margin.

  CAMPBELL: On that day, the system under test fired a round that landed off the range, causing damage to a house and injury to a six-year-old boy. Correct?

  TATE: That is correct.

  CAMPBELL: Describe to me your actions from the firing of the last round on the range to the firing of the round which caused the mishap.

  TATE: After the last round on the range, I placed the master arm switch to Off and verified the safe light was green, showing the gun was disarmed. We received clearance to exit the range, at which point I verified again that the gun was not armed. And we exited the range and headed back toward Nellis Air Force Base. Approximately ten minutes later, there was a very loud sound that came from behind me, which apparently was the cannon firing off a round. I verified again that my switches were all in Safe and reported the incident over the radio to Nellis Command Post.

  CAMPBELL: So you’re telling me the gun just went off on its own. You didn’t touch any switches, turn any dials, push any buttons, nothing, nothing at all?

  TATE: I just said that, didn’t I?

  CAMPBELL: Would there be a way to prove that you didn’t pull the trigger on that gun by mistake? Any printouts? Any recording that would show that?

  TATE: Yes, ma’am, if we were on the range, we would have had all of that. But because the test was complete, we had turned off all the data recorders that would have shown that information.

  Her eyes halted on the middle of the page. Hairs on the back of her neck rose along with the sense that she was being watched. It was late. And she was almost certainly alone. Uneasiness settled over her and she checked out of the corner of her eye.

  David Berg filled her doorway. Silently, he stood watching her. God only knew how long he’d been there. Anger stirred—at him for not announcing his arrival and at herself for even caring.

  Well, he could just wait until she was ready to talk.

  * * *

  David stood in the half-open door of Sophie’s office. After the way she had raced to leave his place yesterday, he figured he might not be welcome here. But he had to address the bad, bad idea of their kids hanging out together. He needed to have that talk away from his daughter’s little listening ears. He also wanted her to take a second look at Caleb Tate’s training records, to fully grasp his top-notch aviator skills.

  All the same, he intended to keep a solid thirty-six inches between himself and Sophie at all times. No standing close enough for him to catch a whiff of her shampoo. He’d already determined her perfume only had a radius of twenty-four inches as long as the ceiling fan didn’t swirl the air around too much in her little office. He spent a lot of time analyzing every detail of how Sophie affected him so he could do his best to resist.

  With her prestigious diplomas on the wall, including a law degree from Duke, she could have worked at a high-powered firm and instead she’d chosen to serve in uniform. He had to respect that, even if she was on the opposite side with her current case.

  Maybe she didn’t need the money, if her husband left a hefty estate. She radiated the perfect image of simple refinement, one he burned to muss.

  Her hair was pinned up in a twist, no doubt to hide the bandage beneath. What other surprises did Sophie have hidden under that cool facade? The glimpses of her with her son still rocked his preconceptions of the killer shark of a counselor.

  Thirty-six inches apart. David rapped a knuckle against the door.

  Sophie held up a quick hand for him to wait and finished reading the paper in front of her. “Be right with you.”

  A scattering of books and folders littered her desk, proclaiming productivity without chaos. She restacked the sheaf of papers and set it aside.

  The leather chair squeaked as she shifted to face him. “Hello, Major Berg.”

  She spoke with a professional tone he appreciated, needed.

  “Major Campbell.”

  Rolling back her chair, she motioned for him to sit in one of the two chairs across from her desk. A full desk between them. Good.

  “I’ll get to my questions about Captain Tate in a minute. But first, we need to get something else out of the way.” He needed to move this visit along faster before he did something stupid, like haul her in for a kiss and to hell with the consequences. “I don’t think our kids should play together.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “And your reason why?”

  “Because I don’t want my daughter to get hurt.”

  “It’s not like they’re dating.”

  “If only it was that simple.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. He didn’t particularly relish trotting out his crappy personal life. “Haley Rose has been really, uh…” He searched for the right word. “She’s been really fragile since her mom left.”

  Sophie’s shoulders relaxed and genuine sympathy lit her eyes. “I’m sorry to hear that. I understand how frustrating it is wanting to cushion a child from the harsh realities of life.”

  “Amen to that.”

  “Berg…David…” She leaned forward on her desk. “I’m not interested in a relationship. So your daughter is safe from thinking I’m going to step into her life.”

  Whoa, wait. She thought he was here to make sure they didn’t have a relationship? “It’s more complicated than that.” He was going to have to spill it all. “My ex had a son from her first marriage. Haley Rose grew up with him, but when my ex left, Hunter went back to live with his biological father. It’s not healthy for my daughter to use your son as a substitute brother.”

  Pushing away from her desk, Sophie exhaled hard. “I didn’t know. I am so sorry,” she said, leaving her desk and taking the seat beside him. “I can see where you would be worried. I’ll talk to Brice.”

  Her brown eyes turned warm and compassionate. She even swayed toward him sympathetically. Shit. She was twenty-four inches away and the air-conditioning was blowing the air around full blast.

  Who the hell was he kidding? He’d come here for himself as much as his child or Caleb Tate. All day at work, he’d been looking forward to seeing her. He’d even counted down the hours like a sap.

  A frown puckered between her eyebrows.

  He reached toward her. “How is your head feeling today?”

  “Better.” Her answer came out breathy, with a hitch.

  His fingers hovered close to her shoulder, close enough to touch…

  Footsteps padded down the carpeted hall. Sophie blinked and pulled back. His hand fell to his lap. He looked fast behind him.

  Sophie’s boss, Lieutenant Colonel Geoffrey Vaughn, stopped in the open doorway. “Are you almost finished for the day?”

  Sophie pressed a hand to her waistband. “Soon, Geoffrey.”

  “Major.” The attorney nodded to David.

  “Colonel.” David stood.

  The man’s blues were crisply pressed. This guy didn’t store his ties in the glove compartment.
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  Wiry and just under six feet, Vaughn lounged against the door frame and rubbed a hand along the back of his neck. “Do you mind locking up behind you when you’re done? I’m heading out to meet the gang for drinks. I can wait if you want to come along.”

  “Not tonight. Thanks, though.” Sophie moved behind her desk again. “I appreciate your sitting in yesterday.”

  “You’re still the boss on this case,” Vaughn declared graciously, although he was at least ten years her senior. He stepped into the hall, then ducked back in the room. “I’ll be by for Brice after lunch Saturday.”

  “Thanks. He’s been breaking in his new baseball glove all week.”

  “No problem.” Vaughn pulled his hat from his briefcase. “He’s quite a kid.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  That special, unreserved smile returned, the one she saved only for her son. Leslie never looked at Haley Rose like that.

  “Good night, Major.” Vaughn tucked back into the hall, for good this time. His measured footsteps faded.

  David’s jaw went tight. “I don’t want to keep you two from any plans.”

  “Plans?”

  “With Vaughn.” He should be relieved. His life would be simpler if Sophie had an ongoing relationship.

  “Geoffrey and me?” She laughed.

  David didn’t.

  “He’s an old friend of Lowell’s—my husband. And he’s my boss. Geoffrey’s helping Brice with pitching.” She flicked a fingernail against the edge of a folder, the repeated clicking growing louder. “As much as I try, there are some things I can’t do for my son.”

  “I understand that too well.”

  “Adults are supposed to take care of kids.” She slapped a file into her briefcase, slammed it closed. “I guess that’s what frustrates me most about this trial. Damn it, why doesn’t someone own up to hurting that boy? Why isn’t anyone responsible for harming Ricky Vasquez?”

  She walked around her desk with heavy, angry footsteps until she stopped just in front of him. Her head came to just under his chin. She tipped to meet his gaze straight on. Height didn’t matter. She could have faced down a mob without any backup.

  “Ricky shouldn’t have to question each second of every day and wonder if grown-ups have done their job. It’s my responsibility to make sure he’s safe, to make sure Brice never gets hurt again by someone too caught up in his own selfish needs to think about his son.”

  Brice? “You mean Ricky?” he asked gently.

  Her eyes widened. She pressed the back of her wrist over her mouth. “Ohmigod.”

  “Sophie.” He reached for her arm.

  She snatched it away. “No. I need to…”

  “Give yourself a minute.” He cupped her shoulder, only her shoulder, careful not to spook her. But he couldn’t stand by and do nothing to comfort her. He’d heard about Lowell Campbell’s accidental death. The guy wasn’t military, but any aviation accident in the area was going to warrant attention from the base.

  The man had been a damned fool.

  “No, I…” She blinked fast, her eyes sparkling topaz.

  “It’s okay.” David squeezed her shoulder, rubbing like he would for anyone else. Right? Just until she calmed down.

  Sophie didn’t relax, but she didn’t push him away, either. She didn’t cry or rage. She merely stood, stiff and unrelenting, while he patted her shoulder.

  This was not smart, touching her, but he couldn’t make himself step away. He could hear the occasional catch in her slow breaths, could feel her restrained emotion.

  Then she turned to look at him and he caught the scent of her hair, a flowery perfume like the jasmine in his home state of South Carolina.

  Jasmine? He was thinking of flowers, for God’s sake? He was screwed. Totally screwed.

  Sophie blinked once, swallowed hard, the composed counselor returning. He would have thought she was completely unaffected, except she refused to look at him.

  She crossed to her desk and braced her hands on the edge. “If you’ll see yourself out, I have some other files to gather.”

  The lady wanted space? Fine. He needed space from her. Perfect combination. But first he had a couple of things to say. “I also came here to talk about Captain Tate.” He dug into his flight bag and pulled out a stack of papers. “These are copies of his flight training records, all the way back to the beginning of his time in a simulator. Perfect scores. Perfect performances from the start. Just look at them. And if you’ve seen them already, look again. I highlighted some praise by his former instructors that you may not have fully grasped.”

  “Fine, Berg.” She met his eyes full on again, her barriers clearly in place. She extended a hand that trembled. “I’ll review them tonight.”

  He passed over the printouts and should have been pumped over getting the hell out of her office.

  Yet even when he turned away, he couldn’t shake the image of her French twist pulled up to reveal a vulnerable neck with those butterfly bandages over her cut. Five minutes in her office, and he’d forgotten all his reasons for staying away from her and her son.

  Damn straight. He was so screwed.

  * * *

  She turned her car off outside her home and didn’t even consider going inside. The house was dark anyway, with only a low light on in the kitchen, the one Nanny left on for nights Sophie worked late.

  Throwing open the car door, she stepped out into the hot night air. She tossed her uniform jacket and shoes into the car—and what the hell—shimmied out of her panty hose as well.

  A short sprint later and she was wriggling her toes in the cool mud. One at a time, she yanked the pins from her hair and flung them into the water, watching each sink slowly out of sight. Wind-chime tunes carried along the breeze, dancing a tinkling path out into the dark. Nanny and Brice both slept inside the house, so she could walk as long as she wanted—as long as she needed. And she would need a damn long walk to sort through that moment in her office when David had touched her. Just a simple hold on her shoulder, but she’d wanted more.

  And she saw in his eyes that he knew it. Even worse, he wanted her, too.

  Sophie shook her hair free until strands whipped against her cheeks. Barefoot, she stumbled against a root jutting from the water, her blouse fluttering loose from her waistband. Wind blowing off the water drifted around her, slipping underneath. Each gust teased her skin with whisper-warm brushes like a lover’s kisses.

  Married at twenty, pregnant by twenty-two, she wasn’t innocent. She had been widowed. Gone to law school. Served her country. She’d even deployed to the Middle East. But now her life was focused completely on her son. She’d understood what she was giving up by choosing to remain alone after Lowell had died. No relationships, especially not when her son still wore that haunted lost look. She hadn’t questioned her decision to stay alone.

  Until tonight.

  David. An aviator like her father. Fearless like her husband.

  Even knowing this to be true didn’t stop her from wanting him. People didn’t always want what was right. Hadn’t she learned that lesson already?

  Flashes of those needy moments in her office taunted her. She’d been so proud of herself for maintaining professional distance…And then she’d let her emotions get the better of her, and she revealed too much when she’d slipped and called her client Brice. God, even she hadn’t fully realized until that moment how much Ricky’s case resonated with her because of her own son. As a lawyer, she was supposed to be in control of her words and still she’d blundered into such a massive Freudian slip.

  Then David had touched her. She hadn’t pulled away. Her body still pulsed with a need that almost washed away reason. Almost.

  He was an aviator like her father and a risk taker like her husband. The repeated knowledge became her mantra as Sophie trudged through the shallow water. Each recitation strengthened her determination to protect herself.

  Resolute, she turned back. She ignored her tear and let the wind claim
it as it brushed her with the haunting music of wind chimes. Sophie focused on her home, a haven. Stepping from the water, she walked along the shore, each step settling her.

  Squinting, she caught a glimpse of her curtains fluttering. A light knifed through the darkness as someone slipped out of her front door. Fear snaked down her spine. The shadowy figure vaulted over her porch banister and tucked into the darkness.

  FOUR

  Brice and Nanny were alone in the house.

  Sophie’s heart thudded in time with her feet as she raced across the muddy bank. All thoughts of being protected fled. No one would touch her family. She scanned the yard for signs of the intruder returning. Nothing but a black void where the night had absorbed him. Or her? Or maybe more than one?

  She yanked her purse from the car in case she needed to unlock a door. Had the intruder gone in through the window?

  Panting, Sophie reached the bottom of the stairs. She flung her arms forward, gripping the banister to pull herself up the steps faster until she reached the deck. Splinters stung her fingers.

  The front door was slightly ajar. So much for needing a key. She touched the cracked wood around the jimmied lock. Recklessly, she threw open the front door. Cool air from inside chilled the sweat beading on her brow.

  A fresh well of fear bubbled within her. Her sprawling living room was empty, illuminated by the eerie moonlight streaming through the window wall.

  Outright pandemonium would have frightened her less.

  Nothing was broken, torn, or missing. Still the room had undoubtedly been searched. Everything looked skewed, as if her well-ordered world had been shifted ever so slightly to the left. She set her purse down.

  How far had the prowler invaded? Brice.

  Determination focused her fear. Sophie slid open one of the small secretary drawers. She wrapped her fingers around a letter opener. The cool brass seared her palm. She would have preferred to have her 9 mm, but it was locked away in a safe in her room—past Brice and Nanny’s rooms.