Chapter Nine
Phillip couldn’t string two coherent thoughts together. Fortunately, he didn’t have to. Ian did all the talking.
The child sat on the floor near Phillip’s feet and scratched Oscar’s neck. He watched the boy with a sense of amazement. A son. My son. Ian babbled on about his trip, probably to cover his nervousness. Phillip remembered he had done the same thing as a child.
How could she do this to me?
The question screamed to be answered. Just thinking about it made Phillip’s heart twist with an indescribable pain. Losing Rowan all those years ago had been nothing compared to this.
He feathered his fingers across Ian’s shoulder, trying in vain to quell their shaking. Seeing the child explained Rowan’s association with Kemp through Little League, her need to have a van, the crayon melted against the side of the seat of the vehicle.
My son. She had stolen his son from him, denied him the joy of watching him grow in her belly, of seeing him born, holding him as a baby, being a part of his life, of truly being a father. And she would have continued to do so if she hadn’t gotten herself into trouble. She would have continued to lie, knowing full well where to find him, never giving him the opportunity to know his son.
With each thought, Phillip’s eyes teared. Another alien event. He didn’t cry. Men didn’t cry, but that was exactly what he wanted to do. Cry. Shout. Rage. Take Rowan’s pretty little neck and—
“Is your undercover job done now?”
“My what? Oh, yes. All finished.”
“Mom said you were very brave. Don’t worry. She never told me about your job. I guessed, then she had to tell me.”
At least she had told Ian something, no matter how ridiculous, and didn’t let Ian think badly of him or pretend he was dead. “Yes, it’s all very secret.”
“I understand. You can trust me. I’m real good at keeping secrets.”
Obviously a trait he learned from his mother.
“Can you come home and live with me and Mom now?”
“We’ll have to see about that. But I’m back in your life to stay and we’ll be able to spend lots of time together.”
“That’s good. Your dog, too?”
“Our dog.”
“Great. I’ve always wanted to have a dog but we move a lot. Mom said she would worry about a dog if we had to go overseas and couldn’t take him. She said it wasn’t fair to leave a member of the family behind, ’cause that’s what we might have to do.”
Ian was right. Moving overseas with a pet was a problem and Phillip was a little ashamed of himself for not having considered the issue before. What would happen to Oscar if he got orders to Okinawa or Korea? Again, he’d thought only of himself and the fun of owning a pet, not the pet’s welfare if he received orders to a far-off Marine base.
It was like Rowan to plan for the future. He had never known her to be less than precise. With some sick realization, he wondered if his father had been right about her all along. Was his share in the Stuart fortune too big a temptation? Would Rowan have done anything to get a piece of it? Perhaps get pregnant to keep him at her side? His disinheritance from the family fortune had been about the time she had deserted him and their relationship.
Phillip shook his head. No. As angry as he was, he couldn’t believe that. He had been as responsible for Ian’s conception as she—too lazy to make a trip to the drug store. A Stuart grandchild would have been blessed with everything and anything money could buy, whether or not Phillip inherited. It made no sense. None of this made any sense.
Was this all a part of some need for revenge because he hadn’t contacted her when he’d enrolled in Officers’ Candidate School all those years before? Or because he’d failed to appear for James’ funeral—even though he’d never gotten the message in the first place? At the time, he’d thought their relationship stronger than that.
Yet, if revenge had been her motive, why hadn’t she bothered to turn the child against him? A child’s hatred was the most potent weapon a mother could wield. The more he thought about it, the more questions he created.
“What’s our dog’s name?”
Phillip smiled. At last a question he could answer without much thought. “Oscar.”
“What kind of dog is he? I’ve never seen a silver dog before.”
“He’s a Weimaraner. They’re originally from Germany, bred to hunt and retrieve.” Phillip rubbed one of Oscar’s silky ears. “The only things Oscar retrieves now are cans out of my garbage pail.”
“I think he likes me.”
“I know he does, and I do, too.”
As if to reply, Oscar flicked his tongue across Ian’s face then gave Phillip a lopsided puppy grin when Ian giggled in response.
How old is Ian? Eight, of course. If Phillip really thought about it, he could probably figure out the exact time he was conceived.
Tall for his age, lean. He was tan, his reddish-blond hair almost golden from days in the sun. All boy, judging from his appearance after the camping trip. He was filthy.
Phillip ruffled the boy’s hair. “You could use a bath.”
Ian’s blue eyes brightened. “So could you.”
Glancing down at his sweat-soaked workout gear, Phillip had to laugh. “You’re right about that. Let’s go to my room and clean up.”
“I don’t have any clean clothes.”
Of course he didn’t. He’d just come back from camping.
“We could go to my house,” Ian suggested.
Rowan wouldn’t like that in the least and Phillip knew it. He narrowed his eyes. Why should I care what she likes?
“Good idea. Let’s get your backpack and the house key from your mom.” He grabbed a clean change of clothes from his locker and grinned down at the boy. His son.
Ian sprang forward and tossed his arms around Phillip’s waist. “I’m so happy you’re finally home. I love you.”
Those damnable tears popped into his eyes and he wrapped a tight hug around his boy. He had never expected to hear those words from a child, at least not anytime soon. Yet he found a void in his life suddenly filled.
“I love you, Ian.” No hesitation. No question. He loved Ian with a fierce joy that made him tremble with its force.
Ian hopped back, a broad, impish smile cutting his features—a smile very much like Rowan’s. Their child.
Phillip bit back the urge to smash his fist against the wall. Damn her.
“Let’s go.” Ian hopped to the door. “I can’t wait for you to see my room. Come on, Oscar.”
Oscar tagged faithfully by Ian’s side, letting Phillip follow in their wake.
Rowan felt like throwing up. In the fifteen-minute eternity since Phillip and Ian had walked into the other building, she’d cried gallons of tears. They showed no sign of letting up any time soon.
The unraveling of her secret had caused a sensation in the office. Not that everyone hadn’t already been aware of the relationship that obviously existed between her son and her newly acquired defense counsel, but most had never guessed Phillip hadn’t had a clue about Ian.
She’d heard the gasps of shock at that pivotal moment. Whispered comments had followed. Then there had been the looks—questioning, accusing and condemning.
“Here they come.”
At Ellen’s words, Rowan leaped to her feet and peeked out of the window. Phillip and Ian were coming from his office in the other building. They crossed the basketball court between the structures and walked in the door to Legal Services.
“He looks like he’s calmed down.”
Fat lot Ellen knew. Phillip’s smile was for Ian, but the ice-cold fury in his eyes was reserved for her.
He slowed his pace to match Ian’s stride while Oscar trotted faithfully alongside his new playmate. As they neared her office, Ian dropped Phillip’s hand and skipped ahead.
“Mom, me and Dad need the key to the house. We’re gonna take a bath and I’m gonna show him my room.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Sweetheart, I don’t think…”
Phillip walked very close to Rowan and kept his voice pitched low, so as not to alarm Ian in any way. “Give me the key, Rowan.”
His tone left no room for argument. Resigned to the hole she’d dug for herself, she retrieved the key and placed it in Phillip’s outstretched hand. He snapped his fingers over it.
“Phillip, I—”
He cut her off with one swift slice of his hand. “Don’t.” He turned to Ian. “Why don’t you get Oscar settled in the car?”
Ian smiled. “Okay. Where’s my—?”
Before he could ask the question, Ellen handed him his backpack and scooted him out of the door.
Once he was out of earshot, Phillip whipped around to Rowan, all pretense of civility gone. “I’ll deal with you later. You can count on that. And let me give a little warning. If you even so much as think of leaving this base to follow us, I’ll have you back in that detention cell so fast it will make your head spin.”
He pivoted on his heel and marched away. Rowan took a step and would have run after him had Ellen not held her back.
“Not now, sweetie. It’s going to be bad, no matter how you look at it. At least you have a hope that when he’s ready to have a piece of your hide, it’ll be in private.”
Rowan moved to the door, watching Ian and Phillip cross the now-empty court and walk to the parking lot. So much the same.
Ian’s eyes widened at the Mustang’s white leather interior. “Wow, those seats are cool.” His voice carried across the short distance.
“They sure are.” Phillip’s voice carried as well. He flashed her a dark glare. She braced herself for what he might say next.
“But I have one rule. No crayons in my car.” He helped Ian into the backseat then slipped into the driver’s seat.
It was all Rowan could do to keep from following, but she knew Phillip well enough to know he did not give threats lightly. One foot off this base and she’d be behind bars.
She watched them drive away. The license plate caught her gaze, bringing more tears. Lil Red.
It had been nothing more than a shambles held together by rust and will when they’d found it all those years ago. A hint of the original red color had remained and Rowan had dubbed it ‘the little red car’. She had been by Phillip’s side when he’d ordered the personalized tags, with him when Donald had raged at the rusted heap leaking oil on his pristine brick driveway, had sat enthralled while Phillip had planned each step of restoration then she’d actually crawled under the car and helped him with the work.
Now look at it. Another reminder of the years lost. No, the years stolen. She had to find a way to make Phillip understand that.
Ellen squeezed a hug around her shoulders. “It was inevitable. Too many people knew. Someone was bound to slip up sooner or later. Maybe you should call your mom.”
Rowan shook her head. The last thing she needed at the moment was an I-told-you-so lecture.
* * * *
Phillip hoped he would be able to find his way back to base after negotiating all the turns and back roads it took to get to Rowan’s house. According to Ian, they lived in the boonies—a charming phrase for ‘out in the middle of nowhere’.
He should have guessed as much. With Rowan’s uneasiness about closed-in places, living in town or on base wouldn’t hold much appeal. As it was, he was surprised at how many houses there actually were out of town.
“There it is.” Ian pointed excitedly at a turnoff. “Where the trees are.”
Philip jolted off the pavement onto a dirt road and winced at the cloud of dust and pings of rocks as they bounced off the undercarriage of the Mustang.
So much for a clean car, not to mention the paint job.
Rowan’s two-story house was on a rise about a mile down the road. Even from this distance, Phillip saw light glinting off the windows of the small two-story, which surely offered a one-hundred-eighty-degree view. An abundance of trees and other greenery provided a welcome break from the stark landscape and shade from the desert sun but not enough encroachment to make Rowan feel shut in.
A twinge of guilt hit him at the memory of his threat to have her locked up. It had been a dirty tactic. In retrospect, he couldn’t say that he really would have carried it out.
Who was he fooling? He’d meant it. She deserved to suffer after the lies she’d told. He longed to see her disabled by panic and fear, to crawl on her hands and knees and beg him…beg him to have her released. His revenge would be in saying no. The small fantasy gave him a modicum of satisfaction.
Pulling to a stop before the house scattered the birds, ground squirrels and jackrabbits lounging in the welcome shade near the front entrance. Ian shoved open the door before Phillip could stop him. In less time than it took to blink, Oscar was out of the car, hell-bent on chasing down the closest offenders, barking madly.
“Oscar, no!”
The dog charged on, plowing through rows of carefully manicured pansies, marigolds and geraniums. A bed of irises became casualties of his zeal. With each pound of the dog’s big paws, flower after flower was ripped from its bed. Finally, free of the obstacles of civilization, Oscar tore off across open landscape.
Chasing him was out of the question. Phillip knew that from experience. Oscar would come back when he was done romping, successful or not.
He surveyed the damage left in his wake. Emma’s garden was destroyed.
“Your grandmother is going to kill me when she sees what Oscar did to her garden.”
“That’s not Grandma’s garden. It’s mom’s.” Ian pointed to the house on the next acreage. “Grandma lives there. The people died and it was for sale, so she bought it.” He lowered his tone to that of a conspirator. “Mom says she thinks Grandma might have a boyfriend. We see a car there from time to time.”
It was hard to imagine Rowan gardening and harder still to think of Emma with anyone but James. He had to forcibly recall that James was dead and had been for… “Did you know your Grandpa McKinley?”
Ian shook his head. “He died before I was born.”
That would explain why James hadn’t called to tell him about Ian. He never would have stood for this nonsense had he been alive. It still didn’t excuse Emma—and certainly not Rowan.
“Shouldn’t we go after Oscar?” Ian asked.
“He’ll come back when he’s ready.” And not a minute sooner. “What we do need to do is try to fix your mom’s garden.”
No sense in setting a bad example for his son. The very air Rowan breathed might infuriate him, but he still had to show the boy a good example.
Ian retrieved a hand trowel and shovel from a shed behind the house while Phillip tried his best to right the broken stems on the irises. It was hopeless, but at least the bulbs were intact and would grow back. He’d try to save what he could of the broken flowers for a vase. Oscar was simply going to have to learn that this was not acceptable. The trouble was catching him in the act before he took off. Phillip sighed. Time for dog obedience school—again.
As if sensing Phillip’s thoughts, Oscar trotted back to the house, tongue dragging, a cockeyed grin on his face. With no hesitation, he plopped down in the cool dirt of the rejuvenated flowerbed and rolled.
“Oscar, no!”
The dog looked at Phillip as if he were crazy. Ian grabbed his collar and tugged him to his feet. “Come on, Oscar. Let’s get a drink of water.”
Visions of dirty paws on a carpet panicked Phillip. Before he could stop him, Ian had the door open. Oscar slipped through it like he owned the place. Phillip sprinted after them, expecting disaster. Oscar sprawled onto the cool tile inside the door then watched adoringly as Ian came back from the kitchen with a bowl of water.
Tension eased from Phillip’s shoulders. The house was decorated for living, not for show—unlike his own white-carpeted childhood home.
Practicality and comfort were visible everywhere he looked, from the tiled floors at the entryway to the brown Berber carpet in the living room beyond. Even Rowan’s furniture was designed to hide the rigors of childhood.
To his right, a staircase led to the upper level. Light poured down from above, inviting him to take a peek.
“That’s Mom’s,” Ian said. “You can take a bath up there if you want. I always use the one down here.”
Phillip smiled. “That’s okay. I’ll wait until you’re done.”
“Okay, you can put your stuff here in Grandma’s old room.” Ian pointed down the hall. “And here’s mine, if you want to look around.” He tossed his backpack in then darted into an adjoining bathroom.
Phillip wandered around the house, studying the knickknacks, the books on the shelves, the magazines on the coffee table. He felt lost, out of place—and why shouldn’t he? He was never meant to be here. An intruder.
A small glass bird on a high shelf caught his eye and he smiled involuntarily. She still has it.
Rowan had seen the golden wren for sale at a small Georgetown antique store. It had been their first date and Phillip had noticed her lingering over an object in a corner of the shop. He remembered the delight in her eyes when she’d cupped the fragile ornament in her palms—much too expensive for her limited budget. He’d gone back to the store the next day and purchased it for her.
Phillip ran his finger over the bird’s outstretched wing tip. His feelings for Rowan during those first days of their relationship came flooding back—the excitement, the agony of each look, each touch.
He sighed. Then she’d cut herself out of his life, leaving a gaping wound in his heart. She had also taken away his unborn son. Phillip sighed again and scanned the rest of the shelves.
The photo albums on the bottom shelf of the oak bookcase caught his eye. He recognized a few of them from his and Rowan’s time together. At least that hadn’t changed about her.
She was meticulous in recording each facet of her life—photos, ticket stubs, brochures. Every event, every experience in her life could be found in those albums.
In college he had laughed at her obsession. Now he treasured it. In those volumes lay the key to the years he had missed with Ian.
With his index finger, he started to pull off the album most likely to contain Ian’s history, the one beside the last volume he was familiar with. Then he paused. He wanted to savor each memory, to curl up with Ian for a detailed explanation. He couldn’t very well do so until they were both cleaned up.
Phillip glanced at the stairway leading to Rowan’s room. It’s only a shower. What does it matter? He’d already lost eight years of his son’s life. He didn’t want to waste one second more. After snatching up his change of clothes, he took the stairs two at a time, determined to beat Ian back to the living room.
He wasn’t prepared for the sight of Rowan’s room and the emotions it evoked. He told himself that it was a room—nothing more, nothing less. Decorated in muted tones of peaches and cream, the windows opened on two sides to encompass the surrounding desert landscape. It was a haven. A sanctuary. A place for lovers.
A glance toward her king-size bed turned his stomach into knots. How many men had lain with her in that bed? How many had tasted her sweetness? Had she ever once called out his name in those moments of passion? Ever thought of him? Ever longed for him as he had her?
The answer was clear—no, not if she could deny him his child. Oddly, he recalled once more his father warning him of such a thing. It galled him to think his old man may have been right all along.
“I’ll be damned if I’ll ever let him know that.”
There was no sense mooning over the past. It had been over between the two of them long ago, especially for her. He moved on to the adjoining bathroom. Another shock hit him.
A garden tub greeted him the minute he stepped into the room—big enough for two, set in an alcove surrounded by beautiful potted plants. It was an oasis in the middle of the desert. Their tub. A long-ago dream for their future together. Sweet regret mixed with bitterness.
“Why, Rowan? I don’t understand.”
At that point, he didn’t want to. After slinging his tote bag to the tile floor, he stripped down and stepped into the adjacent shower stall.
Don’t look or think or feel. Just shower and get the hell out of here.
Memories still invaded, twisting his heart and making him ache for what was and could never be again.
“Damn. Damn. Damn.” He twisted the cold water on full blast and let it shock his system back to normal. It didn’t help. In fact, he was beginning to wonder if he was ever going to be normal again.
He grabbed the soap, worked up a good lather on his washcloth and rubbed it against his chest. The scent of lavender enveloped him. Perfumed soap. He was washing with perfumed soap—just what he needed to make his day complete. Hopefully, no one would notice if he rinsed until he was a prune.
* * * *
“This is when we went to Legoland.” Ian pointed to the picture then delved into a rambling dissertation on all they had seen and done. “And this is when me and Mom went hiking in Joshua Tree National Park.” There was a beautiful shot of the two of them on top of a giant boulder.
“You climbed up there?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t really very hard.” Ian paused to consider a moment. “Well, Mom helped me over the really high rocks. We go hiking a lot.”
“What about Grandma?” The unasked question— Who took the picture?
“Oh, Grandma doesn’t go. She hates hiking.”
“Then, who took the picture?” Another unasked question— What man took the picture?
“Ellen did. She hates hiking, too, but Timmy wanted to go, so she went with us. Timmy is my best friend. We’re in Cub Scouts together.”
A car pulled to a stop before the house. “Grandma’s here.” Ian jumped down and raced for the door. He tugged it open before Emma could reach it. “Grandma, come look. My dad’s home!”
Her eyes brightened with Ian’s excitement as she hugged him. “I heard. Mom called me.”
Oscar trotted up for attention.
She laughed and scratched him behind the ears. “What a pretty boy you are.”
Oscar was in love. He immediately dropped to the tile floor and offered his belly for scratching.
Traitor.
“That’s Oscar. He’s mine and my dad’s dog.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her farther into the room. “Come on, Grandma. Mom has to work this weekend. Dad made us dinner. We’re having spaghetti and meatballs. I helped.”
“It smells delicious.” Her gaze fell on Phillip and her smile faltered. “Phillip.”
“Emma.” He set aside the album. “Dinner’s about ready. Would you like a salad?”
“That would be nice. Thank you.”
Polite and correct. What else could they say with Ian present? It made for an awkward meal. He watched the time tick by until it was bedtime for Ian then exercised another parental right which had been denied him. He read a story and tucked him in.
“I love you, Dad. I’m glad you’re here with us now,” Ian said with a sleepy smile.
“Me, too. I love you, Ian. Have a good sleep.” A final tuck, hug and kiss then he eased the door shut and marched down the hall to confront Emma.
She raised a hand before he could draw breath to begin. “This is between the two of you. Leave me out of it.”
“That’s not good enough, Emma. I thought we were closer than that. You and James were like parents to me. You know that. How could you—?”
“James was dead, Phillip. It was all I could do to survive that. Each day was another day barely getting by, another day without the love of my life, another day of tears and misery. As I said, this is between you and Rowan. I’m the grandmother, not the referee.”
“I don’t understand, Emma. I loved her! How could she—?”
Emma shook her head. “Stop, Phillip. There’s more to this mess than any one of us knows. You need to talk it out from start to finish with Rowan and hear her side of the story.”
“Fine. I’ll take it up with Rowan.” He brushed by her to leave but got no farther than three steps when he saw Zach waiting for him in the living room with Mike Connors.
“What the hell do you two want?”
“Thought you could use a beer,” Zach said.
“Leave me alone.” He tried to push between them.
Zach snagged his arm. “I said…we thought you could use a beer.”
Phillip jerked free. “Sounds like I’m going to have one whether I want it or not.”
“Hey, this is me. Come on. I know how you feel.”
“You have no idea how I feel,” Phillip ground out through bared teeth.
Zach held his place. “True, but I have a good imagination, always very important for an attorney.” He grinned and raised one eyebrow in the patented Zach smile. “How about that beer? It’ll calm you down. I’ll buy.”
“You don’t have enough money to calm me down.”
“Humor me then.”
“Or the two of you will wrestle me down to the nearest bar?”
Mike stood. “Something like that.” He clapped a hand onto Phillip’s back. “Let’s go. You can kill her later.”
Phillip arched an eyebrow. “Or you? You knew about this and didn’t tell me. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if you were the one who removed the information from my copy of her record book.” His eyes narrowed.
Mike shrugged. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. If something was missing… Well, that’s what you get for not making your own copies of your client’s files.” He was sarcastic, a pointed reminder of Phillip’s earlier rudeness.
“Very funny, but I’m not laughing.” Phillip curled his hand into a fist. He wanted to smash something. Mike’s face was a tempting target.
He forced himself to relax. This wasn’t Mike’s fault. It was no one’s business but his and Rowan’s. Maybe the two idiots were right. Maybe a quick drink would calm him down. Everything was coming to a boil—events, his emotions. It was knocking him off-guard and out of control.
“All right. Let’s go. I don’t want to be out all night. I still have some unfinished business to take care of.”
Zach swung open the door. “Just a beer or two.” A wicked look danced across his face. “I’ve got to tell you, Phillip. You’re the best smelling date I’ve had in a long time.”
Phillip shot him a glare and folded himself into the backseat of Mike’s battered old blue Celica. The backseats were definitely not made to accommodate tall passengers.
They took him to a small bar in the center of town where the only music was the constant click of pool balls and the murmur of the customers. There, in a corner booth, two beers turned into three, then four, then Phillip lost count. Before he realized it, he was pouring out his guts.
Zach and his incessant drive to know all somehow managed to pry loose the entire story. As much as Phillip had wanted to keep this inside, the words flowed—not just the ones about hurt, betrayal and revenge but also the desire, the need, the love still burning beneath his hatred. His friends listened with little comment, and in the dark recesses of his mind, Phillip knew they wouldn’t judge him.
“Unwinding from your hectic week?”
Bleary-eyed, Phillip glanced up at the man standing in front of their table. He was familiar.
Who is this guy?
Then it clicked. Malcolm Collins, the NCIS agent who had botched the evidence gathering in Rowan’s case.
“Mind if I join you?” He sat without waiting for a reply.
Phillip watched Zach and Mike exchange a look before Mike said, “As a matter of fact, we do. We were having a private conversation.”
Collins smiled. “Just one beer. I’m expecting some friends any minute.” He motioned to the waitress then turned that sly smile of his back their way. “Interesting day, huh?”
Phillip stared a hole through the man and offered no response. The slight didn’t faze Collins.
“Still think your client’s innocent, counselor?”
Mike leaned forward. “First of all, Malcolm, you know as well as I do that you don’t ever talk about cases in public. Secondly, these personal events have nothing to do with Rowan McKinley’s innocence or guilt.”
“Don’t they?” The waitress brought his drink and Malcolm slugged it down. “Seems pretty clear to me. The only thing I haven’t found out is who her accomplice is.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Phillip’s voice echoed in his ears. Had he shouted? Apparently not, since a glance around didn’t reveal any eavesdroppers.
“Well, counselor, it seems pretty clear that the recent attempt on Staff Sergeant McKinley’s life wasn’t an attempt on her life but on yours.”
“What?” The word came out in chorus from the three of them.
Collins rested his elbows on the table and pressed forward. “Check out this scenario… She killed one man. What’s another? She knows she’s guilty. She knows she’s going to jail until hell freezes over. She has a kid she obviously doesn’t want the father to know about. She’s determined that the father not get his hands on the kid after she’s locked up, so she concocts this scheme to get him here as her defense counsel then sets up a hit.”
Phillip stared at the man for less time than it took to blink then tossed back a belly-shaking laugh.
“You should be writing fiction, Malcolm,” Mike said.
“Should I?” he asked with a smirk. “Have any of you asked yourselves how well you really know Rowan McKinley? This gentleman doesn’t know her at all.” He indicated Zach, then pointed at Mike. “You’ve only known her about a year. As for her intrepid counselor here, we know how well he knows her, but people change and that was a long time ago.”
Nine years, to be exact. Phillip’s laughter faded. He hated Collins for sowing even the smallest seed of doubt. Rowan had lied about Ian, but lying about murder entered a whole new ball game. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. Would she?
Collins polished off his drink. “Thanks for the company. I see my friends now. Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen.”
“What a bunch of crap,” Zach said after the agent left not only them but the bar as well.
“I’ll say,” Mike grumbled. “He stuck us with paying for his drink.”
“Guess that divorce is taking more out of him than we thought.” Phillip tossed down the rest of his beer and set the bottle in the center of the table. “I need to go back to Rowan’s house and get my car. Someone else is going to have to drive me from there back to the base.” He fought a wave of dizziness. “I need to talk to Rowan.”
“Not a problem.” Zach slid out from behind the booth. “I’ll make sure you get to her, but you have to promise me something.”
“What’s that?”
“No matter what happens tonight, you won’t lose your temper.”
When Phillip hesitated, Zach leaned forward. “Promise.”
“All right, all right. Let’s get out of this place.”
The combination of beer, the cool dryness of the nighttime desert air and the rocking motion of the car made Phillip drowsy. He fought sleep with every mile, determined to stay alert enough to have it out with Rowan. He rehearsed words, played out scenarios. She was nothing more than a witness on the stand—a witness whose composure he was determined to break.
He jerked upright when Mike turned off the engine. Sleep had claimed him after all. Rubbing his eyes clear, he reached for the door handle then froze. Rowan’s van was parked beside his car.
“What the…?”
Mike kept the electric locks in place. “The battalion commander removed her restriction this afternoon.”
“He can’t do that without—”
“He can do whatever he wants,” Mike said. “He’s a lieutenant colonel.”
“Fine. Open the damned door.”
Zach draped his arm over the front seat and swiveled to pin Phillip with a direct stare. For once, his tone was dead serious. “You promised. Remember?”
“That’s before I found out that I was being deliberately led around by the nose while Rowan was released. Now open the door. I have a right to an explanation.”
“Is anything she says tonight going to make a difference to you now? It happened. It’s over. It’s in the past and you can’t change that. Accept your son and the life you can have together now and go on.”
“Open…the…door!”
“Your word as an officer and a gentleman?”
Phillip flopped back in the seat. It was no use. Zach was about a million times more stubborn than any other individual he knew. It was either make the promise or stay here and rot. He felt too drunk and tired to spend the night in the back of a Matchbox car.
“Fine,” he said through clenched teeth. “I promise.”
Until I get inside that house.