Chapter 7

At 1130 the following day, Diane was sitting in a café near her hotel, feigning interest in the newspaper in front of her. Her fingers drummed anxiously on the table as she reconsidered the wisdom of this lunch date for the seventeenth time. Their last encounter had been strained, to put it lightly. But if she was ever going to be an actual part of his life again—in whatever capacity that might be possible—she would have to get to know him as he was today, not as the troubled young officer she'd known seemingly half a lifetime ago.

Harm walked in a few minutes late, offering a look of honest apology. "Got hung up in a meeting with DCPD," he explained, taking a seat across from her. "Hope you haven't been waiting long."

"Nah, it's fine. What's going on with the police?"

"Do you remember the master chief Mac and I were representing in the NEXCOM fiasco?"

"Sort of."

"He was killed early yesterday morning. Our appeal hearing turned into a murder investigation somewhere in the interim."

Diane frowned. "That kind of thing is within the scope of your duty as a JAG? Tracking down killers?"

"It's not like I haven't done it before." Immediately Harm wished he could erase that comment. She recognized its meaning, but before she could respond, the arrival of their waiter stalled the conversation.

As soon as they were once again alone, she leaned her elbows on the table. "How did you find him?"

"Holbarth?"

"Yeah. After all that time, after the report had been closed and forgotten, why did you go back to it?"

Harm gave her an uncomfortable look and shrugged. "I guess I never completely accepted the idea that it had been Lamm who shot you," he said, his gaze fixed in the distance beyond her right shoulder. "I tried for a while because it hurt too much to think about it going unresolved, but somewhere along the line it started to hurt too much to not do something about it. One day I went through all your old letters and I found a draft of your complaint to Holbarth. Then it all started to make sense."

A sudden wash of bitter anger filled her mouth. Holbarth had intended to take her life from her and though he'd failed in the literal sense, the rest was open for interpretation.

"It made sense to you, maybe, though not in a way any court would accept," she told him. "But I guess that's why you confronted him yourself. That much I read about in the report."

He fixed her with a piercing gaze. "How much else did you read about?"

She chewed on her lip, weighing her response. "I know Colonel Mackenzie was there in a borrowed Navy lieutenant's uniform. I know Holbarth fell from the pier and was killed." She looked away, her voice low. "I don't know whether you pushed him or not, and I'm not sure I want to know."

An old shadow darkened his eyes, hardened them. "I didn't. He panicked when he saw Mac and lost his balance. Whether I would have shot him if he hadn't fallen… I'm not sure I want to know that, either."

Diane studied the man who had once been her closest friend. The hardened core inside him, something that had been visible in brief flashes even in their Academy days, showed plainly now. The blue-gray eyes reflected little turbulence at his last statement. Diane didn't know if that was because he'd accepted it and moved on, or if he'd simply become that adept at keeping his feelings hidden. She suspected the latter, sadly enough.

Silence descended for a moment. Diane cleared her throat, making an attempt to shake off the grimness. "Okay. Besides that, tell me what you've been up to for the past few years." Her eyes settled on his ribbons. She still remembered how to read them, though she hadn't really taken the time before. Now, the DFC with its bronze second award tag grabbed her attention. "I have no doubt that you've been getting into your fair share of trouble." She raised her gaze to his.

Harm smiled ruefully. "Understatement. What do you want to hear about first? How Mac and I found out what happened to my dad? The tour I did on the Patrick Henry during the Kosovo conflict? The brother I met a couple of years ago? Or the Tomcat I ditched in the Atlantic?"

By the time he'd finished the list, her eyes were saucer-huge. But she nodded. "All of the above," she requested bravely. "Chronologically, I guess."

"That was chronological."

She rolled her eyes at him, nevertheless glad to see the return of the wry humor that had always been so characteristic of him. "In a little more detail, please."

Over the course of lunch, he recounted all of that and more, starting with Bud Roberts' first bumbling weeks at JAG and continuing up through the present. There were parts he glossed over, she could tell, but she didn't press. Nor did she miss the cautious way he treaded around Mac's presence in so many of parts of his narrative. Diane resolved to ignore it. Whatever relationship she was going to have with Harm would be forged by the two of them, independent of his relationship with Mac.

" …so I hear Mac say, 'Harm, come take a look at this.' I turn around, and there's none other than Sturgis Turner pulling up in my Vette!"

"No way. Sturgis took it?"

"To get the new top put on, as a Christmas present. All day I'd been going nuts about that car, and he'd had it the whole time."

Diane laughed, shaking her head. "You two have never been very predictable. I can't imagine what an office with both of you in it must be like."

"We're older and wiser now, remember? At the very least, one of the two." He smiled, a more open and familiar smile than before. "Anyway, you were hardly boring yourself. I'll bet you gave your NSA cohorts fits with your stealth sarcasm. It was downright diabolical how you could insult someone without them knowing it."

Diane looked suddenly thoughtful. "My NSA cohorts," she echoed. "You know, I worked with a core group of people for almost six years, and I don't even know most of their real names. It's like I got older, but my life stopped moving forward the day I left the U.S."

"You were still you, even if your name was different," Harm pointed out reasonably. "You didn't stop learning or gaining new experiences."

"But the things I missed… I mean, I was halfway around the world on September 11th. I can't possibly have the same perspective on it that you do. For the past year or so, you've been part of a Navy at war. I guess maybe I feel like I should have been part of it along with you."

His eyebrows knit in surprise and disbelief. "Do you really think that what you were doing was any less important? Maybe we're not in a shooting war with China, but that doesn't mean I trust their government any further than I can throw an F-8."

She gave him an odd look, born of conflicting hope and fear. "Does this mean you're starting to forgive me for going?"

The shields came up in his eyes. "Maybe. I don't know. I just know that I didn't really enjoy my visit to China over the EP-3 incident, and the time before that was sheer hell on earth." Seeing her confusion, he stopped short. "Did I not tell you about that? It happened a couple of weeks before your cruise ended… maybe I was waiting to tell you when you got back."

Something about his expression chilled her. "Well, now I'm back," she said cautiously. "So tell me."

He cocked an eyebrow in a distinctly you asked for it expression. "Okay. When you first went to work over there, did you ever hear anything about a territorial dispute between Hong Kong and the mainland?"

"Matsu and Quemoy, sure. It was one of the first briefings I got when I arrived. The U.S. sent a maritime law advisor to help determine our position, and the Chinese went off and abducted the guy—" She trailed off as a terrible understanding set in. "Oh, God," she whispered. "It was you?"

Harm nodded impassively.

"What happened?"

"Apparently they were expecting me, and they didn't think much of the sailing trip I was using as a cover. One minute I was changing tack, and the next I was getting rammed by a Chinese Navy cruiser. I fell from the bow when the hull gave way. The next thing I remember is waking up in a very dark cell."

With dread in her voice, she asked, "What did they do to you?"

He shrugged. "A little bit of everything. Lots of drugs, mostly – they wanted to know what recommendation I intended to give the State Department, and they tried like hell to get it out of me. Only problem was, I didn't have any recommendation to give them, because I'd only just arrived. It's a good thing, since by the time the deal was made for my release I could barely remember my own name. I swear, it was forty-eight hours before I could think straight."

He'd recounted it all with a sense of detachment that told her more about the ordeal than the words did. Then, as if flipping a switch, he gave a small smile, and he seemed to be himself again. "Anyway, long story short, you don't need to justify your work over there to me. I'm not going to say it doesn't still hurt that you went, but I can understand."

"I'm glad," she said softly, feeling her face start to warm under his gaze. Faint warning chimes began to sound in her mind as she recalled how he'd first melted her with those eyes back at Annapolis. It had always been easier to think logically about their relationship when they were apart—when she hadn't had to deal with his eyes, his touch, his presence…

Sitting across from him now, she had to wonder—had things had been different, would she have been able to stand face to face with him and tell him she was leaving?

Harm noticed the tears starting to form and reached across the table for her hand. "Hey, what's wrong?" The touch sent a jolt through her, evoking a maelstrom of memories that were by turn joyous, painful, and passionate. If there had ever been a time she'd believed she'd gotten Harmon Rabb out of her system, she had obviously been mistaken.

Diane shook her head. "Nothing, really. I just… I think I'm starting to figure out how much I missed you."

Harm watched her silently for a moment before withdrawing his hand. "I have a suggestion. Let's make this our last venture into the past, at least for the time being. Let's concentrate on where we are now, and maybe we'll get through this with our collective wits intact."

Diane accepted that. "I think that's a pretty good plan." She squared her shoulders. "So, looking to the future— how should I go about convincing the Navy to take me back?"

"Well, I've done a little background research. You were assigned to the Second Fleet, so the convening authority for your Article 32 would theoretically be Admiral Wendland. His record on desertion and similar charges, like UA and missing movement, is tough but pretty even-handed. He also has a background in intel, so that's a point in our favor. The thing that concerns me the most is the possible turf war we might start. The Navy crossed swords with the CIA last spring— partly because of an op of ours, but that's irrelevant— and we ended up with a Senate hearing and a new SECNAV out of the deal. So we'll have to see how sympathetic the brass is before nailing down our strategy. I'm thinking about emphasizing the fact that you were in mortal danger at the time of your decision…"

When he saw the look of wonder on her face, he paused. "What?"

Diane smiled and shook her head. "Before you walked in here, I wasn't sure you even really wanted to help me. Now I see that you've already got a plan of attack and you're prepared to battle the commander of the Second Fleet himself on my behalf."

"It's my job, Di."

"I think your CO might see it differently."

That, oddly enough, earned her a faint smirk, which disappeared an instant later. "He's given me permission, so long as I don't prioritize this over the rest of my caseload." Harm looked down at the Academy ring he'd been twisting around on his finger.

The action took Diane back to the day he'd gotten it. She'd swiped it, holding it ransom in exchange for a crab dinner downtown. He'd stolen it back, of course, but he'd still taken her to that dinner. Who in their right mind would have thought on that day that seventeen years later, they could end up here, like this?

"I do want to help you," Harm said softly. "Very much. You must have known that I would, right?"

"I guess I did. But I'm incredibly grateful, all the same." This time, she was the one to reach across the table, brushing her thumb over his ring. "I haven't seen my class ring since the night I was shot. The fake coroners must have taken it off somewhere along the line."

"They did." To her utter astonishment, he reached into his pocket and handed her a small box. "It was returned to your parents with your personal belongings. They wanted me to keep it. I meant to return it to you the other night, but it slipped my mind."

This time the tears came in earnest, as she slipped the ring onto her finger. "I think this means I owe you dinner," she pointed out with a sniffle, vainly trying to dry her eyes.

In return, he flashed a grin she hadn't seen in years, possibly since before his crash. The power of it effectively pinned her to her seat, breathless, as he rose from the table. "That was the precedent we set, I believe. Listen, I really have to get back. But I'll be in touch either later on today or tomorrow, all right?"

All she could do was nod and try to return the smile as he laid several bills on the table then vanished through the café doors.

You knew this was going to happen, she told herself silently. You knew you wouldn't be able to see him again without feeling like this. You'd better figure out a way to deal with it before it gets too hard to handle.

#

Harm's cell phone rang before he'd gotten three steps from the front door of the café. Shaking his head in an attempt to clear the huge mix of emotions his conversation with Diane had stirred up, he retrieved his phone.

"Rabb."

"Hey, it's me." Mac's voice was instantly recognizable, and edged with caution. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

Harm couldn't help a sour grin. He wouldn't tell her it was actually a relief to have something to distract him from his tumultuous thoughts. "Nope. As always, your timing is superb."

Her response was a noncommittal snort, but when she spoke again he could hear the smile in her tone. "I've got some information on the drug that was used to sedate Master Chief Zonne." The humor faded quickly as she explained. "It's pretty common—used in prescription sleep aids like Noctran and such. Detective Mills said Zonne didn't have a prescription, but guess what? His wife does. She's been using them for almost a decade." Harm raised an eyebrow as she went on. "They're checking now to see if any of her pills are missing."

Harm reached his car. He dug his keys out of his pocket and opened the door, juggling the phone from hand to hand as he did. "What did Mrs. Zonne say when you talked to her?"

Mac sighed in his ear. "Not very much, honestly. She didn't seem terribly surprised, but she kept saying he'd changed since his discharge from the Navy and didn't have anything to live for."

"What about his appeal?" Zonne had appeared more desperate than hopeful to Harm, but not unusually so for a man in his situation.

"She was pretty cynical about it. I guess that's not too surprising. I get the feeling a lot of their problems started when the master chief was court-martialed. Anyway, the DC police are bringing her in for questioning and I'm going to go sit in."

Harm started his Lexus. "Okay. I'm headed back to the office. I need to sort through who from his old chain of command is being investigated for wrongful disposition. If Zonne knew something about the scheme, maybe someone was afraid he'd talk."

He imagined Mac's casual shrug. "Well, that's a better motive than Mrs. Zonne's fifty thousand from her husband's life insurance. She'd have done better in a divorce, most likely. But, I'll give you a call if I learn anything interesting."

They hung up and Harm turned his thoughts, and his vehicle, toward Falls Church.

#

Mac got home around 1800 that night. Listening to Mrs. Zonne had been a depressing experience. The fifty-one year old widow had been fatalistically accepting of the idea that her husband had committed suicide. The concept of murder had shaken her to her core—at least, that was Mac's opinion. Since a number of Mrs. Zonne's sleeping pills were, in fact, missing, Detective Mills was less optimistic.

Mac slipped off her pumps by the door, dropped her purse and keys on the table, and proceeded stocking-footed into the kitchen. Before anything else, she needed some coffee. What bothered her more than anything was the obvious signs of failure that had marked the Zonnes' relationship. They were married—twenty-seven years—and they'd raised two children together, but they weren't happy. Sometimes it seemed like the happily ever after of fairy tales was a lie.

If it weren't for Bud and Harriet, I don't think I'd have any hope left at all. She smiled at the thought of her friends, happy despite all the challenges in their lives.

A quiet knock at the door brought her out of her reverie. She went to answer it, and was thoroughly startled to find Diane standing on the other side. Mac's gut knotted.

She forced a smile. "Hello, Diane. Come in." She stepped back.

Diane wandered into the apartment, looking around with patent curiosity. Her gaze lingered on the worktable with its collection of fossils, rock and bone fragments.

"This is nice," she told Mac.

"Thanks. Coffee?" She had to make an effort to keep her hands from clenching into fists at her sides.

"Sure."

Grateful for something to do, Mac went into the kitchen. She returned, a mug of coffee in either hand, to find Diane seated on her couch, hands clasped between her knees. Mac was somewhat reassured; Diane seemed as uncomfortable as she felt.

Setting one mug down in front of her visitor, Mac took a seat across from her in the chair. "So," she said with more confidence than she felt. "What's up?"

Diane looked up briefly. "I... need to ask you a question."

Throat suddenly dry, Mac nodded. "Okay."

"Is Harm seeing anyone?"

With that question, Mac's world ended. Pain, pure and unadulterated, crushed her chest, robbing her of breath. It had been hard enough to compete with this woman's memory. Against the flesh-and-blood, she didn't stand a chance.

"Ah... no. He's not."

Diane's expression brightened minutely. She toyed with her coffee cup, turning it this way and that on the little table.

"What about... the two of you?" She didn't quite meet Mac's gaze.

Mac stared at the wall. "We're just friends." The platitude rang a flat note inside her heart, mocking her with its discordance. That was no more true than it would have been to claim they were together. But there were no words to describe the limbo she and Harm had been trapped in for so long. Even worse, the woman sitting across from her might very well be the prime reason they'd never been able to move forward with their relationship.

"You've never been involved?"

Mac suffered a momentary flash of memory—a warm summer night and a desperate, passion-soaked kiss that she could still feel down to the tips of her toes. She shoved the memory away, exiling it to the dark corner that housed most of her dreams. That was the only place it had ever belonged. She unconsciously squared her shoulders.

"...No."

Diane didn't question the claim. She smiled, a shy, hopeful expression, and blew out her breath in a sigh. "Well, thanks for letting me be nosy. I didn't know who else I could ask."

"You could have asked Harm," Mac told her pointedly. Her first duty to him would always be as his friend.

Diane's cheeks colored. "Um, yeah. I just didn't want to... make things awkward for him if he was seeing someone. More awkward." She flashed a sheepish grin.

Mac watched her twin, her own feelings hidden behind an iron shield. "Do you really think Harm's going to want to pick up where you two left off?"

Diane snorted, her gaze growing distant. "I don't know. He's so different now." She shook her head. "But in a good way—stronger, more confident." She paused. "Happy, even. I don't think he was this content even before his crash."

Mac found that comment strangely warming. "He's found a lot of resolution since you knew him," she agreed.

"His dad." Diane nodded. "He told me about that. I'm glad he found out what happened to him."

Mac knew there was a good deal more to it than that, but decided to let it go. Against her will, her thoughts began to march through the possible future progression of Harm and Diane's life together, and a few things immediately jumped out at her.

"How does your reinstatement in the Navy fit with you and Harm?" she asked before she could consider the wisdom of the action. "You'd be stationed somewhere—possibly outside the U.S.—and out to sea part of the time. He's not going to be leaving D.C. any time soon, at least not without taking a career hit." Another career hit, Mac amended silently.

Diane straightened in her seat. "I... hadn't really thought about it."

"You probably should." Harm might very well have the opportunity now to make things work with the only woman he'd ever admitted to loving. And though it might tear her own heart into shreds, that chance for him was worth protecting with everything she had. "He deserves to know what you're offering, up front."

Diane pressed her lips together, eyes narrowing. But then she nodded and stood. "You're right. He does." She squared her shoulders. "And I will. Thanks for the good advice."

Mac climbed to her feet, feeling weary and cold. "You're welcome," she managed. She saw Diane to the door, then closed it behind her, leaning her forehead against the smooth wood. Unbidden, the tears slipped down her cheeks, accompanied by a familiar, rending sense of loss.