Code 13 (53 page)

“Anyway, a gunfight broke out between three NCIS agents and three mobsters. And let me put it this way. Special Agent Mark Romanov took out the guy who's been shooting JAG officers.”

“Really?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“He didn't try to shoot any more JAG officers, did he?”

Brewer and Paul looked at one another. Something was wrong.

“What?”

Paul nodded toward the admiral. “Would you like to handle that one, sir?”

Brewer looked at Caroline. “You're going to find out sooner or later anyway. But yes, the guy took a shot at Victoria Fladager.”

“What? Is she okay?”

“Yes. She hit the deck before he got a shot off. The lady's got great reflexes.”

“How did that happen? Where?”

Again the men exchanged glances, as if silently asking each other,
Should we tell her the details of what happened?

“How about if we talk about all that later?” Brewer said.

Caroline hesitated. Admiral Brewer didn't want to share details about Victoria, for whatever reason. She changed the subject. “How do they know they got the right guy?”

“Because ballistics has already confirmed a match on the 9-millimeter the guy had. It's the same gun used to kill Ross Simmons and to take shots at you. Plus, they found the .357 at the scene that was used to kill P.J.”

The reality of the admiral's words seemed difficult to comprehend. In a way, she felt relieved that it was over. In another way, she felt disappointed that she wasn't involved in killing the worthless dog who murdered P.J.

“I don't know what to say.”

Paul spoke up. “Here's what you can say. Victoria, Mark, and I want you to join us for dinner tomorrow night. We'll meet at Mark's and drive over to the Sequoia Restaurant in Georgetown. It will give us a chance to sort of process it all, and hopefully start to bring about some closure.”

Why should she still feel torn about having dinner with Paul? After all, P.J. was gone, and he wasn't coming back. On the other hand, going out with these three, as Paul said, “to bring about some closure,” seemed like the right thing to do.

“Okay. Fine.” She felt herself smile. “Let me know when you want to pick me up, and I'll be ready.”

“It's a date.” Paul grinned from ear to ear.

“And it sounds like we need to get out of here so Commander McCormick can get ready to check out,” Brewer said.

“Aye, sir.” Paul looked at Caroline. “I'll be back here at 1700 to pick you up and take you home. That a deal?”

“Deal.” She smiled. “I look forward to it.”

With that, the captain and the admiral walked out of the room, leaving her alone with her thoughts, memories, and a burgeoning flood of emotions.

SPECIAL AGENT MARK ROMANOV'S TOWNHOUSE

ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA

THURSDAY, 4:45 P.M.

He had invited her over for an early drink, just the two of them, in anticipation.

His suggestion had seemed harmless enough.

“Why don't you meet me about five? We can have a glass of
wine and chat, and then when Paul and Caroline arrive, we can all go together over to Georgetown.”

She knew him well.

Well, she knew him well enough, anyway.

He would like to pour a couple of drinks, have a quick make-out session, and set the mood for the rest of the evening.

Of course, she had accepted Mark's invitation with mixed emotions. It's true. She had become interested in P.J. and would have kicked Mark Romanov to the curb in a skinny heartbeat had the opportunity presented itself to be with P.J.

But life was filled with unexpected and undesired twists and turns, and sometimes those twists and turns could lead one to destinations previously unplanned.

And indeed, although she had dated Mark while they were in Norfolk, and although he would have married her in a flash had she shown interest, she had hoped to embark on adventures yet unseen.

Now she had seen heartbreak and felt the heartbreak even more than she had seen it. And now Mark was back. He had earned the mantle, perhaps in his own eyes, of superhero. And indeed, his bravery had impressed her. It was a side of him she had never before seen. By bravely stopping P.J.'s killer in cold blood, how could his stock not have risen? But had it risen enough for Victoria to start thinking of him in the light he obviously desired?

Maybe so.

She looked at her watch.

She
was
here fifteen minutes early. Maybe subliminally Mark's heroism—he'd probably saved her life—had triggered just enough curiosity that she was willing to start her wine-sipping with him a few minutes early, just to see what happened.

Then again, she had given Caroline McCormick a heads-up, and also asked her to show up early, with Paul Kriete in tow, just in case.

Why did she feel suddenly confused, caught in a tug-of-war between the old and the new, dulled by the past but feeling an exciting electrical current about the future, even if the newfound electricity was slight at this point?

The modest-looking townhouse was what she would expect of Mark. This was the first time she'd seen it, since he had just moved in.

She stepped onto the porch and knocked on the door.

No answer.

Three more knocks on the door.

Still no answer.

She opened the door. The gushing sound of running water came from upstairs. “Anybody here? Mark?”

“In the shower!” She heard his voice. “Come on in. Be right there.”

“Okay. Take your time!”

The townhouse was two stories and maybe fifteen hundred square feet. Based on the sound from the shower, Mark's bedroom was upstairs.

The foyer area had hardwood flooring and separated two rooms of about equal size. To the left was a living room with a sofa, two love seats, and a coffee table. On the coffee table was a bottle of red wine, opened, surrounded by two wineglasses and a silver tray with olives, cheeses, crackers, and nuts.

A stereo system played light jazz music, imparting a romantic ambience.

Mark obviously had plans.

Over to the right, across the foyer from the living room, Mark had set up his office. A desktop computer sat on a dark wooden desk, with a screensaver showing the USS
Theodore Roosevelt
plowing through the waters of the Mediterranean.

Mark had been an NCIS officer assigned to the USS
Theodore Roosevelt
before his transfer to Norfolk, a fact he had reminded her of a thousand times.

“Hey, feel free to pour a couple of glasses of wine. Be right there,” he called down.

“Okay.”

She stepped into the living room and read the label on the bottle: “Castle Rock Pinot Noir.”

He remembered her favorite red of choice. How sweet. Mark was such a romantic. At least he was trying. Give him credit for that. And
the vase of roses was another nice touch. She picked up the bottle and started to pour a glass.

The last time she had enjoyed Castle Rock was the night she had been with P.J. at the Grape + Bean. Even the smallest things triggered memories of what might have been.

“Shake it off, Victoria,” she said to herself, bringing the wineglass to her lips.

She wandered out of the living room back into the foyer and looked over into the office.

Something about a man's office, especially a masculine office, was a turn-on to her. She wandered into the space, sipping her wine, and caressed her hand over the back of Mark's black leather chair.

With light jazz music still cascading from across the way, and the alluring sound of the shower still running upstairs, she caught a whiff of Mark's cologne on the back of the chair.

She took another sip and then sat down in it.

Ah. A swivel chair. Nice. She twirled around, her back to the computer, and looked across the way into the living room.

Nah. She could never see herself here.

But under the circumstances, the respite, the notion of going out with friends for the evening, seemed like a welcome way to wrap up the end of this shooting nightmare and turn over a new leaf.

Speaking of the evening, she realized she had forgotten to check the weather. No problem. She would pull it up on the internet.

She swirled back around to the computer and tapped the space bar.

The screensaver morphed into a Microsoft Word file. She was about to close out of the file and open Mark's Google browser when, emboldened by a few sips of red wine, her nosiness got the best of her.

She clicked the Recent Documents subfile.

Let's see what Mr. Supercop has been up to.
Another sip.

Hmm. FBI Academy application. At least he's ambitious. Let's see . . . Pittsburgh Penguins . . . Pittsburgh Pirates . . . Yuck.
She took another sip. What good came out of Pittsburgh? P.J. had been a southern gentleman. Another advantage he had over Mark's Yankee-fied ways.

But she could work with a Yankee if she had to.

What's this?
she asked herself.
P.J. MacDonald? Wonder what that's about.

She clicked the P.J. MacDonald subfile. Up came subfiles titled “Photos” and “Surveillance Photos.”

What?

She clicked the Surveillance Photos subfile, and the first photo sent her heart into a race.

The picture showed her and P.J. the night of their date, sitting together at the Grape + Bean, smiling at one another, P.J.'s hand lightly touching hers.

She clicked to the next picture. How could he?

The photo showed the long, intimate kiss she had shared with P.J. out on Walnut Street in front of her Volvo, basking in the glow of the moonlight.

Swallowing the rest of her wine all at once, she clicked on a third photograph.

“Dear Jesus, no!”

P.J.'s body was lying on the Mall, bleeding from the head. Caroline was kneeling beside him, wailing.

Wait a minute.

How did he have this photo?

“You just had to get a bit nosy, didn't you?”

The sound of his voice startled her. She turned around, shaking, and saw him standing at the entrance of the foyer in a yellow bathrobe with a Pittsburgh Steelers logo on the left chest. “Couldn't leave well enough alone?”

“How did you . . .? How could you . . .?” she managed to say.

“I was never enough for you, was I?”

“What are you talking about?”

His eyes blazed at her with a piercing, ferocious anger that she had never seen him display. His face morphed into a smoldering contortion, and his voice turned ice cold. “It was always about your precious P.J., wasn't it?”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Of course you know what I'm talking about!” he screamed, and
then his outburst subsided into a near-whisper. “I was never good enough for you. You always wanted some swashbuckling JAG officer.”

“No. I never—”

“Don't lie to me! I saw it with my own eyes!”

Silence. Her heart pummeled her chest.

Just keep him talking
, a voice from inside told her.

“So you invaded my privacy, spied on me.”

He took a step closer to her. “What was I supposed to do? I wanted to know the truth. I deserved to know the truth! Did you think you could fool me?”

“Nobody was trying to fool you.”

“Liar!”

“I'm not lying. We were done. We agreed to that when I left Norfolk. Who I was seeing or who I see is none of your business.”

“Ah. I see.” He sneered, pacing a few steps to his right but keeping his eyes drilled into her. “You thought you could just blow me off with one of those we-should-see-other-people talks, and then come up here and find yourself a handsome JAG officer and set your sights on him instead of me? You thought you could pull that over my eyes like I didn't know what was going on?”

“So rather than let things play out, you just took matters into your own hands, didn't you?”

His eyes shifted back and forth. “What did you expect? I always take matters into my own hands. And I have to say, the last week has been the most thrilling of my life. I took care of the animal who had his hands all over you that night. Then I took care of the animal who tried to kill you. You should be grateful.”

“P.J. was not an animal.”

“Shut up!” he screamed. “If I say he was an animal, he was an animal! Besides, any man who puts his hands all over you like that is worse than the lowest of all female dogs!” His eyes bulged. His face reddened. Veins surfaced in his forehead. “Now he's a very dead animal!”

She paused, then lowered her voice.

“So was it worth it all? Killing an innocent man to prove your masculinity? To prove something to me?”

“P.J. MacDonald was never innocent! He violated you and enjoyed every minute of it!”

“He did not violate—”

“Shut up! You talk when I say you talk.”

Stay calm, Victoria.
She lowered her voice. “Was it worth risking losing everything? Risking prison for the rest of your life?”