make something out of it that isn’t.”
“We’re guys, Lieutenant. Erections are a way of life, and our penises have minds of their own.”
“It’s Bob. My name. Please, call me Bob. Not that I’m hitting on you or anything. I need to have a little normal in my life right now,” he added in a rush.
“I wouldn’t take offense if you were, nor would I beat the shit out of you or report you. For me, it’s no different than having a woman hit on me.” Greg meant it.
“I wish everyone felt that way.” He flicked away the bead of sweat from his forehead.
“Oh for the perfect world.”
“Then there’d be no need for marines,” Cornwall added.
“There’s always a place for marines.”
Cornwall laughed lightly. “God, I hope so. Hope I can continue to fly under the radar. Honestly, if I could only find a safe outlet. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had sex. I swear I’m going to go insane.”
Those words alone made all the ones before feel like a lie, a trap. It smacked of a hidden agenda. That sneaky others called Cornwall. The sudden outpouring of personal information, taking Greg into his confidence, an invitation to share. It was a little too coincidental for Greg.
“I know how you feel.”
“For the first time in years, I actually feel human again.”
It was time to steer this conversation elsewhere. Give Cornwall something else to think about besides whatever track he was on.
Greg glanced his way. “And ready to face a possibly irate major?”
Cornwall sucked a breath through his teeth. “I think I can face the major better than I could the CG. I don’t envy Captain Hollister at all right now.”
“She’s a strong marine. The woman can definitely hold her own.” Pride filled his chest, and his nerve endings zapped electricity throughout his body at the thought of being plugged into her hot body. Talk about inconvenient erections.
“Tell me about the murder scene last night,” Cornwall asked.
It was the perfect distraction and kept them occupied until Greg pulled into Major Kenyon’s driveway. The neighborhood was the picture of desert suburbia, not dissimilar to what one might find in Palm Springs or Las Vegas. Greg didn’t care for it. The houses were packed too tight together and cut off the view of the area. It made him feel a little claustrophobic. Sand was raked to feng shui perfection around the Washingtonia palms and purple sage in each front yard. Basketball hoops hovered over every other garage. Redwood fencing obscured the backyards, most likely hiding pools. One thing set the Kenyon home apart from the others—there was a yellow ribbon tacked to the front door.
“The neighbors had to have known Mrs. Kenyon and the kids were gone,” Cornwall said.
“God only knows what excuse he might have given them.” Greg looked around but could find no evidence of anyone out and about. “Living in a neighborhood doesn’t necessarily make for good neighbors. They might keep to their own castles. Ready?”
“Yeah, I think I can face just about anything right now.”
Greg led the way along the cobblestoned pavers to the front door. The smell hit him before they reached it.
“Oh my God.” Cornwall scrubbed his finger under his nose. “Is that—”
“Yeah.” Greg pulled out his cell phone and dialed .
On the street in the civilian world, Brigadier General H. G. Drake would be thought of as a teddy bear. He was big and burly—within regulation, of course. But there was nothing cuddly about him, at least not from his subordinates’ perspective. Grizzlies were tamer. He was reasonable and agreeable on good days. This wasn’t one of them.
Lani stood front and center before his desk along with Lieutenant Colonel Seaberg, Jordan Beck, and Chief of Staff Colonel Jerry Reynolds. They’d been ordered to sit the hell down. Lani knew why—the general wanted to pace and hover over them, intimidate. He was doing a damn fine job of it. This, after having them cool
“We’re guys, Lieutenant. Erections are a way of life, and our penises have minds of their own.”
“It’s Bob. My name. Please, call me Bob. Not that I’m hitting on you or anything. I need to have a little normal in my life right now,” he added in a rush.
“I wouldn’t take offense if you were, nor would I beat the shit out of you or report you. For me, it’s no different than having a woman hit on me.” Greg meant it.
“I wish everyone felt that way.” He flicked away the bead of sweat from his forehead.
“Oh for the perfect world.”
“Then there’d be no need for marines,” Cornwall added.
“There’s always a place for marines.”
Cornwall laughed lightly. “God, I hope so. Hope I can continue to fly under the radar. Honestly, if I could only find a safe outlet. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had sex. I swear I’m going to go insane.”
Those words alone made all the ones before feel like a lie, a trap. It smacked of a hidden agenda. That sneaky others called Cornwall. The sudden outpouring of personal information, taking Greg into his confidence, an invitation to share. It was a little too coincidental for Greg.
“I know how you feel.”
“For the first time in years, I actually feel human again.”
It was time to steer this conversation elsewhere. Give Cornwall something else to think about besides whatever track he was on.
Greg glanced his way. “And ready to face a possibly irate major?”
Cornwall sucked a breath through his teeth. “I think I can face the major better than I could the CG. I don’t envy Captain Hollister at all right now.”
“She’s a strong marine. The woman can definitely hold her own.” Pride filled his chest, and his nerve endings zapped electricity throughout his body at the thought of being plugged into her hot body. Talk about inconvenient erections.
“Tell me about the murder scene last night,” Cornwall asked.
It was the perfect distraction and kept them occupied until Greg pulled into Major Kenyon’s driveway. The neighborhood was the picture of desert suburbia, not dissimilar to what one might find in Palm Springs or Las Vegas. Greg didn’t care for it. The houses were packed too tight together and cut off the view of the area. It made him feel a little claustrophobic. Sand was raked to feng shui perfection around the Washingtonia palms and purple sage in each front yard. Basketball hoops hovered over every other garage. Redwood fencing obscured the backyards, most likely hiding pools. One thing set the Kenyon home apart from the others—there was a yellow ribbon tacked to the front door.
“The neighbors had to have known Mrs. Kenyon and the kids were gone,” Cornwall said.
“God only knows what excuse he might have given them.” Greg looked around but could find no evidence of anyone out and about. “Living in a neighborhood doesn’t necessarily make for good neighbors. They might keep to their own castles. Ready?”
“Yeah, I think I can face just about anything right now.”
Greg led the way along the cobblestoned pavers to the front door. The smell hit him before they reached it.
“Oh my God.” Cornwall scrubbed his finger under his nose. “Is that—”
“Yeah.” Greg pulled out his cell phone and dialed .
On the street in the civilian world, Brigadier General H. G. Drake would be thought of as a teddy bear. He was big and burly—within regulation, of course. But there was nothing cuddly about him, at least not from his subordinates’ perspective. Grizzlies were tamer. He was reasonable and agreeable on good days. This wasn’t one of them.
Lani stood front and center before his desk along with Lieutenant Colonel Seaberg, Jordan Beck, and Chief of Staff Colonel Jerry Reynolds. They’d been ordered to sit the hell down. Lani knew why—the general wanted to pace and hover over them, intimidate. He was doing a damn fine job of it. This, after having them cool
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