Title: Flying High
Author: Pixie
Email: Pixie4@charter.net
Rating, Classification, Disclaimers...all that mumbo jumbo shows up in other parts. I'm feeling lazy, so if you want to see it, I'll let you go find it.
Feedback: I absolutely want to know your reactions, but if I'm not going to like what you have to say, please respect me enough to email me privately.
AN: Melissa has stuck with me since early March when I first started working on this, and despite my best efforts, I haven't managed to scare her off - though she does get a little annoyed at me occasionally when I disturb the cobwebs in her brain. Aerogirl not only beta reads for me, but always makes it a point to find something positive to say about my work. Thank you, ladies. I couldn't have done it without you.
**** Part 5 ****
2225 Zulu (1725 Local)
2812 M Street, Apartment 4
Washington, D.C.
Harm was pulling a casserole out of the oven when a knock on the door signaled Mac's arrival.
"Mattie..."
"I'm on it, Harm."
A few seconds later, Mac joined him in the kitchen. She put a half gallon of ice cream in the freezer before turning to him with a smile.
"Hi."
"Hi." He tried hard to look nonchalant, but apparently failed miserably, because Mac shook a warning finger at him.
"Remember?" she said, sotto voce. "It was your idea to keep things quiet for a while."
He groaned.
"Don't remind me," he said in a frustrated undertone.
Mac brushed against him as she reached for a water glass, and Harm had to struggle not to react. He turned away from her and opened the fridge, ostensibly to get out the makings for a salad, but in reality hoping the cool air would settle his frayed nerves. Mac's low laugh did nothing to help, and as she sauntered past him to join the girls in the living room, she dared to run a finger up his spine, obviously delighting in making his life difficult. He threw a halfhearted glare in her direction, but she was already gone, and he heard her making lively conversation in the other room. He thanked whatever gods had rescued him from the danger of her close presence, and devoted himself to chopping vegetables and tearing lettuce with a vengeance that would have made a warrior proud.
In record time, they were sitting down to eat. As a precaution, he'd put Mac across from himself, with Mattie and Jennifer on either side in between. Mac was feeling mischievous tonight, rarely missing an opportunity to torment him; a fact that was fast raising both his body temperature and blood pressure to dangerous levels. Twice she'd managed to make contact on the pretense of taking this or that to the table, and now that they were seated, they seemed to need the same condiments at the same time. He sent her a suspicious glare, but her response was an innocent smile.
Thankfully, Mattie and Jen were oblivious to all of it, too busy debating the movie they'd rented last weekend. Harm was aware enough to know that it had something to do with a big family, but he wasn't exactly focused on the details.
"What do you think, Harm?"
Mattie's question jarred him back to the present and Mac's triumphant grin. She knew exactly what she was doing to him, the little minx, and after Jen and Mattie left he intended to exact a very sweet revenge.
"What do I think about what?"
"Do you think you could handle twelve kids?" Mattie repeated her question in that patient tone of voice peculiar to teenagers with not so bright parents.
"Good question, Mattie," said Mac. Then, cocking her head to one side with the evaluative expression she usually reserved for a potential juror, she targeted Harm. "Could you do it?"
That flustered him. He wasn't sure what she was getting at, so he couldn't decide whether to take the question seriously or not. An idea occurred to him, an opportunity to turn the tables, and he leaped at it.
"I don't know. I guess that would depend on who the mother was."
He watched the shot hit home. Bull's-eye! He had to hold back a chortle at the flustered way she started collecting dishes in a futile attempt to hide her sudden confusion.
Unaware of the hidden undercurrents, Mattie and Jennifer went back to discussing the movie. Apparently, Mattie had read the book in her English class and was disgusted with how far the film departed from the text. Jennifer was trying to explain about creative license and movie rights, but Mattie wasn't buying any of it. They were still debating while Harm and Mac cleaned up the kitchen, though now they'd pulled out the newspaper to see what other movies they could pick apart.
Mac was elbow deep in sudsy water when Harm saw another opportunity for payback. He checked on Mattie and Jennifer first, pleased to see they had their backs to the kitchen while they hunted for the entertainment section. Mac had turned toward the dishwasher, a sudsy glass in her hands, when Harm snuck an arm around her waist, his thumb brushing the underside of her breast, and nibbled a spot on her neck that he knew was guaranteed to get a reaction.
He was right. She gasped and stiffened, the glass slipping from suddenly nerveless fingers to shatter into hundreds of pieces on the kitchen floor. He straightened quickly, and by the time the girls scrambled to their feet to see what had happened he was already busy sweeping up the pieces while Mac turned back to the sink, faint traces of pink around her neck and ears the only indication that he had gotten to her.
"What happened?" asked Jennifer, concern edging her words.
"My hand slipped," Mac answered. "The glass was soapy. No worries, though. Nobody got hurt."
Harm thought she did an admirable job of sounding normal under the circumstances, and he mentally congratulated her on her acting abilities.
"Oh. O.K., then."
The girls disappeared again, and Mac shot him a glare that would have withered a lesser man, but Harm merely grinned and emptied the dustpan into the trash.
"That'll teach you to mess with the master," he whispered on his way past her to put the broom away.
"You haven't seen anything yet," she answered, just as softly.
"It's going to be a long week, isn't it."
"Yeah." The single word carried a wealth of longing and frustration with it, and by mutual agreement they finished their chores with a minimum of teasing.
Shortly after dinner, Mattie and Jennifer left. Mattie had some homework to finish, and Jennifer had laundry to do before bed. They took the ice cream with them, and somehow Harm knew he'd never see the carton again. When the door closed behind the two girls, Harm leaned against it, unable to believe that he and Mac were finally alone. He caught her eye and slowly, deliberately, clicked the deadbolt into place.
"Harm..."
He was moving toward her, and the sensible side of her backed away while the passionate side pushed her forward. The end result was that she remained frozen in place, unable to move in either direction.
"Harm..." she tried again.
"Yes?" He was three steps away, and still moving.
"I really should go." Her voice faltered as he reached to trace her ear with a gentle finger, tucking a strand of hair out of the way in the process.
"Do you have to?" He laced his fingers through her hair, then lifted them, allowing the silky strands to slide through and drift back into place.
"What if Mattie comes back?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
His hand left her hair. Now one finger traced her jaw line, and she shivered in response.
"She won't."
He continued his tactile tour, now trailing lightly down the column of her throat.
"How do you know?" It was getting harder to speak with each passing moment.
"I just know."
Across her collarbone now, his touch, ever so gentle, ever so slow, was raising goose bumps in its wake.
"Did you tell her about us?" She couldn't seem to work up any indignation at the prospect, her thoughts having taken a turn in a different direction.
"No..."
He smoothed his hand down her arm, finally lacing his fingers with hers
"Then how can you be sure she won't come back?" She struggled to remember her point as he lifted his other hand, starting the process all over again.
"Habits and routines. I won't hear from either of them until breakfast time, when one or the other will show up at the door looking for milk." The practical words didn't match the sensuous pitch of his voice, which caused her to moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue.
"I should probably be gone by then, shouldn't I."
"Probably."
His touch moved down her throat again, across her collarbone, and down her other arm, knitting his fingers with hers so that now he held both of her hands, his body mere inches from her own, her every nerve singing with his nearness. Her voice abandoned her completely then, chased away by the intensity of his gaze and the electricity that arced through the air between them.
"Sarah."
Maybe it was because he used it so rarely, or maybe it was because she loved him so much. Whatever the reason, her name, spoken so casually by so many others, sounded different when he said it, the syllables imbued with so much tenderness and warmth that they always brought a lump to her throat.
"I love you."
He'd said it often over the past few days. They both had. Yet the simple phrase still had the power to move her to tears, and she felt them well up in her eyes again now.
"I love you too," she said, her voice a mere whisper of sound.
He kissed her tears away, and his hands tightened around hers.
"A man tells you he loves you and you cry? What's that about?" But his voice was gently teasing, and when his lips descended over hers, they tasted of salt.
His kiss worked its magic, and the room, the soft music playing on the stereo, the sound of the dishwasher, all of it faded away until she was left with the feel of his lips upon hers, the sound of their mingled breath, and the touch of his hands on her skin. She had been concerned that Mattie might come back, might have a question about her homework or something she wanted to talk about, but her hesitation evaporated in the face of their mutual need, and when he led her to his bedroom, she followed willingly. She could no more have stopped herself from loving him than she could have stopped herself from breathing.
1317 Zulu (0817 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia
Staff call was nearly over. The admiral had assigned two new cases, one to Sturgis, and one to Bud. Now he leaned back in his seat and contemplated the assembled group in silence.
"This past year has been...difficult. We've all had some tough things to deal with. I'm not exactly a touchy feely kind of officer..."
He waited for the grins and nods to subside before he went on.
"...but it occurs to me that our survival, reasonably intact, calls for some type of celebration. So, I'm inviting all of you to my place Saturday afternoon for an informal spring barbeque."
"Sir?" asked Bud.
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
"I just want to make sure. Does informal in this case mean tie, or no tie?"
The admiral had to wait for laughter to die down before he could answer.
"Bud, in your honor, I think we'll make this a truly casual event - no tie."
"Thank you, Sir." Bud's relief was almost palpable, and Harm resisted another chuckle.
"All right everybody. I'll see you at my place at 1500 Saturday afternoon. Now let's get to work. Dismissed."
A few minutes later, Harm was back in his office, ready to start the day's work. He had forty-eight hours to come up with a defense for Lieutenant Mercer, and he still wasn't quite sure what tactic to use. He'd spoken with Breanna the previous afternoon, giving her flight and hotel suggestions, but when she'd asked about the case, he'd been deliberately vague. She was already upset enough. It wouldn't help to alarm her further.
Mercer's C.O. would be coming for the trial, as would a couple of Mercer's crewmates, more as character witnesses than anything else. His hope was that, based on the witness statements and the fact that this was a first offense, he could at least get the lieutenant a reduced sentence. He'd approached Mac about a plea bargain yesterday afternoon, but she'd turned it down - a sure sign that she knew her case was strong. He sighed and bent his head to the papers in front of him, resigning himself to several hours of reading and note taking.
"Commander?" Jennifer Coates stood in his doorway.
"What can I do for you, Petty Officer?
"Are you...having any problems with your computer this morning?"
"I haven't even turned it on yet. Why?"
"Would you mind turning it on?"
Puzzled, he did as she asked, then looked at her inquiringly.
"Is something supposed to happen?"
"Try checking your e-mail."
He did as she asked, sliding the mouse across the pad so that he could click the appropriate icon.
Nothing happened.
The cursor didn't move.
He ran the mouse back and forth across the pad several times, but the little arrow sat stubbornly right in the middle of his screen.
"What in the...?"
"No luck?"
She stepped inside his office then and walked over to the desk.
"Pick it up and check the bottom of it, Sir."
Harm flipped the gadget over and rolled his eyes. Somebody had taped over the mouse ball, locking it into position.
"Who?"
"I don't know, Commander, but it seems to have happened to everybody."
"Everybody?"
"Everybody but the admiral. All the mice on the floor appear to have been trapped. "
"Somebody's idea of a prank?"
"Looks that way, Sir."
"So now we have the elevator, rubber ducks, Mac's confetti..."
"Confetti, Sir?"
He grinned.
"You'll have to ask her about that one, Petty Officer." He peeled the tape from the back of his mouse, slid it experimentally across the mouse pad, and then went on. "And now we have mouse traps. Gotta wonder what's going on, huh Jen?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Well, thanks for the heads up. Looks like I'm good to go now."
"You're welcome, Sir."
With that, she was gone, and he resolutely turned his attention back to the papers spread before him.
He spent the entire day going through documents, making notes, and organizing his defense. He'd eaten lunch in his office, and aside from staff call this morning and a few short e-mails, he'd not heard from Mac. They were both too busy with last minute preparations to even take time out to flirt. In a way, he supposed that was a good thing. Her presence was a distraction he couldn't afford right now.
He was reading over a final document when something caught his eye. He shuffled files around, looking for his notes from the trip to Whidbey. When he finally found them, he scanned the pages quickly, hoping his memory had been accurate. The note he'd made jumped out at him from the page, and he compared it to the documents Mac had given him, then picked up the phone to make a call, drumming his fingers impatiently on the desk while he waited for the line to be picked up at the other end.
Five minutes later, he had an answer to his question, and he leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. What he'd found wouldn't win the case, but it might save Mercer a few years of hard time. He jotted a reminder to himself to write up the documents he needed and then glanced at his watch, surprised at the lateness of the hour. He had one more day to prepare his case, one more day to come up with a convincing opening argument. He knew he could do it, but the thought of doing it for a guilty defendant made the task particularly unpleasant.
1230 Zulu (0730 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia
Mac sat down at her desk and took a sip of the steaming cup of coffee she'd brought from the break room. There were certain advantages to being the first one in, and fresh coffee was one of them. She knew a few people had drifted in - Jen, the admiral, but most wouldn't be in until closer to 0800 and she always enjoyed this opportunity to get her thoughts in order before the day resumed its normal frantic pace.
Rapid fire gunshots shattered the calm. It sounded like automatic weapons fire, and Mac was on the floor, crawling toward the doorway even as she wondered how somebody had gotten such a weapon past security. Cautiously, she peered around the corner, careful not to expose herself to whatever maniac had taken over JAG Ops. Nothing. All appeared quiet. She scooted out of her office, careful to keep something solid between herself and the direction the sounds had come from. The burst of noise sounded again, and now that she was in the bullpen, she knew for a fact that it had come from the direction of the admiral's office.
A light touch on her back startled her, and she turned, ready to defend herself, but it was only Harm, crouched down protectively between her and the open hallway.
"What's going on?" he whispered.
"I don't know. I heard weapons fire."
"I heard it too. You go that way," he gestured around the other side of JAG ops. "Signal me when you're ready. We'll go in together."
"All right. Be safe, Harm."
"You, too." He squeezed her arm gently, then gave her a gentle push.
She inched her way along the wall, careful to keep a solid object between her body and the admiral's office. She was in position, ready to signal Harm, when the gunfire sounded again.
"Damn!" Jen's voice.
Then...
"I'm sorry, Sir. I don't understand it."
"I don't care if you understand it! Just fix it!"
"Working on it, Sir."
"Work faster."
Mac exchanged a puzzled look with Harm before carefully rounding the corner. What she saw made her bite back a laugh.
The admiral hovered over Jen's head, scowling at the computer monitor, while the petty officer's fingers danced over her keyboard, a panicked expression on her face.
"What's going on?" Harm asked. He'd rounded the corner right behind her, and now stood close enough to her that she could sense the heat of his body, smell the spicy scent of his aftershave. She struggled to maintain her equilibrium while Jen replied.
"Looks like somebody reprogrammed my startup sounds, Sir."
"Isn't your system secure?"
"Parts of it are, Sir, but I guess it never occurred to the techs that wave files could be dangerous." The expression on her face was pure Jennifer; humor that somebody had set her up; determination to get even, and desperation to fix the problem before the admiral took drastic action.
"There. That's got it, Sir."
They all waited while she rebooted the computer, and when the only sounds were the familiar Windows start up chimes, they breathed a collective sigh of relief.
"Well...that was exciting," Now that the initial crisis had passed, the admiral seemed to see the humor in the situation.
"You could say that," Mac said, grinning as the adrenalin rush subsided, but still wishing that Harm wouldn't stand quite so close behind her.
He either heard her, or decided for himself that some distance between them would be a good thing, because he moved to lean against the doorjamb, a mischievous grin on his face.
"We seem to have gremlins," he said.
"Gremlins?" The admiral looked puzzled.
"Cute little furry creatures that like to get into mischief," explained Mac.
They waited for him to explode into a rant about workplace behavior, but he just shook his head and went back into his office, closing the door behind him.
The three who were left exchanged bewildered looks.
Mac shrugged. She wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. If the admiral chose to take this latest prank in stride, the least she could do was to follow his lead. She left Jen and Harm and walked back to her office. They were down to twenty four hours before trial, and she had a lot to do.
1530 Zulu (1030 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia
Harm faced Lieutenant Mercer across the scarred wooden table.
"You lied to me," Harm said, not bothering with a polite greeting.
"What do you mean?"
"You and two of your crew tested positive for MDMA. You told me you never used it."
Mercer sighed.
"Look. It's not a big deal. It just makes you feel good for a while. Makes it easier to get the job done, you know?"
"No. I don't know. And I really don't care to know. And the members aren't going to care either. All they're going to care about is that; one, you disgraced your uniform; two, you took advantage of your military status to transport illegal drugs across an international border; and three, you sold those drugs, at a profit, to American dealers."
"I did not!" Mercer was out of his seat, pacing the floor like a caged lion.
"Oh?" Harm folded his arms across his chest and stared a challenge at his client. "Your financial records seem to indicate otherwise."
"That money didn't come from sales. It was strictly a transportation reimbursement."
"Do tell."
Mercer shot him a glare. "Look. I'm telling you. With the exception of a few select clients, I didn't sell the drugs." He sounded almost desperate, and Harm had to wonder if he was actually telling the truth this time.
"Then what did you do with them once you got them into the country?"
"I can't tell you that."
"Why not?"
"I just can't, ok? Now can we drop it?"
Harm leaned forward in his seat.
"Look, if you come forward with what you know, I might be able to get you a reduced sentence."
"It doesn't matter. If the members find me guilty, I'll do my time." Mercer sounded resigned now, his tones flat and without emotion.
"If?" Harm was incredulous. "The prosecution has surveillance records, chemical analyses, financial records, drug tests on you and those other two officers..." He ticked the items off on his fingers as he listed them. "They can back it all up with flight schedules and eyewitness reports. Now, do you want to rethink your position?"
"No." Mercer stopped in front of Harm and leaned his hands on the table. "Isn't there anything you can do for me?" He was plaintive now, his arrogance slipping away as he finally took in the mountain of facts lined up against him.
Harm sighed. Too little, too late. The man was doomed by his arrogance and stupidity, and not only was Harm not certain there was much he could do, he wasn't even certain he wanted to try.
"Look, I'll do what I can. At the very least, we'll try to convince the members to give you a lighter sentence. You'll never fly again, though. You're looking at a dishonorable discharge and several years hard labor if you're lucky."
"And if I'm not?"
"I'm not going to lie to you. Worst case scenario, the sentences run consecutively. You'd have the dishonorable discharge, forfeiture of pay and allowances, and at least thirty years hard labor."
Mercer tried not to show his shock, but it was there in the slight widening of the eyes, the quick intake of breath. Harm might have almost felt sorry for the man, if he wasn't so angry every time he thought about what he'd done. Instead, he packed up his things and prepared to leave.
"Panel selection is at 0830 tomorrow. Opening remarks at 1000. Somebody will see that you get where you need to go."
"Yes, Sir."
"Your wife is coming in tonight. Do you have a message you'd like me to deliver?"
"Just tell her..." He paused, then turned his head away. "Tell her I love her."
"Will do. I'll see you tomorrow morning."
He picked up his case and signaled the guard that he was through. A few minutes later, he'd left the lieutenant behind in the small two celled brig that served as a sort of holding tank for prisoners awaiting trial. As he walked back to his office, he was already assembling his opening remarks in his head. He'd recognized something human in the choked words of affection for Breanna, something that reminded him that, criminal or not, Steven Mercer was still a human being, entitled to the best defense Harm could put together.
A few minutes later, he knocked on Mac's door frame, ready with a warm smile when she looked up from her computer.
"Do you have time to grab some lunch?"
"I wish. I'll probably just order a sandwich and eat at my desk. Sorry."
"No problem. I should probably eat in, too." He started to back out, changed his mind, and stepped back inside. "Any chance I can convince you to reconsider the plea I offered yesterday?"
"Dishonorable with forfeiture and ten years? That plea?"
"That'd be the one."
She grinned at him. "You're joking, right?"
"Not a bit."
"I'll see you in court, Harm."
She collected a sheaf of papers from her printer, and reached for a paperclip. The clips were stored in a small plastic box with a magnetic lid, and she selected one at random and pulled it toward her, paying more attention to Harm then to what she was doing.
Her first clue that something wasn't quite right was in the fact that the clip didn't seem to want to slide all the way down over the top edge of the papers. The second clue was in the wide grin that spread over Harm's face.
"What...?"
She looked down, only to discover that the paperclip she had chosen was connected to another one, which was, in turn, connected to another, and another, and yet another. She pulled at the chain, lifting it out of its small plastic box, the links twisting and turning like a long metal snake.
"Did you...?"
"Nope." Harm was quick to defend himself. "I've been meeting with my client, remember?"
"Then who...?
Just then, Harriet knocked lightly on the doorjamb.
"Colonel?"
She spied the chain of paperclips and grinned.
"Never mind."
Mac untangled a single clip, attached it to her papers, and looked up at Harriet.
"You too?"
"Me, too. In fact, near as I can tell, the gremlin hit everybody but the admiral again."
Mac began untangling the clips, but Harriet hurried over and took the mess from her, replacing it with a fresh box of fasteners.
"I'll take care of this for you, Ma'am."
Mac smiled gratefully.
"Thanks, Harriet."
"No problem."
With an over the shoulder smile, Harriet was away again, and Mac turned her attention to a still grinning Harm.
"What's so funny?"
"The look on your face."
She rolled her eyes at him in mock exasperation, but he was chuckling as he left her office.
0030 Zulu (1930 Local)
Dulles International Airport
Washington D.C.
Harm checked his watch for the third time. Breanna Mercer's flight was already an hour late, and it looked like he was going to miss dinner with Mattie. He sighed and pulled out his cell phone, hitting the speed dial as he looked up at the arrivals board for what felt like the twentieth time.
"Mattie? It's Harm. Listen, Mrs. Mercer's flight hasn't arrived yet..."
"Wasn't it supposed to land an hour ago?" Mattie sounded annoyed.
"Yes. Looks like they got delayed. I'm expecting her any minute, but you and Jennifer should go ahead and eat."
"We can wait."
"No. After she gets here we still have to collect her bags, and then I need to see her to her hotel. You eat. I should be home in time to check your homework before you go to bed."
"I hate this."
"What?"
"I hate never knowing whether you're going to be here or not."
"Mattie..."
"I know. This isn't the time."
"No. It isn't."
"Will there ever be a time, Harm?" Her voice, just a tad on the whiny side, irritated him, and it was with a certain amount of relief that he saw Breanna Mercer enter the baggage claim area.
"She's here, Mattie. We'll talk later."
"Sure we will."
There was a click, and she was gone. With a deep sigh, he pocketed the phone and went to meet his client's wife.
Breanna looked up from the luggage turnstile with a tired smile when he approached.
"I wish I could say it was good to see you again, Commander."
"I understand, Ma'am. Can I help you with your luggage?"
"It's just the one bag. That blue one over there." She indicated a dark blue soft sided suitcase and he lifted it easily off the conveyor belt, then led the way back to his car. In a few minutes, they were on the way to her hotel. While he drove, he told her what he could about the case, which, unfortunately, wasn't much.
"The prosecuting attorney won't accept a plea?"
"I've tried twice. She's not interested. I have to admit. If I were in her place, I'd feel the same way. She's got a strong case."
"How many witnesses is she putting on the stand?"
"Five."
"And how many do you have?"
"Only three, unless I decide to put your husband on the stand."
"You don't know yet?"
"I haven't made up my mind." He didn't tell her that he considered her husband to be his own worst enemy. "I'll decide after I see how the prosecution's case plays out."
"I see."
"I'll be honest with you, Mrs. Mercer..."
She interrupted him with a small smile. "Breanna, remember?"
"Breanna. It doesn't look good for your husband."
"So you said last week."
"I know. I just want you to be prepared."
"What do you think his sentence will be?"
"Best guess?"
"Yes." Her voice was firm, but tense.
"Dishonorable discharge, forfeiture of pay and allowances, and ..." He hesitated.
"And?"
"He could get thirty years, Breanna." He said it softy, and saw her cringe. He instinctively wanted to protect her, to keep her from having to go through the trial, but he knew there was nothing he could do.
A few minutes later, they arrived at the hotel, and Harm waited while Breanna handled the paperwork, then escorted her to her room, leaving her at her door with a reassuring smile and a soft "goodnight."
**** End Part 5 ****
Author: Pixie
Email: Pixie4@charter.net
Rating, Classification, Disclaimers...all that mumbo jumbo shows up in other parts. I'm feeling lazy, so if you want to see it, I'll let you go find it.
Feedback: I absolutely want to know your reactions, but if I'm not going to like what you have to say, please respect me enough to email me privately.
AN: Melissa has stuck with me since early March when I first started working on this, and despite my best efforts, I haven't managed to scare her off - though she does get a little annoyed at me occasionally when I disturb the cobwebs in her brain. Aerogirl not only beta reads for me, but always makes it a point to find something positive to say about my work. Thank you, ladies. I couldn't have done it without you.
**** Part 5 ****
2225 Zulu (1725 Local)
2812 M Street, Apartment 4
Washington, D.C.
Harm was pulling a casserole out of the oven when a knock on the door signaled Mac's arrival.
"Mattie..."
"I'm on it, Harm."
A few seconds later, Mac joined him in the kitchen. She put a half gallon of ice cream in the freezer before turning to him with a smile.
"Hi."
"Hi." He tried hard to look nonchalant, but apparently failed miserably, because Mac shook a warning finger at him.
"Remember?" she said, sotto voce. "It was your idea to keep things quiet for a while."
He groaned.
"Don't remind me," he said in a frustrated undertone.
Mac brushed against him as she reached for a water glass, and Harm had to struggle not to react. He turned away from her and opened the fridge, ostensibly to get out the makings for a salad, but in reality hoping the cool air would settle his frayed nerves. Mac's low laugh did nothing to help, and as she sauntered past him to join the girls in the living room, she dared to run a finger up his spine, obviously delighting in making his life difficult. He threw a halfhearted glare in her direction, but she was already gone, and he heard her making lively conversation in the other room. He thanked whatever gods had rescued him from the danger of her close presence, and devoted himself to chopping vegetables and tearing lettuce with a vengeance that would have made a warrior proud.
In record time, they were sitting down to eat. As a precaution, he'd put Mac across from himself, with Mattie and Jennifer on either side in between. Mac was feeling mischievous tonight, rarely missing an opportunity to torment him; a fact that was fast raising both his body temperature and blood pressure to dangerous levels. Twice she'd managed to make contact on the pretense of taking this or that to the table, and now that they were seated, they seemed to need the same condiments at the same time. He sent her a suspicious glare, but her response was an innocent smile.
Thankfully, Mattie and Jen were oblivious to all of it, too busy debating the movie they'd rented last weekend. Harm was aware enough to know that it had something to do with a big family, but he wasn't exactly focused on the details.
"What do you think, Harm?"
Mattie's question jarred him back to the present and Mac's triumphant grin. She knew exactly what she was doing to him, the little minx, and after Jen and Mattie left he intended to exact a very sweet revenge.
"What do I think about what?"
"Do you think you could handle twelve kids?" Mattie repeated her question in that patient tone of voice peculiar to teenagers with not so bright parents.
"Good question, Mattie," said Mac. Then, cocking her head to one side with the evaluative expression she usually reserved for a potential juror, she targeted Harm. "Could you do it?"
That flustered him. He wasn't sure what she was getting at, so he couldn't decide whether to take the question seriously or not. An idea occurred to him, an opportunity to turn the tables, and he leaped at it.
"I don't know. I guess that would depend on who the mother was."
He watched the shot hit home. Bull's-eye! He had to hold back a chortle at the flustered way she started collecting dishes in a futile attempt to hide her sudden confusion.
Unaware of the hidden undercurrents, Mattie and Jennifer went back to discussing the movie. Apparently, Mattie had read the book in her English class and was disgusted with how far the film departed from the text. Jennifer was trying to explain about creative license and movie rights, but Mattie wasn't buying any of it. They were still debating while Harm and Mac cleaned up the kitchen, though now they'd pulled out the newspaper to see what other movies they could pick apart.
Mac was elbow deep in sudsy water when Harm saw another opportunity for payback. He checked on Mattie and Jennifer first, pleased to see they had their backs to the kitchen while they hunted for the entertainment section. Mac had turned toward the dishwasher, a sudsy glass in her hands, when Harm snuck an arm around her waist, his thumb brushing the underside of her breast, and nibbled a spot on her neck that he knew was guaranteed to get a reaction.
He was right. She gasped and stiffened, the glass slipping from suddenly nerveless fingers to shatter into hundreds of pieces on the kitchen floor. He straightened quickly, and by the time the girls scrambled to their feet to see what had happened he was already busy sweeping up the pieces while Mac turned back to the sink, faint traces of pink around her neck and ears the only indication that he had gotten to her.
"What happened?" asked Jennifer, concern edging her words.
"My hand slipped," Mac answered. "The glass was soapy. No worries, though. Nobody got hurt."
Harm thought she did an admirable job of sounding normal under the circumstances, and he mentally congratulated her on her acting abilities.
"Oh. O.K., then."
The girls disappeared again, and Mac shot him a glare that would have withered a lesser man, but Harm merely grinned and emptied the dustpan into the trash.
"That'll teach you to mess with the master," he whispered on his way past her to put the broom away.
"You haven't seen anything yet," she answered, just as softly.
"It's going to be a long week, isn't it."
"Yeah." The single word carried a wealth of longing and frustration with it, and by mutual agreement they finished their chores with a minimum of teasing.
Shortly after dinner, Mattie and Jennifer left. Mattie had some homework to finish, and Jennifer had laundry to do before bed. They took the ice cream with them, and somehow Harm knew he'd never see the carton again. When the door closed behind the two girls, Harm leaned against it, unable to believe that he and Mac were finally alone. He caught her eye and slowly, deliberately, clicked the deadbolt into place.
"Harm..."
He was moving toward her, and the sensible side of her backed away while the passionate side pushed her forward. The end result was that she remained frozen in place, unable to move in either direction.
"Harm..." she tried again.
"Yes?" He was three steps away, and still moving.
"I really should go." Her voice faltered as he reached to trace her ear with a gentle finger, tucking a strand of hair out of the way in the process.
"Do you have to?" He laced his fingers through her hair, then lifted them, allowing the silky strands to slide through and drift back into place.
"What if Mattie comes back?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
His hand left her hair. Now one finger traced her jaw line, and she shivered in response.
"She won't."
He continued his tactile tour, now trailing lightly down the column of her throat.
"How do you know?" It was getting harder to speak with each passing moment.
"I just know."
Across her collarbone now, his touch, ever so gentle, ever so slow, was raising goose bumps in its wake.
"Did you tell her about us?" She couldn't seem to work up any indignation at the prospect, her thoughts having taken a turn in a different direction.
"No..."
He smoothed his hand down her arm, finally lacing his fingers with hers
"Then how can you be sure she won't come back?" She struggled to remember her point as he lifted his other hand, starting the process all over again.
"Habits and routines. I won't hear from either of them until breakfast time, when one or the other will show up at the door looking for milk." The practical words didn't match the sensuous pitch of his voice, which caused her to moisten her lips with the tip of her tongue.
"I should probably be gone by then, shouldn't I."
"Probably."
His touch moved down her throat again, across her collarbone, and down her other arm, knitting his fingers with hers so that now he held both of her hands, his body mere inches from her own, her every nerve singing with his nearness. Her voice abandoned her completely then, chased away by the intensity of his gaze and the electricity that arced through the air between them.
"Sarah."
Maybe it was because he used it so rarely, or maybe it was because she loved him so much. Whatever the reason, her name, spoken so casually by so many others, sounded different when he said it, the syllables imbued with so much tenderness and warmth that they always brought a lump to her throat.
"I love you."
He'd said it often over the past few days. They both had. Yet the simple phrase still had the power to move her to tears, and she felt them well up in her eyes again now.
"I love you too," she said, her voice a mere whisper of sound.
He kissed her tears away, and his hands tightened around hers.
"A man tells you he loves you and you cry? What's that about?" But his voice was gently teasing, and when his lips descended over hers, they tasted of salt.
His kiss worked its magic, and the room, the soft music playing on the stereo, the sound of the dishwasher, all of it faded away until she was left with the feel of his lips upon hers, the sound of their mingled breath, and the touch of his hands on her skin. She had been concerned that Mattie might come back, might have a question about her homework or something she wanted to talk about, but her hesitation evaporated in the face of their mutual need, and when he led her to his bedroom, she followed willingly. She could no more have stopped herself from loving him than she could have stopped herself from breathing.
1317 Zulu (0817 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia
Staff call was nearly over. The admiral had assigned two new cases, one to Sturgis, and one to Bud. Now he leaned back in his seat and contemplated the assembled group in silence.
"This past year has been...difficult. We've all had some tough things to deal with. I'm not exactly a touchy feely kind of officer..."
He waited for the grins and nods to subside before he went on.
"...but it occurs to me that our survival, reasonably intact, calls for some type of celebration. So, I'm inviting all of you to my place Saturday afternoon for an informal spring barbeque."
"Sir?" asked Bud.
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
"I just want to make sure. Does informal in this case mean tie, or no tie?"
The admiral had to wait for laughter to die down before he could answer.
"Bud, in your honor, I think we'll make this a truly casual event - no tie."
"Thank you, Sir." Bud's relief was almost palpable, and Harm resisted another chuckle.
"All right everybody. I'll see you at my place at 1500 Saturday afternoon. Now let's get to work. Dismissed."
A few minutes later, Harm was back in his office, ready to start the day's work. He had forty-eight hours to come up with a defense for Lieutenant Mercer, and he still wasn't quite sure what tactic to use. He'd spoken with Breanna the previous afternoon, giving her flight and hotel suggestions, but when she'd asked about the case, he'd been deliberately vague. She was already upset enough. It wouldn't help to alarm her further.
Mercer's C.O. would be coming for the trial, as would a couple of Mercer's crewmates, more as character witnesses than anything else. His hope was that, based on the witness statements and the fact that this was a first offense, he could at least get the lieutenant a reduced sentence. He'd approached Mac about a plea bargain yesterday afternoon, but she'd turned it down - a sure sign that she knew her case was strong. He sighed and bent his head to the papers in front of him, resigning himself to several hours of reading and note taking.
"Commander?" Jennifer Coates stood in his doorway.
"What can I do for you, Petty Officer?
"Are you...having any problems with your computer this morning?"
"I haven't even turned it on yet. Why?"
"Would you mind turning it on?"
Puzzled, he did as she asked, then looked at her inquiringly.
"Is something supposed to happen?"
"Try checking your e-mail."
He did as she asked, sliding the mouse across the pad so that he could click the appropriate icon.
Nothing happened.
The cursor didn't move.
He ran the mouse back and forth across the pad several times, but the little arrow sat stubbornly right in the middle of his screen.
"What in the...?"
"No luck?"
She stepped inside his office then and walked over to the desk.
"Pick it up and check the bottom of it, Sir."
Harm flipped the gadget over and rolled his eyes. Somebody had taped over the mouse ball, locking it into position.
"Who?"
"I don't know, Commander, but it seems to have happened to everybody."
"Everybody?"
"Everybody but the admiral. All the mice on the floor appear to have been trapped. "
"Somebody's idea of a prank?"
"Looks that way, Sir."
"So now we have the elevator, rubber ducks, Mac's confetti..."
"Confetti, Sir?"
He grinned.
"You'll have to ask her about that one, Petty Officer." He peeled the tape from the back of his mouse, slid it experimentally across the mouse pad, and then went on. "And now we have mouse traps. Gotta wonder what's going on, huh Jen?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Well, thanks for the heads up. Looks like I'm good to go now."
"You're welcome, Sir."
With that, she was gone, and he resolutely turned his attention back to the papers spread before him.
He spent the entire day going through documents, making notes, and organizing his defense. He'd eaten lunch in his office, and aside from staff call this morning and a few short e-mails, he'd not heard from Mac. They were both too busy with last minute preparations to even take time out to flirt. In a way, he supposed that was a good thing. Her presence was a distraction he couldn't afford right now.
He was reading over a final document when something caught his eye. He shuffled files around, looking for his notes from the trip to Whidbey. When he finally found them, he scanned the pages quickly, hoping his memory had been accurate. The note he'd made jumped out at him from the page, and he compared it to the documents Mac had given him, then picked up the phone to make a call, drumming his fingers impatiently on the desk while he waited for the line to be picked up at the other end.
Five minutes later, he had an answer to his question, and he leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. What he'd found wouldn't win the case, but it might save Mercer a few years of hard time. He jotted a reminder to himself to write up the documents he needed and then glanced at his watch, surprised at the lateness of the hour. He had one more day to prepare his case, one more day to come up with a convincing opening argument. He knew he could do it, but the thought of doing it for a guilty defendant made the task particularly unpleasant.
1230 Zulu (0730 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia
Mac sat down at her desk and took a sip of the steaming cup of coffee she'd brought from the break room. There were certain advantages to being the first one in, and fresh coffee was one of them. She knew a few people had drifted in - Jen, the admiral, but most wouldn't be in until closer to 0800 and she always enjoyed this opportunity to get her thoughts in order before the day resumed its normal frantic pace.
Rapid fire gunshots shattered the calm. It sounded like automatic weapons fire, and Mac was on the floor, crawling toward the doorway even as she wondered how somebody had gotten such a weapon past security. Cautiously, she peered around the corner, careful not to expose herself to whatever maniac had taken over JAG Ops. Nothing. All appeared quiet. She scooted out of her office, careful to keep something solid between herself and the direction the sounds had come from. The burst of noise sounded again, and now that she was in the bullpen, she knew for a fact that it had come from the direction of the admiral's office.
A light touch on her back startled her, and she turned, ready to defend herself, but it was only Harm, crouched down protectively between her and the open hallway.
"What's going on?" he whispered.
"I don't know. I heard weapons fire."
"I heard it too. You go that way," he gestured around the other side of JAG ops. "Signal me when you're ready. We'll go in together."
"All right. Be safe, Harm."
"You, too." He squeezed her arm gently, then gave her a gentle push.
She inched her way along the wall, careful to keep a solid object between her body and the admiral's office. She was in position, ready to signal Harm, when the gunfire sounded again.
"Damn!" Jen's voice.
Then...
"I'm sorry, Sir. I don't understand it."
"I don't care if you understand it! Just fix it!"
"Working on it, Sir."
"Work faster."
Mac exchanged a puzzled look with Harm before carefully rounding the corner. What she saw made her bite back a laugh.
The admiral hovered over Jen's head, scowling at the computer monitor, while the petty officer's fingers danced over her keyboard, a panicked expression on her face.
"What's going on?" Harm asked. He'd rounded the corner right behind her, and now stood close enough to her that she could sense the heat of his body, smell the spicy scent of his aftershave. She struggled to maintain her equilibrium while Jen replied.
"Looks like somebody reprogrammed my startup sounds, Sir."
"Isn't your system secure?"
"Parts of it are, Sir, but I guess it never occurred to the techs that wave files could be dangerous." The expression on her face was pure Jennifer; humor that somebody had set her up; determination to get even, and desperation to fix the problem before the admiral took drastic action.
"There. That's got it, Sir."
They all waited while she rebooted the computer, and when the only sounds were the familiar Windows start up chimes, they breathed a collective sigh of relief.
"Well...that was exciting," Now that the initial crisis had passed, the admiral seemed to see the humor in the situation.
"You could say that," Mac said, grinning as the adrenalin rush subsided, but still wishing that Harm wouldn't stand quite so close behind her.
He either heard her, or decided for himself that some distance between them would be a good thing, because he moved to lean against the doorjamb, a mischievous grin on his face.
"We seem to have gremlins," he said.
"Gremlins?" The admiral looked puzzled.
"Cute little furry creatures that like to get into mischief," explained Mac.
They waited for him to explode into a rant about workplace behavior, but he just shook his head and went back into his office, closing the door behind him.
The three who were left exchanged bewildered looks.
Mac shrugged. She wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. If the admiral chose to take this latest prank in stride, the least she could do was to follow his lead. She left Jen and Harm and walked back to her office. They were down to twenty four hours before trial, and she had a lot to do.
1530 Zulu (1030 Local)
JAG Headquarters
Falls Church, Virginia
Harm faced Lieutenant Mercer across the scarred wooden table.
"You lied to me," Harm said, not bothering with a polite greeting.
"What do you mean?"
"You and two of your crew tested positive for MDMA. You told me you never used it."
Mercer sighed.
"Look. It's not a big deal. It just makes you feel good for a while. Makes it easier to get the job done, you know?"
"No. I don't know. And I really don't care to know. And the members aren't going to care either. All they're going to care about is that; one, you disgraced your uniform; two, you took advantage of your military status to transport illegal drugs across an international border; and three, you sold those drugs, at a profit, to American dealers."
"I did not!" Mercer was out of his seat, pacing the floor like a caged lion.
"Oh?" Harm folded his arms across his chest and stared a challenge at his client. "Your financial records seem to indicate otherwise."
"That money didn't come from sales. It was strictly a transportation reimbursement."
"Do tell."
Mercer shot him a glare. "Look. I'm telling you. With the exception of a few select clients, I didn't sell the drugs." He sounded almost desperate, and Harm had to wonder if he was actually telling the truth this time.
"Then what did you do with them once you got them into the country?"
"I can't tell you that."
"Why not?"
"I just can't, ok? Now can we drop it?"
Harm leaned forward in his seat.
"Look, if you come forward with what you know, I might be able to get you a reduced sentence."
"It doesn't matter. If the members find me guilty, I'll do my time." Mercer sounded resigned now, his tones flat and without emotion.
"If?" Harm was incredulous. "The prosecution has surveillance records, chemical analyses, financial records, drug tests on you and those other two officers..." He ticked the items off on his fingers as he listed them. "They can back it all up with flight schedules and eyewitness reports. Now, do you want to rethink your position?"
"No." Mercer stopped in front of Harm and leaned his hands on the table. "Isn't there anything you can do for me?" He was plaintive now, his arrogance slipping away as he finally took in the mountain of facts lined up against him.
Harm sighed. Too little, too late. The man was doomed by his arrogance and stupidity, and not only was Harm not certain there was much he could do, he wasn't even certain he wanted to try.
"Look, I'll do what I can. At the very least, we'll try to convince the members to give you a lighter sentence. You'll never fly again, though. You're looking at a dishonorable discharge and several years hard labor if you're lucky."
"And if I'm not?"
"I'm not going to lie to you. Worst case scenario, the sentences run consecutively. You'd have the dishonorable discharge, forfeiture of pay and allowances, and at least thirty years hard labor."
Mercer tried not to show his shock, but it was there in the slight widening of the eyes, the quick intake of breath. Harm might have almost felt sorry for the man, if he wasn't so angry every time he thought about what he'd done. Instead, he packed up his things and prepared to leave.
"Panel selection is at 0830 tomorrow. Opening remarks at 1000. Somebody will see that you get where you need to go."
"Yes, Sir."
"Your wife is coming in tonight. Do you have a message you'd like me to deliver?"
"Just tell her..." He paused, then turned his head away. "Tell her I love her."
"Will do. I'll see you tomorrow morning."
He picked up his case and signaled the guard that he was through. A few minutes later, he'd left the lieutenant behind in the small two celled brig that served as a sort of holding tank for prisoners awaiting trial. As he walked back to his office, he was already assembling his opening remarks in his head. He'd recognized something human in the choked words of affection for Breanna, something that reminded him that, criminal or not, Steven Mercer was still a human being, entitled to the best defense Harm could put together.
A few minutes later, he knocked on Mac's door frame, ready with a warm smile when she looked up from her computer.
"Do you have time to grab some lunch?"
"I wish. I'll probably just order a sandwich and eat at my desk. Sorry."
"No problem. I should probably eat in, too." He started to back out, changed his mind, and stepped back inside. "Any chance I can convince you to reconsider the plea I offered yesterday?"
"Dishonorable with forfeiture and ten years? That plea?"
"That'd be the one."
She grinned at him. "You're joking, right?"
"Not a bit."
"I'll see you in court, Harm."
She collected a sheaf of papers from her printer, and reached for a paperclip. The clips were stored in a small plastic box with a magnetic lid, and she selected one at random and pulled it toward her, paying more attention to Harm then to what she was doing.
Her first clue that something wasn't quite right was in the fact that the clip didn't seem to want to slide all the way down over the top edge of the papers. The second clue was in the wide grin that spread over Harm's face.
"What...?"
She looked down, only to discover that the paperclip she had chosen was connected to another one, which was, in turn, connected to another, and another, and yet another. She pulled at the chain, lifting it out of its small plastic box, the links twisting and turning like a long metal snake.
"Did you...?"
"Nope." Harm was quick to defend himself. "I've been meeting with my client, remember?"
"Then who...?
Just then, Harriet knocked lightly on the doorjamb.
"Colonel?"
She spied the chain of paperclips and grinned.
"Never mind."
Mac untangled a single clip, attached it to her papers, and looked up at Harriet.
"You too?"
"Me, too. In fact, near as I can tell, the gremlin hit everybody but the admiral again."
Mac began untangling the clips, but Harriet hurried over and took the mess from her, replacing it with a fresh box of fasteners.
"I'll take care of this for you, Ma'am."
Mac smiled gratefully.
"Thanks, Harriet."
"No problem."
With an over the shoulder smile, Harriet was away again, and Mac turned her attention to a still grinning Harm.
"What's so funny?"
"The look on your face."
She rolled her eyes at him in mock exasperation, but he was chuckling as he left her office.
0030 Zulu (1930 Local)
Dulles International Airport
Washington D.C.
Harm checked his watch for the third time. Breanna Mercer's flight was already an hour late, and it looked like he was going to miss dinner with Mattie. He sighed and pulled out his cell phone, hitting the speed dial as he looked up at the arrivals board for what felt like the twentieth time.
"Mattie? It's Harm. Listen, Mrs. Mercer's flight hasn't arrived yet..."
"Wasn't it supposed to land an hour ago?" Mattie sounded annoyed.
"Yes. Looks like they got delayed. I'm expecting her any minute, but you and Jennifer should go ahead and eat."
"We can wait."
"No. After she gets here we still have to collect her bags, and then I need to see her to her hotel. You eat. I should be home in time to check your homework before you go to bed."
"I hate this."
"What?"
"I hate never knowing whether you're going to be here or not."
"Mattie..."
"I know. This isn't the time."
"No. It isn't."
"Will there ever be a time, Harm?" Her voice, just a tad on the whiny side, irritated him, and it was with a certain amount of relief that he saw Breanna Mercer enter the baggage claim area.
"She's here, Mattie. We'll talk later."
"Sure we will."
There was a click, and she was gone. With a deep sigh, he pocketed the phone and went to meet his client's wife.
Breanna looked up from the luggage turnstile with a tired smile when he approached.
"I wish I could say it was good to see you again, Commander."
"I understand, Ma'am. Can I help you with your luggage?"
"It's just the one bag. That blue one over there." She indicated a dark blue soft sided suitcase and he lifted it easily off the conveyor belt, then led the way back to his car. In a few minutes, they were on the way to her hotel. While he drove, he told her what he could about the case, which, unfortunately, wasn't much.
"The prosecuting attorney won't accept a plea?"
"I've tried twice. She's not interested. I have to admit. If I were in her place, I'd feel the same way. She's got a strong case."
"How many witnesses is she putting on the stand?"
"Five."
"And how many do you have?"
"Only three, unless I decide to put your husband on the stand."
"You don't know yet?"
"I haven't made up my mind." He didn't tell her that he considered her husband to be his own worst enemy. "I'll decide after I see how the prosecution's case plays out."
"I see."
"I'll be honest with you, Mrs. Mercer..."
She interrupted him with a small smile. "Breanna, remember?"
"Breanna. It doesn't look good for your husband."
"So you said last week."
"I know. I just want you to be prepared."
"What do you think his sentence will be?"
"Best guess?"
"Yes." Her voice was firm, but tense.
"Dishonorable discharge, forfeiture of pay and allowances, and ..." He hesitated.
"And?"
"He could get thirty years, Breanna." He said it softy, and saw her cringe. He instinctively wanted to protect her, to keep her from having to go through the trial, but he knew there was nothing he could do.
A few minutes later, they arrived at the hotel, and Harm waited while Breanna handled the paperwork, then escorted her to her room, leaving her at her door with a reassuring smile and a soft "goodnight."
**** End Part 5 ****