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 β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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 β 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.
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