She pushed herself up and off of the sofa, incensed. “And the army believes that? You believe that?” she demanded, facing the fire and feeling a chill wash over her despite of the heat.

  “No. No, Rachael.” She heard him rise from the sofa, felt his hands on her arms and she let him turn her around to face him. “Of course I don’t believe it. Not for a minute. But the army … they like things wrapped up neat and tidy. They like conclusions. So they came up with one.”

  She felt numb. Couldn’t even respond.

  “Forensic evidence proved that it was his rifle,” Ian continued reluctantly, “his ammo that killed the man. And they found some skin and blood on the rifle butt that matched Mac’s DNA...”

  She pulled away from him, forked her fingers through her hair, holding it back from her face. Mac hadn’t mentioned any of this to her. “But why? Why would Mac do something like that? He … he said… he told me that he and this man … that they’d formed a friendship of sorts. What possible reason would he have to kill him?”

  Ian dragged a hand across his jaw, hesitated. When he wouldn’t meet her eyes, a trepidation like none she’d ever known pitted in her stomach. “What? What haven’t you told me?”

  This time he turned his back on her and stared at the licking flames before covering his face with both hands and dragging them slowly down his jaw. “They found heroin in Mac’s office, Rachael. Hidden in the back of his desk. Taped under a drawer.”

  A bomb exploding in her living room wouldn’t have shattered her world as completely as the silence that followed his words.

  “Heroin?” she asked, barely able to get the word past her lips.

  He gave her a reluctant nod. “Two or three kilos. It’s no secret that there’s a big opium trade in Afghanistan.”

  Eyes wild, she searched his face to see if she could read his mind. “Ian. For God’s sake. Heroin?” she repeated, breathless. “No. Mac wouldn’t have anything to do with drugs of any kind.”

  She hugged herself to keep from splintering when he didn’t say anything. Fought back the niggling realization that Mac hadn’t mentioned anything to her about heroin. Just like he hadn’t mentioned they suspected him of faking unconsciousness. “Ian. Come on. You know Mac.”

  “I do,” he said strongly. “But it doesn’t matter what I know. It matters what the Army thinks. And the Army thinks that Mac and the Afghan got into it over either money or the drugs. A deal gone wrong. And that’s why Mac killed him. ”

  She collapsed onto the sofa. Buried her face in her hands. She thought she’d been living a nightmare before. Her fear just increased tenfold.

  They’d made a case against Mac. A neat, tidy case showing motive and opportunity.

  Ian was beside her in a heartbeat, his arm around her shoulders, pulling her tightly against him. “I’m so sorry.”

  She felt limbless as she leaned against him. Lifeless, as the horrible cache of information Ian had just given her swirled around her, liquefying then jelling into a damaging and believable story. A story that could be true. If it was about anyone but Mac.

  But it was about Mac. And if the army felt they had enough evidence to charge and court-martial him, then they would go to any lengths to prove him guilty.

  Chapter Seven

  “Is it true?” One persistent reporter yelled the next morning.

  Ian pushed him aside, tucking Rachael who carried Addie, protectively under his shoulder, then using his body for a shield, walked them through the gauntlet to the car.

  “Mrs. McKenzie? Is it true that your husband is guilty of murder?” he repeated. An ID pinned to his winter coat said he was from the AP. When she kept her head down he turned to Ian, shoving a microphone into his face. “Are you Ian Hughes? Samuel McKenzie’s best friend – and also the witness who swore a statement against him?”

  “No comment,” Ian said forcefully and with one look, parted the sea of reporters so he could get Rachael and Addie into the car without further obstruction. “Come on. Let the lady pass.”

  “It’s only going to get worse, I’m afraid,” Ian told her once he’d backed down the driveway and sped down the street with a squeal of tires. They’d had to take her SUV because they needed the car seat. And they’d had to take the car seat because Rachael was determined that Mac get to see his daughter today.

  And, yeah. Ian was probably right. It was only going to get worse.

  This was so unfair. Not just to Mac and her and Addie who cried when the mob of reporters had become aggressive and crowded them. It was unfair to Ian, too.

  That little scene just now proved it.

  Ian hit the windshield wipers to clear the spray from an oncoming car. In the seat behind them, Addie made a sighing sound and stared out the window with sleepy eyes.

  Rachael let out a breath of pent up tension at the wonder of their golden-haired girl. Her baby would turn two in six months. Golden curls, like her daddy’s, sparkling blue eyes as full of mischief as Mac’s, and brimming with intelligence and good humor. And her smile, her sweet little smile, was often the only thing that got Rachael through some very tough days.

  She’d barely been pregnant when Mac had been ordered to Thailand for his first deployment. The pictures and videos she’d sent had helped, but he didn’t get home to hold Addie in his arms until she was three months old. Sometimes, when they lay in bed at night, with Addie’s sweet smelling little body nestled between them, he would look at them with both a fierce and tender light in his eyes and swear that as long as he lived, he would always love them, protect them, be there for them and never let anything happen to them.

  Leaving them again after Thailand had been difficult because he’d missed the celebration of her first birthday due to his deployment to Afghanistan. It broke Rachael’s heart that Addie barely remembered her father who loved her so deeply.

  Now he was in prison and Addie no longer saw the father who had sworn to always be there. Rachael no longer had a husband she could smile with, their baby tucked snuggly between them.

  Ian reached across to the passenger seat and covered her hand with his.

  “Hang in there.” He squeezed gently, reading her sadness then returned his hand to the wheel.

  The gesture of comfort and concern had her blinking to hold back tears. God. They came so easily. And Ian knew her so well. Seemed to sense when she was on a downward spiral. Thank God for Ian, she thought again. She needed him. Addie needed him. And he was there for them. Like Mac had promised to be.

  Yes. She felt bitter. And angry and lost without him.

  Embarrassment and guilt undercut the anger. His deployment had almost been over. He was coming home to them. Now he may never come home.

  “How could this have happened to us?” she asked aloud. “How could Mac be facing the next forty years behind bars – or if his commanding officer had her way – life without parole?”

  “It’s not fair. It’s not right. We’ll get it figured out Rachael. Just stay strong.”

  She glanced Ian’s way, needing, suddenly, to confirm the physical presence of strength, kindness and absolute loyalty. To her. To Mac. To Addie. This had been hard on Ian, too. He’d literally placed his life on hold to help them all through this horrible ordeal. Supported Mac when he’d been charged. Managed to get leave to get back stateside. She knew that for the most part he was here because of his love for Mac and because he’d promised Mac to take care of her and Addie. But guilt also played a factor. A huge factor, because he had to testify as a witness against his best friend.

  “Why aren’t you married?” Rachael asked abruptly and looked at Ian. Really looked at him. The man was gorgeous. The man lived and breathed integrity and duty and honor. “Why aren’t you home with an adoring wife and one point five kids? Enjoying your life? Working your way up the ladder? You were on a career path to making general. Why don’t you have someone other than us you should be taking care of?”

  “Never found the right woman, I guess,” Ian said, dragging her back to the moment and the ride and the knowledge that they were about to reach the security check point. “Not everyone can be as lucky as Mac,” he added belatedly, with a quick glance her way.

  She stared straight ahead, thought of the irony. “Lucky. Yeah. Lucky, Mac. Rotting away in prison,” she said bitterly.

  “That came out wrong. He always said he was the lucky one to have found you first.”

  And now lucky Mac was facing life in prison.

  “Maybe he’ll have good news today,” Ian said with an encouraging smile.

  “Maybe,” she said not really believing it.

  Prisoner number C286 sat with his forearms flat on the small gray table, fingers meshed, head down. That’s how Mac thought of himself now. A number. After only a few days in Leavenworth, they had taken any resemblance of the man he was away.

  His eyes burned. A film of tears blurred his vision. He didn’t know why. He’d thought he was numb. After seeing Rachael yesterday, with only that brief touch of her hands tucked in his, he’d thought nothing else could affect him.

  He’d wanted to be brave for her. But that hadn’t happened. He’d been strangled by emotions, worn down by the reality that though he didn’t remember killing anyone, the army was determined that he had.

  Defeated.

  She was coming back today. With Ian. And as much as he wanted to see them both, he didn’t know if he could bear it. Knowing they’d leave without him. Knowing that for all of Rachael’s hope and determination, he wasn’t getting out of here.

  “Visitors are here, McKenzie,” the guard said. “You know the rules.”

  No touching. No breathing. No being human. No feeling if you could possibly help it.

  The air in the small room stirred slightly with the draft made when the guard closed the door then took an at-ease position inside the room.

  Still Mac didn’t look up. He stared at his thumbs which had begun an involuntary drumming against the table. Drew a deep breath of recycled institutionalized air scented of gray paint, disinfectant, and the four hundred plus men existing behind bars, all struggling with multiple layers of anger, despair and resignation.

  It had only taken a few days here for Mac to reach the resignation phase. Days of smelling those smells, of staring at stone gray walls, of awakening in the dark to the heart-wrenching echoes of far away weeping or the ear-piercing screams of helpless rage breaking the otherwise unrelenting silence of nights in a cell block.

  He recognized the lightness of Rachael’s footsteps as she walked toward the table. The bold, assertiveness of Ian’s. You’d think he’d have a lot to say to them. Two of the people he loved most in this world were here. They were here because they loved him.

  He’d recognize Rachael’s scent if a dozen women were in the room. Sweet. Unbelievably sexy without meaning to be. Home. God, she smelled like home.

  Steeling himself for the attack of emotions he refused to give in to when he saw her, Mac lifted his head and met her eyes. Her soulful, searching and hopeful green eyes.

  And everything in the room faded to black. Everything but Rachael. Lord, oh sweet Lord, he felt like his guts had been ripped out of him. Seeing her again only compounded the missing her. The wanting her. The loving her.

  He thought he’d been braced for it. Thought he could confront it and lock away the emotions like his cell door locked behind him every night. Neat. Tidy. Impenetrable.

  “Mac,” she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears, her lip quivering as she reached out, remembered that she couldn’t touch him and slowly drew her hand back between her breasts. “Mac,” she sighed his name. Pasted on a bright smile. “Look who’s here.”

  He glanced from her to Ian – that’s when he saw Addie.

  And his downward spiral rocketed to the speed of light.

  Addie. His baby girl. Sweet, Lord. Blond curls peeking out from under her pink knit hat. Her compact little body covered in a puffy pink jacket. Her eighteen months old feet warm and snug in furry little boots. Pink boots. With penguins.

  Her cherub face was burrowed into Ian’s shoulder as he held her. Like Mac should be holding her.

  A breath filled with gut deep mourning and a little madness eddied out as he met Ian’s eyes.

  “Why did you bring her?” he all but growled, his voice sounding as caged and tortured as he felt. He turned to Rachael. “Why?”

  “I … I thought you’d want to see her,” Rachael said, her voice quivering.

  Again, he turned to Ian. And again, tried not to hate him. Tried not to burst across the table, wrench Addie from his arms and scream, “Mine! She’s mine!”

  Only the thought of terrifying Addie stopped him. That and the apology in Ian’s eyes. He was only doing what Mac had asked him to do.

  “Take care of my girls, man,” he’d asked when he’d last talked to Ian. “Please. Take care of them.”

  “This isn’t right,” Mac managed in a rusty voice. He was desperate to hold his daughter. Just as desperate to get her out of here. Desperate to have his life back so seeing her, holding her wouldn’t be wrong. “You shouldn’t have brought her. You shouldn’t have brought her to this place.”

  Shaking his head, he met Ian’s eyes one more time. Begging him to … he didn’t know what he was begging for. Help. Help to get him through this.

  He felt himself coming apart. And Rachael. The emotional turmoil he was dragging her through was wrong too. It was wrong to make her wait in agony and anticipation of a future without him. He saw that so clearly.

  Because it was too painful to look at her face, he sought Ian’s gaze again. Eye communication had often been enough between them. It was enough today. Understanding, Ian moved closer to Rachael. Cupped his free arm around her shoulder. Nodded to Mac. “Got it covered, buddy. Got your six.”

  Mac swallowed back an avalanche of pent up longing and pain. He’d known it would be hard. That when he saw his daughter it would open up the vault to the cache of regrets and recriminations and guilt he attempted to keep locked away with his love for her. And for Rachael.

  “I’m sorry,” he all but begged them to understand as he pushed up out of the chair and shouldered past them. He lurched toward the door. “Please go. Get her out of this prison. I … I can’t do this. Not today.

  “Take me back to my cell.” He told the guard

  Then he left them. Not touching his wife. Not holding the beautiful golden child they had made together. Not knowing if he could make it out of there without breaking down or ripping something apart.

  Chapter Eight

  The rest of the week went about as well as Rachael had expected. Terrible. She and Ian took turns playing tag team, visiting Mac every other day. And every day, no matter how hard she tried to reach him, Mac pulled further away from her and further into himself.

  Ian had moved into the officer’s quarters on base after spending that first night with her at the house. In truth she was more comfortable with that situation and she sensed that he was too. Still, his presence was a huge help, she thought, as she got in her car after a full day at the pharmacy and headed towards Addie’s day care center.

  She’d had to go back to work, at least part time, or she could lose her job. Between classes and working to help make ends meet, it had taken her several years to get her degree. To finally get hired as a full-time pharmacist three years ago had meant a huge difference for them financially. So had Mac’s promotion to 1st. Lieutenant. He made a decent wage now, but a second source of income had made it possible for them to buy this house last year.

  It wasn’t a palace but it was charming and roomy and exactly what both she and Mac had wanted. She loved their home. As empty as it felt without Mac in it, it was still her sanctuary. It was still the home he would eventually come back to. She would not give up on that. But it was getting harder and harder to hold that hope.

  The staff had already bundled Addie up in her coat when Rachael arrived to pick her up to take her home. “Hello, sweet cakes.” She lifted Addie in her arms and bussed a noisy kiss on her cheek.

  Addie wrapped her little arms around Rachael’s neck. “MummMummMumm,” and as she did every day, Rachael said a little prayer of thanks for the gift of this beautiful child.

  Finally home, she parked in the driveway, unbuckled Addie and ignored the press peppering her with questions. Since she never commented, many of them had given up and the crowd greeting her every morning and night had dwindled to less than a handful that seemed content to snap a photo and shuffle off once she’d gone inside.

  She wasn’t surprised to see Ian’s rental in the driveway. He’d been the one to see Mac today so he no doubt was here to give her an update. She wasn’t surprised to find him in the house either. She’d given him a key, just in case he needed to drop something off for Mac or her regarding the case. Or if she needed him to pick up Addie and bring her home from day care. Having him to share the load was more than a Godsend.

  When she opened the front door and stepped inside to the warmth of a fire in the hearth and delicious aromas coming from the kitchen, she whispered, “Thank you,” skyward and felt the fatigue of the day lift enough to make her smile.

  “What’s this?” she asked after unbundling both Addie and herself and walking into the kitchen.

  “EenEen,” Addie squealed, her version of ‘Ian’, and toddled over to him where he stood at the sink draining steaming hot pasta.

  “Hey, Princess.” Ian quickly dried his hands on a kitchen towel then bent down to pick her up and hug her. “Are you happy to see me?”

  She bounced in his arms, all smiles and drool. “EenEen.”

  He laughed and kissed her cheek. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  “What am I, invisible?” Rachael said with a grin. “No, no. It’s all right. I realize the Princess takes top priority.”

  Ian winked at her. “She is my best girl, after all,” he admitted. “Gotta keep her happy.”