Reader Crew Extra - Medal of Dishonor Excerpt

Damned is the Deceiver

for He shall rot in Hell.

  

MEDAL OF DISHONOR

Prologue

There she was.

He stepped back from the massive oak and raised his camera to zero in on the girl. She stood at the head of the flag-draped coffin, to the left of the chaplain. Inky curls obscured most of her face, the drab raincoat all of her slight body. But it was her. Where else would she be?

Despite her prominent position, not a single mourner had so much as glanced at her during the service. Not even the chaplain. Not that she seemed to notice. She was too busy strangling the handle on her tiny purse as she stared at the red, white and blue nylon soaking up the morning drizzle.

He lowered the telescopic lens and propped it against the side of the oak as the sermon continued to drone faintly over the musty lawn and endless brigades of perfectly-aligned, bleached marble headstones.

Arlington National Cemetery.

Who would've thought the bastard would end up here? Hell, who would've thought he'd end up here, waiting for honor guards to lower that casket into the ground? Against his will, his gaze strayed back to the stoic band of mourners—mostly official—and back to the girl. He shifted the M-24 slung beneath his trench coat, easing the sniper rifle from the fresh scar that bisected his gut before he retrieved the camera and raised it again.

Still no sign of tears.

Just as well. The son-of-a-bitch didn't deserve them.

Rage warred with satisfaction. He fought to contain both as he adjusted the camera's eagle-eye, refocusing it on her chubby bottom lip as she tucked the dark curls behind her ear. A tremor. So slight, he'd almost missed it. He twisted the lens again, and caught it again. The battle surged anew and—God help him—satisfaction won.

Disgusted, he wrenched the camera down and spun about. He was surrounded. Pinned in place by yet another army of bleached marble. Names and dates had been chiseled into stone after stone. He spun back, lest he recognize a name and number he'd helped carve.

As he lifted the camera again, the chaplain finally ceased his monotonous drivel and closed his worn book of lies. The girl didn't even flinch as the seven-man rifle detail raised their M-14s, aimed, and fired. Three successive volleys echoed across the early-morning mist, a last-ditch attempt to honor the man in the coffin.

What a crock. But so was this whole fucking, nonexistent war.

The detail folded the flag as the final lonely notes of Taps bled out. The officer-in-charge marched the Colors over to the girl and presented the tightly folded triangle, returning her jerky nod with a crisp salute. Seconds later the lieutenant was back at his post beside the line, executing an about face and stepping off to march his stiff column up the slight rise in the lawn and down toward the next yawning pit.

It was truly done. Time to complete his mission.

Before it was too late.

The rest of the professional mourners had filed off as well. Only the chaplain, the civilian couple, and the girl remained—and even the adults were moving off. In fact, they were so immersed in conversation they'd failed to notice she wasn't following them down to the road. By the time the trio reached the car, he knew—it was now or never.

Damn it, just do it.

He stepped behind the tree and drew the M-24 from his coat. But as he fitted the sniper's scope into place, something caught at the corner of his gaze and he froze.

Another soldier. But not just any soldier.

Shit. What was he doing here?

He swallowed hard as the soldier approached the grave—and then the girl. The rifle in his arms quadrupled in weight as the irony of it slugged through his gut. Who did he aim for now? He knew who he wanted to kill. And who he should. Unfortunately, he could no longer afford to do either.

Unless...

Of course. He'd simply take them both.

He tucked the butt of the rifle into the pocket of his shoulder to do just that. But as he fitted the scope to his eye, the soldier dropped out of sight. He pulled the rifle low in time to see him retrieve the girl's purse from the grass and murmur something as he knelt to hand it back.

Even as he retrained the rifle's scope, he knew he couldn't follow through. He'd already changed his mind. He lowered the rifle and replaced it with the camera.

And snapped the photo instead.

 

Chapter 1 

Present Day

US Army Criminal Investigation Division

Fort Belvoir, Virginia

 

The office door blew open. US Army CID Agent Elizabeth Brock glanced up from the deluge of email headers in her inbox, but didn't bother turning around. She simply waited for the bellow that was bound to follow. It did.

"My office. Now."

Blinds ricocheted off the opposite window as the door slammed shut. Of the three agents in the room, Beth was the only one who flicked off her laptop and closed the lid. They all knew who'd been summoned. And why.

Beth stood and smoothed her dress shirt down between the waist of her trousers and the 9mm Sig-Sauer holstered at the small of her back. Retrieving her navy blazer from her chair, she smoothed that into place as well. There wasn't a thing she could do about the scarlet bruise still throbbing on her left cheek, or the lump on her jaw. Her dark curls were too short to cover them and she didn't wear makeup. Not that it would have mattered. There wasn't enough spackle on the entire Eastern seaboard to conceal those suckers.

Bill Lemon unclipped his badge from his belt and made a show of kissing it goodbye as Beth opened the door.

Vultures. They couldn’t wait to pick her carcass clean.

She should probably count her blessings Colonel Ross subscribed to the school of "Praise in Public, Pummel in Private," lest the greedy bastards get a visual along with the sound show that was about to penetrate the walls. Why she bothered to close the door was beyond her. But she did.

Beth headed down the hall into the commander's outer office. At least the seat behind the secretary's desk was empty. She knocked once on the inner door and entered. Colonel Ross stood behind his steel desk, tapping a black, government-issue pen against the square of his equally steel jaw.

Not a good sign.

"Well?"

Neither was his tone. Best to drive on through.

Beth dug her blunt nails into her palms as she bypassed the Army flag to focus on the National Colors centered behind her commanding officer. "Sir, I—"

"Stop right there, Agent Brock." He stabbed the pen into the papers strewn atop his blotter. "And you can forget whatever explanation you’ve managed to pull out of your ass, because it ain't gonna pacify me. Right now, nothing will—except maybe your head on a spike." He leaned into the edge of the desk to drill his stare in deeper. "Just answer me one question: What the hell were you thinking?"

She wished to heaven she knew. Unfortunately, she was as much in the dark as he. But that didn't matter. It couldn't. Not within the Army's Criminal Investigation Division.

CID's motto might be Do what has to be done, but Colonel Ross' was No excuses. It was also hers.

And he was still waiting.

She met her commander's glare as she locked her spine to attention. "I didn't think, sir. I just reacted."

"Reacted? You just reacted?" The colonel shoved his hands through hair cropped so close it doubled for five-o'clock shadow. "No shit, soldier. What I'd like to know is why you reacted so goddamned hard. What happened to Brock the Rock?"

Beth's silence only served to sharpen her CO's stare.

"I hope you realize you screwed this office as well as your own career last night. Hell, JAG even warned me not to send a woman in on this. But we needed it—the case needed it. And I thought you could handle it." Colonel Ross raked his hands through the stubble on his head a second time and sighed. "Obviously, I was wrong."

Beth suppressed a wince as the disappointment in his voice cut her down to the soles of her shoes. The worst part was, not only didn't she understand what had happened last night, she didn't even remember it.

Okay, that wasn't entirely true.

Colonel Ross snatched his pen off the blotter and stabbed the center of her report. "It says here you put Major Bellingham in a headlock."

Beth nodded. That part she remembered.

"So tell me. How did you go from immobilizing the bastard to cracking three of his ribs and breaking his right arm?"

That was the part she didn't.

"Well?"

No excuses. It didn't matter. She didn't have one to give him. Let alone herself.

Resigned, Beth pulled her Sig-Sauer from the small of her back and thumped it onto the edge of the desk, then reached inside the inner left pocket of her blazer. She fought the urge to yank her hand out empty. Her badge followed the fate of her 9mm as she sucked in her breath. She hadn't felt this exposed last night with her robe torn from her chest.

Colonel Ross stared down at her credentials, then her. "What do you think you're doing?"

What did it look like? "Turning in my weapon. I'm on suspension."

"Did I say you were?"

Beth's heart slammed through several beats. "Aren't I?"

"No."

Her nails found her palms again. She nearly drove them through as she met her CO's razor stare and waited for the rest.

It didn't follow.

"Sir, I...don't understand."

His lips thinned into a humorless smile. "Neither do I, but it's true. You're not on suspension. Hell, you're not even under investigation—though I do understand that could change." He jerked his chin toward her Sig and her badge. "Now get those out of my sight."

He didn't have to tell her twice. Beth crammed her CID credentials deep into her pocket, then slipped the 9mm home.

Colonel Ross hooked a tan combat boot into the wheels of his swivel chair and hauled it close, seating himself as her hands returned to her sides. He withdrew a slim manila file from the middle drawer of his desk and whipped it across the top.

Beth caught the folder as it cleared the edge.

"Open it."

She complied. A single sheet of paper lay within. Beth scanned the sheet and swallowed hard.

"Read it."

"I did."

"Out loud."

Bypassing the block headers, Beth picked out the first line of full text. It was hard to miss, since the words were still blaring up at her. "Chief Warrant Officer Three Elizabeth A. Brock is hereby ordered to report to INSCOM, Ft. Belvoir, VA."

The Army's Intelligence and Security Command? She was good...but not that good.

Then there was last night.

Beth blinked and read the sheet a third time. The words hadn't changed. "Why?"

The colonel's bark split through her shock. "Hell, if I know. I'm just the goddamn mushroom. They don't tell me shit and they listen even less. I do know this—you were specifically requested. Whoever did the requesting must be pretty high up, because they still want you." The man hauled himself to his feet and jerked his jaw toward the transfer order. "You're to report to the INSCOM chief of staff for further instructions. He's expecting you." Her now former CO planted his fists on the sheaf of papers littering his desk and leaned forward as Beth closed the folder. "You want my advice, Agent Brock?"

The mood he was in? Not particularly.

She nodded anyway.

"Don't fuck this up. You do, and I'll personally open an investigation into your conduct last night—and I won't give a damn who your father was."

*****

Someone was watching her. Beth could feel it.

She tucked the manila file containing her new orders beneath her arm and continued her steady march across the blistering July blacktop. Even as she reached her Blazer, she refused to turn around. Instead, she unlocked the driver's door and climbed in, sealing herself within the stifling interior. Beth ducked her head and made a show of opening the glove box and rifling through the mess inside. She closed it abruptly, scanning the three-story bank of windows that made up the front of CID's headquarters as she straightened.

Not so much as a shadow out of place.

She wasn't fazed. Someone was watching. Why else were the hairs on the back of her neck still locked to attention?

The only question was—who?

Beth dumped the file containing her orders on the dash and leaned lower, this time to retrieve her briefcase from the floorboard and haul it up to the passenger seat. She opened the stainless-steel case, staring blindly at the contents as she counted to ten, making another surreptitious pass over the bank of windows as she straightened.

There. On the second floor, near the middle. She was too far away to make out a face, but she'd definitely caught a glimpse of army camouflage as it retreated into the shadows. Based on the breadth of the shoulders beneath, the owner was male. Her silent observer stepped forward once more, before snapping back as if he'd realized she too was watching.

Yeah, she definitely had an audience. Whoever he was, she had a pretty good idea how he'd earned his collateral duty.

Someone had sold her out.

She'd suspected it last night, right around the time Major Bellingham had shown up at the door of her undercover apartment loaded for bear, certain she'd been sent in to investigate him. Her suspicion had intensified as the bastard started beating the crap out of her. But after what had just happened in Colonel Ross' office? That cemented it. She'd blown her case, for Christ's sake! She'd struck a senior officer. She'd broken bones. She should be sitting in the stockade awaiting her own court-martial, not holding a set of orders that would take her into the very heart of Military Intelligence.

Beth stared at the folder on the dash. INSCOM.

Even if she hadn't royally screwed up, those orders still wouldn't make sense. Requested, her ass. When the shit hit the fan inside the Intel world, they preferred to wipe their own blades clean. So why her? And why now?

Don't fuck up.

No kidding. Not even dear ol' Dad's posthumous reputation could save her now. No one could.

Brock the Rock. She'd decked the last man who'd lobbed that in her face. And then she'd divorced him.

Unfortunately, as much as she hated the nickname, she couldn't deny it. Other than that one time with her ex, she'd never lost control. Not during six years as an enlisted military policeman, nor six more as an Army CID Warrant Officer investigating Uncle Sam's finest. Not even during seven damned near back-to-back tours in the mind-numbing cesspools of Afghanistan and Iraq. Hell, she hadn't even lost it last night when Major Bellingham had cracked her across the jaw.

So what had caused her to snap?

The wall. Bellingham had slammed her into that wall still reeking of damp paint. A split second later, something deep inside her had just...snapped. Before she'd realized what had happened, she'd had a combat-hardened Ranger lying at her feet, too battered, broken and stunned to get up. And she still couldn't remember how he'd gotten there. Not entirely.

Beth closed her eyes and pictured that freshly-painted, pale yellow wall closing in, hoping the memory would spark something. Anything.

It did.

From out of nowhere, the rage blistered forth, consuming her as quickly and completely as it had the night before. She grabbed her steering wheel and held on until suddenly—as inexplicably as it had come—it was gone.

Stunned, Beth drew a cleansing breath, then opened her eyes to stare at her wheel cover in shock. She'd all but twisted it off.

What in God's name was happening?

The case. Focus on the case. It didn't matter that she didn't have the details. At least she had one.

Beth scanned the building's middle row of windows once more. They were empty. Had that camouflaged form been a product of her imagination?

She fingered the mangled strip of leather dangling from her steering wheel. The rage certainly wasn't. A major in the hospital, and now this?

Dammit, the case. One problem at a time. While there was a chance the inciting incident from last night's beat down and this morning's reprieve were connected, there was an equal chance they weren't. She'd never know which unless she got her hind end out of the parking lot. Beth tore the strip of leather from the wheel and tossed it to the floorboard. As she keyed the ignition, realization hit.

INSCOM. Haley.

Three unreturned phone calls from her best friend. This morning's duck had been deliberate, too. It was still lunchtime. Perhaps she could get in and out of the building without running into the woman. It was worth a try.

Beth eased the Blazer out of the parking slot. Within minutes, she'd passed through Talley gate, leaving the southern section of Ft. Belvoir behind. Several minutes later, she'd reached the twelve-foot razor-wire topped fencing that formed INSCOM's outer perimeter. Beth brought her Blazer to a halt beside the guard shack in the center of the lane and retrieved the folder from her dash as she waited for the military policeman to exit.

"Agent Brock. I'm here to see—"

Before she could finish, let alone hand over her orders and credentials, the MP saluted her through. The kid was back inside the shack and on the phone by the time her jaw finished dropping. So much for security in a post 9-11 world.

Unfortunately, she didn't have time to rip anyone a new hole. Beth tucked the violation away as she hit the gas and drove through. She parked the Blazer in the first empty slot, grabbing her briefcase as she bailed out. Only then did she pause long enough to take in the towering mix of cement, steel and explosion-resistant glass thirty yards away.

The Nolan building: The hallowed halls of Army Intelligence. And she had a gilded pass.

Beth squared her shoulders and marched between the waist-high concrete vehicle barriers to breach the outer set of glass doors. As the inner set swished open, she was greeted by a blast of thoroughly decadent air-conditioning—and absolute chaos. Of the dozen camouflaged soldiers behind the security desk sporting black MP arm bands, ten were talking.

At the same time.

"What do you mean he's not in his office? Find him."

"Right away, Sergeant Major."

"Has anyone seen Sergeant Lincoln? He should've been back ten minutes ago!"

"Sergeant Major, Colonel Howard's on the phone."

"Who the devil called—"

The rest was drowned out as Beth stepped up to the fray, purposely thumping her briefcase on the edge of the counter.

Silence.

Beth eased the right lower flap of her blazer aside as the closest MP, chiseled from a pillar of solid mahogany, whirled about. "Damn it, who—"

The rest died as the sergeant major spotted the gold shield glinting up from where Beth had clipped it to her belt. The man's prominent Adam's apple jerked once, then centered home as he crumpled the pink message slip in his fist and shoved it in a camouflaged pocket. A second later, his lips split into a wide, easy grin. Too easy.

"Afternoon, ma'am. What can I do for you?"

Beth had to hand it to him. Unlike the gaggle of gaping soldiers behind him, the sergeant major had managed to take in her battered face without being obvious. She met his insta-grin with one of her own, culling the senior enlisted MP's identity from his nametape as she flashed her CID credentials. "Good afternoon, Sergeant Major Ordunez. Agent Brock. I'm here to see the chief of staff."

The insta-grin faltered, almost imperceptibly. But she'd caught it.

"I take it the colonel's expecting you?"

"I believe so." Beth popped the locks on her briefcase and withdrew the folder containing her orders. She slid it across the counter.

As the sergeant major opened the folder, a barely post-pubescent MP three feet away punched the hold button to the phone clenched in his fist and cleared his throat.

The sergeant major ignored him.

The MP cleared his throat again.

The sergeant major ignored the kid again. Several moments passed as Ordunez studied the contents of the folder.

He glanced up. "Everything looks to be in order, Agent Brock." He gestured to the lobby behind her. "If you'll just have a seat while I call upstairs—"

Yet another cough came from the kid, followed by a painful whisper. "Excuse me, Sergeant Major, but Special Agent Nathaniel Ronin is on the phone. He's demanding an answer—now."

The sergeant major leveled a steady stare on the kid. Neither MP said a word. Neither had to. That look said it all.

Nathaniel Ronin?

Beth pushed through her memory banks only to come up empty. There wasn't an Army CID agent named Ronin in her office. If Ronin was from the DC area, he belonged to one of the other countless alphabet soups sloshing about the nation's capital: FBI, DEA, ATF...possibly even Secret Service. But which?

It was time to voice the obvious. "Is there a problem, Sergeant Major Ordunez?"

The insta-grin was firmly in place as the man swung back. "No, no problem, Agent Brock."

The tension wracking in the young MP's frame argued otherwise. "Isn't she here to—"

"Whatever Agent Brock is here for really isn't your concern. Is it, Corporal Taub?"

Beth stiffened at the familiar voice along with the MPs. She spun about, hoping against hope it wasn't—

But it was. Her string of rotten luck had chosen to hold fast. Haley's welcoming smile died as the woman caught sight of Beth's face. Or rather, her bruises.

Beth pleaded silently.

Haley turned to the MPs, leaving the orders on the counter as she snagged Beth's stainless-steel briefcase. Her friend nodded toward the sergeant major. "Agent Brock and I are headed to the cafeteria to grab a cup of coffee. I'll expect her temporary security badge to be in order when we return."

"Yes, ma'am."

Haley relinquished Beth's briefcase as they crossed the lobby. As they entered the cafeteria, she cocked her head toward an empty table flanking the wall of windows on the far left. "Have a seat, I'm buying."

"But—"

"No buts. Now sit. And that's an order."

With that, Haley left. Resigned to the pending interrogation, Beth commandeered the chair facing the closest window, dumping her briefcase on the floor as she sat. It was a mistake. She was facing her reflection. Worse, with the afternoon sun hitting the window at that particular angle, the glass had morphed into a high-quality mirror. Was it her imagination, or had the bruise on her cheek doubled in size since last night? And the color.

Beth closed her eyes against the sight. A moment later, she inhaled deeply.

Coffee. Lord, it smelled good. Dark, rich, and very close.

She opened her eyes, smiling into the steaming mug suspended inches from her face. Beth snatched it gratefully, scalding her tongue as she sipped. Definitely army coffee. Strong enough to stop a bullet.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome." Haley slipped into the opposite chair, mercifully shielding Beth from the proof of her humiliation. Unfortunately, she was now directly downrange of those deceptively sweet baby-blues. Her friend tucked a cropped, russet curl behind her right ear as she sighed. "Now, what the hell happened? You get in a bar-fight last night?"

Last night. Just thinking about it brought on the nausea—and the inexplicable rage. Beth took a second fortifying sip of coffee, beating both back as she shook her head.

Another mistake. The motion caused her jaw to throb. She took a third sip and waited out the silence.

Haley took the hint and nodded. "All right, no bar. Must have been your case then. You want to tell me about it?"

"Can't."

"O-kay. Then at least lie and tell me it doesn't hurt."

"It doesn't."

"Uh-huh. And Uncle Sam just christened our first all-female Special Forces company." Haley held her stare hostage for several more moments, then sighed. "So, are you going to tell me why you're ducking my calls?"

Ouch. She should've known that was next. Beth bit her tongue, hoping Haley would take pity on her again.

She didn't. "Don't you even want to know why I left three separate messages at CID?"

Crap. Beth knew that look. Undercover or not, she should have returned the calls. Beth tightened her grip on the mug. "What happened?"

"Doug."

Beth stiffened as the shock cut in. Doug? As in, her ex-husband Doug?

From the disgust darkening Haley's frown, that's exactly who she meant. But why would Haley be calling her about Doug after two years? Unless—

"Please tell me you haven't seen him."

"Worse."

"I swear to God, if this is a joke—"

"Wish it was. He's stationed here at INSCOM. Doug's commanding the MP detachment. He showed up right after you went undercover. I wanted to warn you before you returned and ran into him on post." Haley took a sip of her coffee and shrugged. "Heck, the only reason you didn't run into him now is because he's too busy sprinting around the building trying to cover his butt like everyone else this morning."

Beth blinked, still unable to process this latest blow. Doug was here? On Ft. Belvoir? At INSCOM? Granted, it was bound to happen eventually. He was an MP. And since they were divorced, there was nothing preventing the two of them from being stationed within the same command anymore, let alone across post from each other. But, somehow, she'd assumed she'd have a little more warning. The warning Haley had obviously tried to give her.

But Doug had not.

"Excuse me, Lt. Col. Summers, Agent Brock."

She and Haley turned to find another MP hovering three feet from the table. It was the same kid who'd made the mistake of opening his trap at the counter. Corporal Taub appeared a bit worse for the wear for the slip, too. At least the sergeant major had left his head attached.

"Sergeant Major Ordunez asked me to drop these off."

Beth accepted the transfer order and slipped it in her briefcase before attaching the temporary INSCOM security pass to the lapel of her blazer. She scrawled her name across the line indicated as the MP held out a clipboard. "Thank you, Corporal." Beth stared at the kid's back as he retreated. "So what was that all about back there?"

Haley shoved her mug toward the center of the table in lieu of an answer and stood. "We should get you upstairs. Colonel Chambers will want to brief you himself."

"Colonel Chambers?" Beth retrieved her briefcase and stood to follow Haley out of the cafeteria, across the lobby and through the security turnstile. "As in your boss?"

Haley nodded as she stopped in front of a bank of elevators to stab the main "up" arrow. "Looks like you two finally get to meet."

"I don't understand. I'm supposed to report to the chief of staff. Last time we talked, you worked for Operations."

"Still do." The doors slid open. Haley punched the button to their floor and the otherwise empty lift lurched into motion. "The S-1—Col. Hennisey—is on emergency leave. Colonel Chambers is filling in until he returns."

Meaning her point-of-contact on this case was pulling double-duty. Beth groaned along with the elevator as it shuddered to a stop.

Haley preceded her from the lift and led the way down the corridor. "It's worse than you think. We've got an exercise coming up. Global Dawn. We've been prepping for months."

"Global Dawn?"

"Precisely. Everyone has their fingers in this pie. Air Force, Navy, Marines—even the Coast Guard. We'll be feeding the latest intel and targeting information to everyone—even as we continue to provide the real thing for the majority of our forward deployed forces." Her friend paused as they reached a door marked Operations. "I'm considering pitching my tent right out here so I don't have to run the gauntlet after work."

"Wonderful." What else could go wrong?

Haley laughed as she ushered Beth inside. "Don't worry. I've got a crate of Maalox stashed under my desk. If you're nice, I'll share." She nodded to the secretary seated at one of the desks dominating the outer office. "This is Pat. She's our right arm. Be nice to her and she might find you something stronger."

The older woman smiled up from her computer. "Don't you wish. But you're going to need it if you don't do an immediate about face and head downstairs. Colonel Jackson's looking for you."

"Rats." Haley waved a hand between them. "Pat Dixon, Agent Elizabeth Brock, CID. Beth, Pat. She'll have to introduce you to Col. Chambers. Sorry, but this is important."

Haley left before Beth could respond.

As Beth faced the secretary, the woman's glance slid away, sinking down to her computer. Pat Dixon had obviously seen the bruises, but it was just as obvious she possessed enough tact not to prod.

Beth decided to appease her anyway. "I had a run-in with a wall."

Compassion gave way to open curiosity as Pat studied her face. "Self-defense lessons?"

Beth smiled wryly. "You could say that."

"Another reason why I'm perfectly happy sitting out here. You and Lt. Col. Summers, I swear. Did you two really meet jumping out of planes at Airborne School?"

"Yup."

Pat shook her head as she shifted her attention to the row of buttons on her desk phone. The one on the far right glowed red. "Colonel Chambers will be a few minutes. Coffee?" The compassion had returned, with a vengeance. "Forgive me for saying so, but you look like you could use some."

What Beth could use was sleep, a good twelve hours' worth. She'd settle for a ten minute power nap. But since neither seemed likely, another hit of caffeine couldn't hurt.

"Coffee would be great."

"Back in a flash."

Beth turned to study the framed photographs and citations lining the paneled walls of the office as the secretary departed. Most were command photos. Generals and colonels in alternating dress blues and army greens posed amid an impressive array of presidents, senators, representatives and foreign dignitaries. Interspersed were shots of Intel personnel in action in Korea, Vietnam, Grenada, Kuwait, Somalia, Bosnia—and, of course, Afghanistan, Iraq and Syria. Something about the crowded street view in the photo on the far right caught Beth's attention. The one beside the colonel's door.

Was it her imagination, or was that Embassy Tel-Aviv in the background?

Beth stepped in front of the door to get a better look. As she leaned closer, she caught the terse tones of a man struggling to keep his temper in check. A sharp whack followed, as if a palm had smacked something solid. And then—

"Damn it, I said, no. Under no circumstances should Elizabeth Brock be allowed near this case!" The unmistakable crash of a receiver returning home punctuated the assessment. Seconds later, the door wrenched open.

Beth jerked away from the photo as a rugged form filled the doorway, hijacking her view. Trapped, she automatically scanned the placket bisecting the man's camouflaged blouse. A black embroidered eagle greeted her. Above the right pocket, an even more damning nametape.

Figured.

She pushed onward, taking in the rigid set of the colonel's shoulders, the taut cords of his neck, and the clipped edge of his jaw, before coming to a halt at the healthy dose of ire still sparking and spitting within those dark brown eyes.

She knew exactly how it appeared. But what would be the point?

No excuses.

Beth extended her hand. "Colonel Chambers? Agent Elizabeth Brock, CID. I believe you're expecting me."

 

Chapter 2

She should've kept her hand to herself.

As the seconds ticked out, it became clear to Beth that Col. Chambers had no intention of accepting it, much less the accompanying introduction. Instead, that molten stare swept past Beth to scan the outer office. Upon noting the secretary's absence, the man simply turned back into his office and headed for the leather chair behind his desk. But he did speak.

"Enter."

Beth dropped her hand and complied. She closed the door as well. While he hadn't requested, much less ordered that action, she had a feeling her former CO was a lightweight in the ass-ripping stakes compared to this one. In anticipation of the coming installment, Beth centered herself in front of the desk and assumed her second modified attention of the day.

Instead of laying into her, Col. Chambers withdrew the uppermost folder from an overflowing inbox and began to read.

Several minutes into the ensuing silence, the button on the far left of the desk phone lit up and began to blink.

A call back from her mysterious benefactor?

If so, he or she had been consigned to Beth's fate, because Chambers chose to ignore that too.

If her reluctant boss had hoped to piss her off with a lengthy wait, he was in for disappointment. Better men than he had tried, some sporting multiple stars to this colonel's lonely eagle. That said, she should've taken the time to swallow another hit of ibuprofen upon leaving CID. The pills some nurse foisted on her as she'd dragged Major Bellingham's patched-up hide out of the ER had long since worn off. By the time Chambers had finished reading the file he'd retrieved and swapped it for another, the side of her jaw had begun to throb in time with the light on that phone.

Another minute and the caller gave up. Unfortunately, Beth's jaw hadn't.

As the colonel shifted to a second folder, her left arm piped in, reminding Beth of yet another whack Bellingham had gotten in. Worse, that same arm was attached to her briefcase. She should've dumped the steel case upon entering the office. But there was no retreating now.

For her—or apparently Chambers.

His stare still focused on the contents of the second file, he finally spoke. "You heard."

"I'd have had to have been deaf not to...sir."

The borderline insolence she'd infused at the end finally succeeded in gaining her boss' undivided attention. He looked up. Silence reigned once more as he studied the bruises on her face with an intensity that would've left Beth grateful he couldn't see the ones beneath her suit, had she not suspected one of the files he'd just read contained a summary of Major Bellingham's latest medical report...and hers.

"Agent Brock, it's no secret I have serious reservations about your assignment to this case—with or without your recent screw-up factored in." He tapped the folder splayed open on the desk, all but confirming her suspicion regarding its contents. "At any rate, I've made my objections known. You can understand why I'd prefer to hold off on filling you in until they've been decided upon."

"Colonel—"

"Agent, do you have any idea what INSCOM has coming down the pike?"

"If you're referring to Global Dawn, Lt. Col. Summers mentioned it."

"Outstanding. Global Dawn is precisely that. Global. In other words, we're about to have everyone and his first sergeant crawling up INSCOM's collective ass—with a microscope. And that will be in addition to the arduous, very real-world work this command accomplishes every second of every day to support the warfighters who have their necks on the line while under fire in Afghanistan, Syria, Africa, and countless other precarious hotspots on this godforsaken globe."

"I'm aware of that, sir."

"And are you also aware of the dog and pony show we're scheduled to execute for the President and his staff?"

"No, I wasn't."

He tamped out a thin smile. "Well, now, it appears you don't know everything after all, do you?"

What was his problem? First the emperor's wait, and now this? The man was clearly trying to provoke her. But why?

Colonel Ross' anger she understood. He was her CO, or had been until an hour ago. As such, her behavior had reflected upon his, at least in the eyes of the Army.

But why was Chambers so ticked?

He'd inferred he'd read the relevant reports. If so, he knew Major Bellingham had thrown the first severalpunches. Surely he hadn't expected her to just lie there and take the beating?

Or had he? Was Chambers a closet member of the Good Ol' Boys club? Though she ran into them less and less, they still existed, especially among older soldiers. Those who believed no woman belonged in this man's army, and if one chose to remain, she got what she deserved.

Or was there a more nefarious explanation? Were Bellingham and Chambers friends?

Had this man blown her cover?

Granted, this was the first time they'd met. But that didn't mean he hadn't known of her. Chambers was a colonel in Military Intelligence, a profession that not only subsisted, but thrived on secrets. Was it possible he'd abused that trust?

While undercover, she'd worked out of Major Bellingham's office. Two mornings ago, the toad had not only bragged of an eagle-sporting mentor across post, Bellingham had insinuated that he and his colonel buddy tag-teamed women on occasion.

If Bellingham had told the truth and this man had joined in his sick games, Chambers had gotten his wish. She was finally pissed.

But it didn't matter. At least not visibly. Nor would her new boss succeed in getting a rise out of her.

Colonel Chambers wasn't Major Bellingham. And this wasn't some freshly-painted kitchen.

All she had to do was picture that split cheek and swollen jaw. Those wrapped ribs. That shattered arm. Deep down, she'd always known she was capable of inflicting every one of those injuries...and worse. It was that knowledge—fear even—that had enabled her to absorb the bulk of her wrath time and again, even when she knew it deserved to be vented.

She might not understand why her control had finally snapped, but she did know she could never let it happen again.

Beth stared at the citations behind the colonel's desk. The sheer number of frames gave her a number to focus on. To add to, multiply and divide. Usually, by the time she reached square roots, her anger had begun to diffuse. Not now. The throbbing in her face, abdomen and limbs conspired to keep it stoked.

The familiar crutch had cleared a portion of her brain, however. Because a name had resurfaced. The one from the security desk downstairs: Special Agent Nathaniel Ronin...with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives. Given Ronin's particular specialty at ATF, one hell of a suspicion regarding the nature of her current case had surfaced too.

Beth was about to give voice to both when the man in front of her finally tired of her own stiff silence.

He sighed. "Agent Brock, I have serious concerns about your temper as well as your ability to control it. As I said, I've forwarded those concerns up the chain. I simply don't have time to hold your leash. Neither does my staff."

She might not intend on venting her ire, but it was past time to confront his. "Sir, I resent the implication that I can't do my job." And that was putting it mildly.

"Let's get one thing clear right now. I'm not implying; I'm stating. You can't hold yourself in check. Feel free to argue differently, but your face proves otherwise."

"My reputation—"

"Is in tatters. But I'll address it, anyway. This may come as a shock to you, Agent, but you don't leave a hole when you pull your finger out of a cup of coffee. We don't need you. I don't need you."

Really. "Well, sir, you need someone."

An unholy light entered the man's dark brown stare, igniting the amber within. She could've sworn Chambers intended to let loose, but a split second later, his brain must've caught up with the professional warning she'd infused within her comeback because his jaw snapped shut, cutting off what was bound to have been a blistering tirade.

He nodded curtly. "I'm listening."

Wise choice. "Where should I start? How about with the two-second hustle I got at the front gate—without an ID—right around the time your entire compound should've been locked down tighter than a monkey's ass."

Once again, she'd garnered the man's undivided attention. It was in the way he calmly closed the file on his desk and returned it to his inbox. In the way he slowly slotted his pen in the brass holder attached to his nameplate. And in the way he carefully clasped his hands atop his blotter as he leaned forward to zero in on her stare. "And how would you know how tight my ass should be right now?"

There was never going to be a better moment.

Beth ignored the deep muscle bruise in her right thigh as she too leaned into the desk. "Why don't you ask your sergeant major? Hell, why don't you ask every member of that braying huddle within your so-called security station? You might as well. They've managed to broadcast your situation across the entire lobby."

"Explain."

"Agent Ronin? Special Agent Nathaniel Ronin with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives? One of your MPs took a call from him earlier. Apparently, Agent Ronin was rather annoyed at being kept waiting. I should imagine so. It took me a bit to place his name. But once I did—along with the fact that Ronin is one of ATF's top explosive experts—it made sense."

"I imagine it did."

"Where'd you find the bomb, colonel? In the mailroom? In the cafeteria? In the general's office?" She leaned closer. "In the skiff you plan on showing off to the President?"

She'd bet her badge Chambers played a deadly game of poker. Because he was good. Very good. Not only did his pupils remain steady, he leaned back in his chair as if he was dining with an old friend at the chow hall, instead of dodging the cold, ugly truth. He even tented his fingers and offered up another smile, this one damned near genuine. But he couldn't disguise the tick beyond his right hand. The one that was almost—but not quite—hidden beneath the edge of that clipped jaw.

Like each and every swollen lump Major Bellingham had inflicted upon her frame, that tick was now all but throbbing.

Instead of calling him on the tell, Beth tucked it away. Someday she'd need it. And it wouldn't be for a game of cards.

The colonel lowered his hands to the desk, but his smile remained. "What makes you so sure it wasn't merely a threat?"

"Cut the crap, sir. You and I both know I wouldn't be here on a threat." That, and the fact that he hadn't laughed in her face proved her hunch was sound. "You found one all right, and I'll bet you the whole damned Infantry it was live."

He shrugged. "Even if it was, it wouldn't change anything, since you won't be the agent assigned to investigate."

The light on the desk phone lit up again and flagged for attention.

Beth didn't care if that call was from her benefactor. She was finished playing games. Until she heard otherwise, this case was hers, reluctant CO be damned. She thumped her briefcase onto the edge of that same CO's desk and popped the locks. Withdrawing the folder containing her orders, she added it to the stack in his inbox. "Sir, your objections are noted. But the fact remains, I'm the agent who's assigned now. And I'd like to get started. Unless you have anything further to add?"

She was certain he did. She was just as certain she didn't want to hear it.

The man offered her an arctic nod instead. "Very well. Open your investigation. My secretary will tell you where you can reach Major Brock. I believe you and the major are already acquainted?"

She should've known that was coming. "Yes."

He waited for more. She refused to give him the satisfaction. Unfortunately, he appeared as unfazed with her reticence as Beth wished she felt.

"Excellent. Then I'll expect your initial report this afternoon. Again, see my secretary about a time. You're dismissed."

Beth offered her own chilly nod, then retrieved her briefcase and executed an about face. She crossed the room and reached for the door.

"Agent Brock?"

She released the knob. Turned back.

"Feel free to document any further lapses in security you may run across while you're here at INSCOM. I'm sure your replacement will appreciate it."

Beth managed another nod and swung around to push through the door. The moment it closed behind her, two things became clear. One, the secretary had returned to the outer office. And, two, Pat had not only heard her boss' parting promise, her motherly sympathy had kicked into overdrive.

Beth ignored the latter as she accepted the Styrofoam cup as she reached the woman's desk.

"I'm afraid it's already cooled. I'd be happy to—"

"Not a problem." It wouldn't be the first time Beth had chased prescription-strength ibuprofen with tepid caffeine and it probably wouldn't be the last. Not to mention the growing cacophony of pain had her downright desperate.

Coffee in hand, Beth departed the outer office and retraced her steps to the elevator. She entered and waited for the doors to close before dropping her briefcase and retrieving two pills from the bottle she'd slipped inside her pocket earlier that morning, blessing the ER nurse's tenaciousness as she followed the pills with the contents of the cup.

The secretary was right. Stone cold.

Beth pressed the back of her head against the elevator wall as the lift lurched into motion, wincing as she identified yet another bruise.

What in God's name was wrong with her? She'd nearly lost her cool not once, but twice in twenty-four hours.

Focus.

What was it about Chambers that had allowed him to get under her skin so thoroughly within moments of their meeting? Whatever the cause, the less she saw of the SOB the better. Reservations her ass. Chambers had made up his mind without even requesting her side of the story. Which made her wonder all the more if he and Bellingham had history.

It would explain her silent observer at CID.

The elevator whined to a halt, forcing Beth to abandon that mystery as the doors opened. Retrieving her briefcase from the floor, she dumped the Styrofoam cup in a nearby trash can, then headed for the security station.

Sergeant Major Ordunez was waiting, and wary, as she approached. Was it her imagination, or had the man's towering physique lost a few inches?

Colonel Chambers, most likely.

Ordunez nodded. "Ma'am."

Beth sighed. "Okay, Sergeant Major, let's start by clearing the air. My intention was not to put your or anyone else's hind end in a sling." Frankly, hers ached enough for the both of them.

The sergeant major took a moment to absorb the sincere apology before nodding again. This latest carried the distinct clip of respect. "Understood. While we're at it...about earlier. There appeared to be some—ah—question as to who was actually assigned the case."

She'd just bet there was. She had a pretty good idea who'd voiced it too.

Beth shot the MP a tight smile. "Yes, well, now that we've settled that, let's get down to business." She hefted her stainless-steel briefcase on the counter and opened it. "I'll need a timeline of events, an exact location of where the explosive device was located, a list of everyone who had access to the area, as well as a list of who responded to the discovery of the device. I'll also need the name of the soldier who phoned ordinance disposal—"

"That last would be me."

Beth froze, her fingers still reaching for one of the pens tucked into the upper pocket of her case.

That voice. Behind her.

It took a moment to realize the sergeant major was staring at her along with the other three MPs behind the counter, eagerly anticipating her reaction.

She forced her features to remain impassive as she calmly slid a pen from its pocket, then carefully re-latched the briefcase before she turned.

"Hello, Beth."

"Doug."

Her ex-husband studied their rapt audience. "Why don't we head to my office? Everything you'll need is there—and you'll be able to review it in private."

At the last word Beth felt, rather than heard, the MPs execute a collective about face. "Sounds good."

Doug retrieved her briefcase before Beth could and waited for her to fall into step beside him. They walked in silence by mutual consent until they reached his office. He pushed the door open and waited for her to precede him. Once inside, they automatically squared off in front of an oversized metal desk.

Evidently, nothing had changed. Least of all Doug. His short, blond hair was still bleached generously from the sun, his eyes still that intense shade of slate blue, the cleft in his chin and square jaw both still set in stone.

And they still couldn't seem to talk.

"Coffee?"

"No, thanks." She was swimming in it as it was.

Doug tipped his head to the name plate fused to the upper edge of her briefcase and smiled that awkward half-smile of his as he relinquished the handle. "You kept the name."

She shrugged. "Had to. Took the Army forever to recognize the change the first time around."

"Well, I don't mind."

"I didn't ask."

"Jesus, Beth, can't you at least be civil? It's been two years since we've seen each other."

She nodded. "I remember. I also remember seeing your dick in some other woman—in my bed."

"And you're showing a hell of a lot more emotion now than you did then, aren't you?"

She pushed forth another shrug. "Don't let it go to your head. I've had a lousy day." Preceded by a lousier night.

"So I've heard."

If he was waiting for her to take the bait, he was in for a long, empty haul. She didn't care if Chambers had posted her actions on the Pentagon’s Twitter account that morning, she wasn't confiding in anyone, let alone her ex.

Doug finally sighed. "Are you okay?"

"Peachy."

"Nothing broken?"

She shook her head, suppressing the wince it caused. Hopefully the pills would kick in soon.

"And your...career?"

"That remains to be seen."

The silence stretched out again.

Beth waited. She had no intention of letting Doug off the hook. If he wanted the past out in the open, he could drag it there himself. Frankly, she was curious to see if his spine had hardened enough during the intervening years. When he leaned back against his desk and anchored his fingers beneath the edge, she knew it had.

Not bad. She didn't think he'd had it in him.

"I guess I should have called when I got my orders. I wanted to. I meant to. I mean, we were bound to run into each other—but, uh..."

Doug's spine might've hardened, but not by much. It would take all afternoon for him to spit it out at this rate.

Beth sighed. "How's Lisa?"

"What? You knew?"

"Your mother told me."

"My mother?"

"Hmm. Apparently, she doesn't like her new daughter-in-law. Fancy that. Perhaps she knows something I don't. Then again, perhaps she knows something I do."

"I guess we deserve that."

"I guess you do."

"Beth—"

A series of raps on the door cut him off. A riot of russet curls poked through as they turned. The rest of Haley followed. "Am I interrupting?"

Doug shook his head. "Not at all, ma'am. Agent Brock and I were just catching up. Did you need me?"

Haley shook her head. "But Col. Jackson does—ASAP. I can take over here."

Doug had the nerve to appear relieved as he turned from Haley to her. "Lieutenant Colonel Summers can fill you in as well as I can." He tapped the stack of folders on his desk. "Copies of everything you'll need to begin are on top." His nod included them both as he opened the door. "Ma'am, Agent Brock."

Haley's brows skirted her hairline as she whirled around. "Agent Brock? What was that about?"

Beth shrugged. "Welcome to the new Doug."

"I think I liked the old one better."

"Me too." And that wasn't saying much.

"Does he know you know?"

Beth shook her head. "I started to tell him before you came in." She blew out her breath. "Maybe it's better this way."

"Better for whom? Him? Her? Beth, be reasonable. You're bound to run into them. Sure, you can haunt the local grocery store instead of the commissary, avoid the exchange in favor of the mall, but what are you going to do when you run into them at the post hospital some morning?"

Beth rounded the desk and slumped into its chair. Her ex-husband's chair. She picked up the photo from the corner of the blotter and stared at the beaming faces...and the tiny baby bundled between. Her ex-husband's baby.

The baby she hadn't had.

The baby she never would.

Beth plunked the frame down and pushed it away. "If it happens, I'll deal with it. But let's face it, I'm not likely to end up in pediatrics."

"Doug is such an ass."

"True. But he's an ignorant ass, so cut him some slack. I have." She leaned back in the chair as Haley hooked a camouflaged thigh on the edge of the desk. "Speaking of asses..."

Haley held up a hand, cutting her off. "I know. Pat filled me in. What the devil happened with Col. Chambers? I leave you alone for two seconds and you manage to piss off the one man you can't afford to annoy."

"Don't screw up."

"What?"

"Just repeating CID's parting words of wisdom." More or less. "Looks like they didn't sink in."

Her friend smiled. "Well, don't let it get to you. He'll cool off. Just give it time. We've all been on edge, even before the bomb was discovered. Especially Chambers—and he doesn't let off steam like most. Like you."

"What do you mean, like me?"

"Don't get defensive. I'm just making an observation. The two of you are a little too similar, I think. It's probably why you guys got off on the wrong foot."

She couldn't speak for Chambers, but the reason she couldn't stand the man was because he assumed she was incompetent. That, and she was now wondering who he hung out with on his off-duty hours.

Beth snatched the top folder from the stack on Doug's desk and slapped it on the blotter in front of her. "Trust me, Chambers and I have nothing in common."

"Sure you do."

Beth paused in the middle of opening the folder. She shouldn't ask. Hell, she shouldn't even be curious.

But she was. "Like what?"

Haley pointed to that painfully perfect photograph. "Rotten marriages for one."

"Oh, and this he confided in you?"

Chambers didn't seem the type to cry on anyone's shoulder, let alone those of his soldiers, no matter how slender and petite they were. Unless that was part of the tag-teaming Major Bellingham had mentioned...

"Of course he didn't confide in me. But it's common knowledge. Rumor has it, his wife walked out on him. He took it hard. Six years later and he's still running stag to all the mandatory fun functions. According to the gossip mill, he's not getting any on the side either—civilian or military."

Six years without sex? "Might as well be sixty."

"You're telling me."

Beth blinked, embarrassed she'd voiced the words out loud. Her humiliation intensified as Haley winked.

"So's two-and-a-half. Maybe when Col. Hennisey gets back and Chambers is no longer in your chain-of-command..."

"Get real, Haley. He's still a colonel." And a bastard. Though if the gossip mongers hadn't been able to match him with any women since his divorce, there was good chance he wasn't Bellingham's wingman. Activity as twisted as that was hard to keep beneath the radar—at least completely.

Relief set in, followed by a fresh round of suspicion. If harassing and assaulting women in uniform wasn't Chambers' thing, why had he been so pissed to discover she'd been assigned the bombing case?

More motivated than ever, Beth opened the folder and began skimming the collection of scrawls Doug had labeled crime scene notes, hoping Haley would take the hint.

She did, moving away from the edge of the desk to claim the spare chair. "It was just a thought." Her friend shrugged as Beth snagged the second folder marked Initial Incident Report. "Anyway, give it some time. As soon as Chambers sees you in action, he'll be forced to admit you're the best one for the job. Besides, I think he's still rattled but won't admit it."

That got her attention. "Rattled?"

Chambers? If that was rattled, she'd hate to see the man composed.

"He didn't tell you?"

Beth shook her head. "Chambers didn't tell me squat. Neither has anyone else for that matter."

"Wow. You must have really gotten under his skin."

"I'm going to get under yours, if you don't tell me."

"Okay, okay." Haley tapped the report, drawing Beth's gaze to Doug's handwritten notes. "I'm sure it's in there somewhere, but the device was secreted in an oversized padded envelope. It was postmarked from the Pentagon and addressed to INSCOM's commanding general. And since Chambers is filling in for the chief of staff—"

"Shit!"

"You're telling me. I was the first one in the room when Chambers called out. You should've seen his face."

Beth blinked down at the tiny annotation scrawled in the left column of the page. "It's not that."

It was something much, much worse.

"What is it?"

Beth tucked the folder beneath her arm as she stood. "I've gotta run. No time to explain. Bye."

She hit the door in two seconds flat, the elevator in ten.

Make an appointment with my secretary.

The hell she would. Global Dawn preparations or not, her new CO would be taking her questions, and he'd better have answers. An explanation. Because if the information she'd just read was accurate, Col. Chambers wasn't a witness in this investigation, he was at the top of her suspect list.

*****

 End of Medal of Dishonor Excerpt

Copyright © 2001 by Candace Phillips Irvin