"It wasn't. John, I swear—"
The side of his fist slammed into the back of the Humvee, causing two-and-a-half tons of Army steel to rattle, along with her skull and her teeth. Her shock must've shown because he jerked his hand down, dragging the night air in deep as he worked to get that crackling temper back under control.
He finally purged his breath and nodded. "Fine. You want to explain, go ahead. Tell me, which one of your many heartfelt confessions was actually true? And do be honest, honey, because I'd really like to know. Your mom's death? Your bastard of a grandfather? The sob story about the foster homes?" He stepped closer, leaned down. "Was your father even a cop? Was he shot in the line of duty? Or was it all just some carefully crafted fairytale designed to reel me in once you got a good look at all the childhood shit in my BI?"
She opened her mouth, then closed it. As much as she wanted to explain, she couldn't. Not like this. Not here, in the middle of the parking lot.
Disgust darkened John's scowl as he straightened. "Yeah, I thought so. I gotta hand it to you. Your partner was right. You are outstanding at what you do. Mata Hari in the flesh. And even better in bed. And the lies? You're right up there with my old man. Hell, you surpassed him—and you punch a lot lower and a hell of a lot harder. So congratulations, Chief. First place to you. I hope the win was worth it."
It wasn't. Because he was wrong. She hadn't won.
She'd lost everything.
She'd lost him.
Who was she kidding? John had never been hers. Not really. Nor did he want to be. Because he'd already turned and walked away. Again. As much as she hated herself for it, she stood there and waited as John got into his Wrangler, started the engine, and pulled out of the lot. She needn't have bothered.
He never looked back.
9
The phone rang as Regan added the final touch to her latest cover identity. A swift glance at the caller ID had her truly smiling for the first time in weeks. She hadn't spoken to Mira in almost a month. Not since the NCIS agent had returned to the States to resume plowing through her own, ever-increasing caseload.
Regan closed the file on her laptop and swapped it for the phone on her coffee table. There'd be time enough to absorb the finer details of Corporal ReAnne Shelby in the morning. "Hey, stranger. What's up?"
Mira's sigh filled the line. "I know, I know. I've been MIA again. I've been meaning to call. I've just had too much filth to wade through for a case."
"You want to talk about it?"
"I can't. Not yet, anyway. But thanks." She could hear Mira's TV on in the background. The talking heads were going at it over something, but she couldn't make out what the argument was about. "So, how have you been? Have you heard anything from King Kong?"
"Nope." And it stung. Still.
Since it had been a solid month since John had walked out on her in that parking lot, she wasn't likely to hear from him either.
And there was the rest.
"Jelly saw him when he came in to sign his statement. John left a couple weeks later." They wouldn't even have to track him down for the court-martial.
There wasn't going to be one.
Sergeant LaCroix had pled guilty to a host of charges and had been busted down to Private LaCroix. He'd even admitted that he and Scott Platt had reconnected after LaCroix had referred Carys Kaide to the disgraced Pentagon employee eighteen months earlier when Carys and her Syrian NGO had come up short on critical medical supplies. Platt had been happy to provide "diverted" US military stock...at a price. Within the week, LaCroix—also stripped of his Special Forces tab and Army medals—would be enjoying his new, scaled down, maximum-security accommodations located inside the US Disciplinary Barracks at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.
She'd thought it odd that LaCroix had gone down without fighting, but then, LaCroix was odd. Especially now. She'd gone to see him a few days ago to wrap up her case file and inform him of his pending flight to the States. He'd spent the entire hour just staring at her, smirking.
As for John—
"Rae, are you saying Garrison left? As in, the captain's no longer in Germany?"
"Correct."
"When's he due to return?"
He wasn't. "According to Jelly, he received orders to Fort Bragg." John would be deploying to yet another hotspot from there soon enough.
Damn it—stop. He wasn't hers to worry about. He never had been.
Regan abandoned the couch and headed for the door to her tiny Vilseck apartment. Midnight had come and gone. It was time to lock up and crawl into bed for yet another sleepless night. She should probably bring her laptop. Might as well fire it back up and work on memorizing Shelby's backstory.
It beat counting her many screwups and sins in lieu of sheep.
"Oh, hon. I'm so sorry."
Yeah, so was she. But that didn't change anything, did it? Least of all, this malaise she couldn't seem to push through.
At least something good had come from the investigation. Saniye had met with the general the
