up to the Inspector General to determine if any crime had been committed.
Holly suspected that Martinez was responsible for the loss of tens of thousands and maybe even hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of supplies, but she had no solid proof. Although his job required that he obtain receipts for the equipment he received and sent out, he consistently had excuses and explanations for why he hadn’t acquired the requisite documentation, or why the paperwork he did have was sloppy and full of errors. He also had access to a substantial fund of money with which to procure certain supplies and services from local contractors, rather than going through the protracted process of waiting for the items to be shipped from the States.
Holly had begun the task of reconciling these accounts, but it would take her weeks to sort through the thousands of transactions. Constructing buildings, re pairing runways, and maintaining an infrastructure in such a remote and inhospitable location was hard enough without somebody deliberately sabotaging their efforts. That one of her men might be responsible was intolerable, and although she found it difficult to imagine Martinez doing anything so sleazy, all the evidence indicated otherwise.
She’d voiced her suspicions to her commanding officer, Commander Comstock, several weeks ago. He’d assured her that he would look into the matter, but when she’d broached the subject to him again, just days earlier, he’d been uncharacteristically short with her. He’d curtly told her that he didn’t need a lieutenant to tell him how to do his job, and that the situation was being handled. Whatever that meant.
So Holly had filed a hotline complaint with the Inspector General of the Navy—a brief description of what she believed was going on, including the estimated dollar loss—that very morning. She wasn’t sure what would happen, but knew she risked a reprimand from Commander Comstock if it turned out that he had already initiated an investigation of his own.
Holly knew Sgt. Martinez was upset about the transfer to Camp Fallujah, but moving him was the right thing to do. Until an investigation cleared him of any wrongdoing, she wanted him where he could do the least amount of damage.
In the side mirror, Holly thought she glimpsed one of the reinforced gun trucks that had been assigned to protect the convoy. Just knowing that Gunnery Sergeant Shane Rafferty was manning that machine gun gave her a sense of comfort. She liked knowing he was close by, in case she needed him.
In case he needed her, although he’d never acknowledge such a thing might be possible. Shane Rafferty was six feet, two inches of solid, honed muscle and testosterone, and she couldn’t imagine him ever admitting that he needed anyone. Especially her.
Well, except for that single night three years ago in the guest room over her parents’ boathouse, when he’d finally given up all pretenses. For that one night, he had been completely hers and Holly had been blown away by his intensity. For that one night she’d actually allowed herself to hope that he might reciprocate the feelings she had for him. But when morning had come, he’d been gone. He’d returned to active duty without even saying goodbye and try as she might, Holly had been unable to get over him.
For a moment, she let her mind drift back to when she’d first met Shane, ten years earlier. She’d been fifteen years old when he and his father had moved into the three-room apartment over Benjamin’s Drugstore. There had been rumors about his family: his father was a drunk and his mother had run off with another man. In the small, wealthy town of Chatham, Virginia, Shane Rafferty had stood out like a common weed in a garden of roses. He didn’t even attend the public high school in town—Holly had heard whisperings that he’d dropped out before he’d come to Chatham. Holly would probably never have crossed paths with him except that at seventeen, he was the same age as her brother, Mitch. Mitch attended the prestigious Hargrave Military Academy, but he’d worked with Shane at the drugstore on the weekends. Despite the differences in their backgrounds, they had become good friends.
During that year and the following summer, before Mitch had left for college and Shane had enlisted in the Marines, Shane had spent more time hanging out at her home than he did at his own, which hadn’t bothered Holly at all. She’d attended Chatham Hall, a private all-girls boarding school in town, and while the school hosted dances and other social activities with the boys from Hargrave Academy, none of those boys had been as fascinating to Holly as Shane Rafferty had been, with his knowing eyes and leanly muscled physique.
But more than his physical appeal, his total aloneness had attracted Holly. She sensed that Shane resented having to depend on anyone for anything. If the rumors were to be believed, he certainly couldn’t depend on his father. In fact, it had appeared that Shane took care of his dad, and not the other way around. He’d worked full-time at the drugstore, and Holly had seen him at the Food Lion on several occasions, buying real groceries and not just junk food. It was no wonder he hadn’t mixed well with the snooty boys from Hargrave; he was worlds away from their entitled, finely choreographed lifestyles. He might hang out with her brother, but Holly guessed that even Mitch wasn’t allowed full access to Shane’s innermost thoughts or secrets.
Holly thought it must get tiring, always having to be so strong and responsible. She wanted him to see that he didn’t always need to be so separate and alone. She ached to take some of the burden from his shoulders; to let him know that he could lean on her, even just a little. That he could let her love him, even just a little.
Her parents had bought her a camera for her birthday, and she’d enrolled in a photography class at Chatham Hall. She’d carried that camera with her everywhere and had taken furtive photos of Shane whenever she had the chance. Her favorite was a picture of him sleeping on the hammock by the lake, arms bent behind his head and his face turned slightly to one side. With his eyes closed and his mouth relaxed, he’d actually looked peaceful, with none of the bristling wariness he exhibited when he was awake.
But he’d completely ignored Holly, making it clear he had no interest in her. In fact, if Holly hadn’t known better, she might have believed he went out of his way to avoid being alone with her, or having to talk to her.
The more he’d ignored her, the more she’d been determined to make him aware of her. She knew he wanted her; she’d caught him watching her when he thought she wasn’t looking and the raw heat in his eyes had both terrified and thrilled her. But no matter how she’d tried to get close to him, he’d kept her at a distance. But a year later he’d enlisted in the military and he’d left without a backward glance. She hadn’t seen him again for two years, when he had come home for the winter holidays. Mitch was home from college for several weeks, so her parents had invited Shane to spend Christmas Eve with them. She’d been almost eighteen and a senior in high school by then, and seeing Shane again had brought all the emotions of her earlier infatuation rushing back.
He’d looked different than she remembered, leaner and harder and more serious. She’d changed, too. She’d been little more than a child when he’d left. But since then, she’d filled out nicely and had perfected the art of flirtation. She could have had any of the boys at Hargrave Academy, but she’d wanted Shane. So she’d deliberately set out to entice and seduce him, never imagining that he might not welcome her advances.
Remembering that holiday week still caused Holly to cringe with embarrassment. She’d been so young and arrogant; so sure of her own appeal. On Christmas Eve, when her father had sent Shane down to the wine cellar to retrieve several more bottles for dinner, Holly had followed him. She’d launched a full frontal attack on him and for several long, blissful moments, she’d had Shane Rafferty right where she wanted him…up against the wall with her hands under his shirt, stroking his warm, hard muscles as he’d stood stiff and unresponsive.
He’d resisted for about five seconds before he’d all but consumed her, and the heat and intensity of his passion had left her breathless and shaken. If her father hadn’t hollered down the stairs, she had no doubt what would
