Withholding Evidence by Rachel Grant

monitored at all. But that could change, and I don’t want anyone realizing you’re important to me, and coming after you.” He’d just admitted she was important to him—probably too soon, but like joining the navy, something he refused to regret.
    Her gaze held an intensity that she left unvoiced. She cleared her throat. “So… What are we going to do?”
    “I haven’t figured that out yet.” He set down his fork. “I’m hoping you’ll be willing to wait. At least until we know more.”
    “Of course.” She paused. “I’m not ready to put a name to this”—she swept out her hand to indicate her robe, him, the ornate hotel room—“but I know it— you —are worth waiting for.”
    He’d heard those words before—once he’d even wanted to hear them—but this was the first time he both wanted the words and believed them.

C HAPTER N INE

    T RINA COULDN’T CONCENTRATE on work Tuesday morning. Her mother would say she was twitterpated. And she’d be right.
    The night with Keith had been nothing short of amazing. Just thinking about how he’d arranged it took her breath away. Memories of the sex was enough to make her combust, but thoughts of the connection behind it made her knees weak. In her experience, hot, perfect men like Keith eschewed relationships for flings with women who were taller, prettier, and bustier than she was, but he clearly wanted her—repeatedly, in fact—and there had been more going on than two people getting off together.
    She could fall head over heels for him and wasn’t even freaked out by the idea. Truth was, it might already have happened, but it was too soon to even consider the L-word.
    It was still early in the morning when Mara looked over the cubicle wall in her best Kilroy impersonation, sparking the idea of writing a paper on the significance of Kilroy graffiti to the war effort during World War II. But unlike the cartoon figure, Mara had a Cheshire cat grin. And Trina couldn’t help but return it.
    “Sorry I had to bail last night,” Mara said without an ounce of sorrow in her tone.
    Trina responded with her own grin. “I forgive you.”
    “I figured you might,” Mara said, then continued down the corridor.
    Trina gathered a notebook and digital recorder. She had to interview Walt’s Desert Storm vet, a former navy aviator. Walt had originally scheduled the interview for last Tuesday, the day after the explosion, but she wasn’t fit for work. When she didn’t show for the interview, Walt took it upon himself to reschedule, and Trina didn’t have the energy to fight him on it when she returned to work. Now it was too late to back out.
    Instead of taking the Metro, Sean gave her a ride to the coffee shop near Union Station. There was something to be said for having a permanent bodyguard with a car. Plus he was a nice guy, good-looking—his ebony skin, big muscles, and a great smile reminded her of the football player Russell Wilson in looks and physique—and good company when she wanted someone to talk to but also unobtrusive when she wanted to pretend she didn’t have a babysitter.
    Sean sat two tables away in the crowded coffee shop and gave no indication they were together. Trina settled into a seat across from Lieutenant Brian Ruby, noticing right away that his body language was all wrong. He was hostile or agitated. He kept his head down, barely acknowledging her when she introduced herself.
    With a frown, she set her digital recorder on the table between them and hit Record. May as well begin. “Lieutenant,” she said, “in late fall of 1991, you were transferred to a temporary assignment with a UN peacekeeping force, a post-Desert Storm coalition. According to my colleague’s notes, you left that six-month assignment after only three weeks. The record is scant at best. Can you tell me why you left before completing the assignment?”
    She had walked into this interview with less background information than she liked. Walt had given her the