Fleet Hospital. Anne Duquette Marie

the rest of her family later. She didn’t, you know. She died instantly. And from the peaceful look on her face, she never knew it was coming. Her loved ones will want to hear that from someone they trust—you.”

      Damn! Why didn’t I think to say that? Daniel wondered. He felt like hell. Not only had he thought the woman a shallow sexual tease—obviously she wasn’t—but she did a better job of ministering than he did. Jealousy and guilt mingled with admiration and relief.

      Jo put an arm around Michael’s waist. “Why don’t you let me remove her effects for you? Then you can tell your family you were present for that, too. Just stay here, and I’ll get them. Preacher, you’re my witness. Write down the inventory.”

      “Oh, yeah. Right.” He’d forgotten about that job, too—his job—yet this civilian hadn’t.

      “Okay. One chain with two dog tags,” Jo said, gently reaching around the dead woman’s neck.

      “No, just take one to turn in. The other stays with—” Daniel had been about to say, “the body.”

      “Selena,” Michael finished for him. “Selena Mellow.”

      “What a pretty name.” Jo unfastened the silver beads of the chain, removed one tag, handed it to Daniel and refastened the chain around Selena’s neck. Next she carefully removed the woman’s hair clip, wristwatch and diamond engagement ring.

      “She was getting married next month,” Michael said. “I was to be best man.”

      “I’ll bet she was happy about that. Lovely engagement ring. And such an exquisite face,” Jo said. “She would’ve made a beautiful bride. I’ll bet she had a gorgeous gown picked out.”

      Michael nodded. Daniel winced.

      Damn! Why couldn’t I have thought to say that, either? I’m supposed to be removing the effects, not some photographer. But she’s doing a great job, and there’s nothing rehearsed about it. This is who she is—compassionate, not frightened at all, despite the blood. Despite being in the presence of death. While I’m scared stiff.

      Jo finger-combed the woman’s hair and straightened her bangs, then placed the remaining dog tag back inside the shirt.

      “Okay, I guess that’s it. I’ll sign, the preacher will sign, then you sign. I can stay with your cousin until the autopsy docs show up. You’ll need to notify family, I guess. I can help with that, too, if you want, okay?”

      Both Michael and Daniel nodded this time and signed the paperwork. Daniel kept the items to file later, as was his duty.

      “Sure you don’t want to kiss her goodbye?” Jo asked. “I mean, I know it’s not a real goodbye. But just so you can tell your family you did it for them?”

      Daniel noticed Michael focus on Jo as herself, no longer simply part of the surroundings. “Perhaps you’re right,” the CO said slowly.

      He sat down on the bed. Puripong started to say something, then bit her lip. Michael lightly pressed his lips to Selena’s still-warm cheek as Daniel opened his prayer book and read aloud the Twenty-third Psalm. Not very original, but I don’t know what else to do. How could I? This is my first death since I became a minister. My first “official” death…

      As Daniel finished reading the words, Michael straightened, his dress uniform still spotless. Jo reached for his arm and walked him over to Daniel.

      “You take it from here, Preacher,” she said.

      But both Daniel and Jo accompanied Michael to the guard shack, the whole compound silent and staring. Daniel started through the gate with Michael until the guard stopped him with crossed rifles. Only McLowery and Jo, the lone civilian, were allowed to pass through.

      “Sorry, Chaplain. Everyone’s being detained inside the hospital compound until further notice.”

      “But, Mac, you need me! I can’t leave you alone!”

      Daniel’s use of the nickname just slipped out—although it was against military protocol. McLowery spun around, the use of his childhood name, spoken in such a familiar tone, catching him by surprise. Surprise changed to shock…and then hatred. Even before Daniel saw him mouth the words “Dennis Klemko,” he knew.

      Michael remembers. How could I ever hope he’d forget?

      Naval Fleet Hospital Operations Training Command

       Admin Building, McLowery’s Office

       1400 hours

      MICHAEL SAT IN HIS CHAIR, barely hearing the two women in his office. The uniformed Mia Gibson, who had a phone to her ear, was a jarring contrast to Jo Marche, the jeans-clad civilian on the second line. She was talking to the military photo lab—Mia had provided the number—making arrangements to get her photos developed ASAP for the investigation. Mia had Paul, Selena’s fiancé, on the phone, just as Sunshine called in to ask if Michael had been delayed.

      Michael took both calls himself. He had no choice but to tell Paul by telephone. However, he decided he would inform his mother in person. He briskly told Sunshine he’d been tied up, but would talk to her later back at the house. For the first time since coming to California, Michael felt icy cold, inside and out. He hadn’t felt this chilled since Anna and his mother had died.

      And what’s Dennis Klemko doing here? In uniform? In a chaplain’s uniform? What’s with the new name? Did he have anything to do with Selena’s death? My God, I have to work with that man?

      One hand tightened into a fist while the other reached for Mia Gibson’s radio. The young woman blinked as he took it.

      “Puripong,” he said.

      “Puripong here, sir.”

      “I want a list of everyone in the Expectant room. When you get their personnel files, start your investigation with them—and put Daniel Preston on the top of that list.”

      “The chaplain, sir?”

      “You have a hearing problem, Commander?”

      “No, sir. Anything else, sir?”

      “Not at present.”

      Michael saw Mia wince at the violence with which he set down her radio. The photojournalist, to her credit, didn’t wince, but her face was unnaturally still. He felt a sudden softening toward her, remembering her kindness to him, just as Chief Bouchard walked in carrying Michael’s cammies and a clipboard with paperwork acknowledging a death. Only the CO could fill it out.

      I never did make it to the funeral. And I can’t leave the compound now—not until this is solved.

      “Thanks, Chief. Why don’t you take Ms. Marche and get her a drink? She looks a bit shaken. I’ll catch up to you after I change.”

      “Aye, sir. Captain, what the hell happened?”

      Michael noted the unmilitary “hell” in the other man’s speech. Even the Chief’s shaken. I’m in this alone.

      OUTSIDE THE COMPOUND was the staff’s “break area,” a net-covered space on the tarmac where sodas and snacks were available, and those sailors addicted to nicotine could pause for a smoke. Jo took the soda Chief Bouchard handed her, wishing it was a scotch and soda, and pretended a calm she was far from feeling.

      So much for my plan. Mr. Smart-and-Sexy and his training hospital were supposed to be my ticket out of here. How long before he realizes he has no accurate information on me? And I’m tossed in jail for forgery, trespassing on government property and fraud? Could they charge me with treason? It’s still punishable by death—and fake IDs often mean spies or terrorists.

      The marines at the rifle ranges over the hills opened fire. Jo jumped and nearly dropped her soda. One of two sailors smoking cigarettes nearby grinned.

      “Hey, you’ll get used to it. You’ll be hearing the heavier artillery later on. Nothin’ to worry about.”