Navy Justice. Geri Krotow

and because Brad had scaled the West Beach cliff to her house.

      “Credit or debit?”

      “What?” She looked at the empty belt where she’d placed her groceries.

      “Credit or debit?”

      “Debit. I mean cash.” Digging in her wallet for the extra cash she’d withdrawn while she was on base, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks. The withdrawal from the ATM had been a last-minute decision, just in case.

      Just in case she had to go off the grid with Brad. She shook her head. Her imagination was getting the best of her.

      A gust slammed into her as she pushed her cart through the parking lot and to her car. Good thing Brad had made his climb before the winds picked up.

      She almost laughed aloud as she loaded the groceries into her trunk. She’d never done anything remotely illegal before today, which was in direct contrast with going back on base and requesting files she had no official business having. She was the lowest of the low in the eyes of the military justice system. A traitor, even.

      The drive home seemed unusually long as sheer exhaustion washed over her.

      Cold dread at her decision to allow Brad respite in her home didn’t help. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and she tightened her hands on the steering wheel.

      She had no desire to dig deeper into her own psyche, to examine whether her fear was simply the result of her situation. Or was it because the man of her dreams was finally in her life again, in her home? Unlike real life, dreams were safe. Maybe she should ask him to leave...

      No, no, no! She’d made her decision and besides, this wasn’t permanent. These circumstances had to be more straightforward than either she or Brad thought; the most seemingly complicated scenarios were often far simpler than panic or anxiety blew them up to be. Case in point—Farid. He’d been a kid who’d wanted to save his village and gotten caught in a firestorm of political and military brass. His stint in prison had ended, rightfully so.

      If she had anything to do with it, the files would help her put Brad’s problems behind both of them within forty-eight hours.

      Once inside her garage she killed the engine and hit the button to lower the garage door. Only after the door was firmly closed did she get out of the car and grab the groceries from the back hatch.

      “Hello?” She walked into the kitchen and stopped, listening for any indication that Brad was still there.

      “Over here.” He walked in from the sun porch wearing a USS Abraham Lincoln baseball cap she recognized as hers.

      “Is that all my clothes you’re interested in, or am I going to find you’ve been through my underwear drawers? Please tell me you aren’t wearing my Wonder Woman panties, too.”

      Brad’s eyes narrowed but his reply was calm, unruffled.

      “I make it a policy never to cross-dress while on mission.”

      His humor made her smile, but she noticed that his eyes remained wary. She’d missed him, missed his joking. Their banter.

      “Just as well. Cross-dressing could complicate things at the moment.” She took in the papers strewn on the sofa and his boots next to the end table.

      “I thought you were going to lie low. Aren’t you worried about someone seeing you from the sun porch?”

      “With this hat on and sitting between your two potted palms? No chance. Everyone’s focused on the area of the explosion, trying to determine if it was a terrorist action.”

      “What have they been saying on the news?” She put the perishables in the fridge and pulled out a baking dish, saucepan and frying pan. It might be bland and predictable, but her homemade macaroni and cheese spiked with the ground meat was an easy dish to make, and she suspected Brad would appreciate something that resembled comfort food. She could use a warm meal, too.

      “Nothing much.”

      He maintained eye contact with her.

      “I couldn’t check the news at work, and I didn’t want to ask anyone while I was running errands. I figure the less I comment, the better. No need to draw any unwanted attention to myself.”

      At least until Brad was out of her house and off on his next FBI adventure. Because he would leave. She wanted him to leave.

       Sure you do.

      She set the cheese grater on the counter and wrestled her measuring cups out of the gadget drawer.

      “Well, there’s nothing new. The media’s dropped hints that base officials think it could be at worst a domestic terrorist, or possibly a disenfranchised vet. The reports say that NCIS, FBI and local authorities are looking into the backgrounds of several suspects.”

      “You still believe you’re going to get nailed for this, don’t you?” She melted butter in a saucepan and stirred flour into it then slowly added milk.

      “I have no doubt I would if I came forward now. I’d be cleared in short order, but meanwhile, the press might leak my name or photo, and the terrorists would gain the upper hand. I have to wait. If you get me the information I’m hoping for, by the time I make contact again I’ll have the case wrapped up. Here, let me help.”

      Brad made short work of grating the Gruyere and cheddar.

      Trying to appear casual, she quickly added the cheese to the simmering milk. The water she’d put on for the pasta started to boil, and the meat was browned.

      “I know I’m just a lawyer, even if I’m a former JAG. My job in the Navy was to support you and other operators. Admittedly, I haven’t experienced anything close to what you have. But do you think you might be a little paranoid after your time as a SEAL? After going through the trial and then... Marci’s death?”

      There—she’d dragged the ugly, wrinkled, stinking elephant into the room.

      “That’s in the past.”

      She dumped the entire box of elbow noodles into the roiling water. Brad needed his carbs. Maybe, right now, she did, too.

      “It’s not in the past if it’s still haunting you today.”

      “What do you want from me, Joy?”

       How about your hands on me, your lips on me, your undying affection...

      “I want you to look at this objectively. You’re hiding out in my house because you had to shoot a terrorist before he could launch a SAM at one of our aircraft. And you’re undercover, which makes it even more interesting. You found out that they’re targeting General Grimes. You don’t want to blow your cover or let it out that the Bureau infiltrated the cell. I get that. But you could’ve had me call your boss, for heaven’s sake. I mean, really, Brad, what’s with all the drama?”

      His eyes widened an instant before they narrowed, and he pushed back from the counter he’d been leaning against. His body vibrated with anger.

      The man did have feelings.

      “You think this is drama? That I’m making this up? I’ll grant you, I’ve seen more than the average GI or SEAL, and I’m more messed up for it. I’ve lost more, too, including any chance at a normal life. But I’m in this for the greater good, Joy, not for myself. I haven’t turned this into some blown-out-of-proportion video game. Real lives are at stake, and I’m not going to stop until I take these bastards down.”

      He stood inches from her and she reached out, placing her hand on his chest. His heart thumped under her fingertips, and she longed to embrace him, to hug away the hurt.

      “I do believe you, Brad. I just wanted you to say it out loud.”

      His expression softened as anger gave way to incredulity and then relief. “You never doubted me.”

      “I