Her Marine Bodyguard (21 page)

Weston’s eyes widened, and his knuckles were white against the phone. Now, he let his gaze slide to the door and then back to Brody. He probably wondered if he could reach it before Brody got him. What were his chances?

“Fight or flight,” Brody continued. “It is the body’s natural response to aggressive stimuli. Fight and kill, or run like hell and try to live. Most predators, they go for the fight. In the animal world, it’s pretty basic. Now that I think of it, it’s pretty basic for humans, too. Prey, however…. Prey only knows how to run unless it’s cornered and given no choice whatsoever.”

The phone dropped with a clatter. “I’m not going to fight you. If you attack me, it’s assault and you’re just racking up the charges. You’re a trained killer. That makes you a deadly weapon. Texas has the death penalty.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Brody said softly. “Yet.”

Anger collapsing into confusion, Weston twitched. “Then what are you doing?”

Pathetic. Like every other bully before him, the man couldn’t handle someone who could fight back. “Having a conversation. What are you doing?”

His nostrils flared, and the whites of his eyes became even more pronounced. A vein throbbed in his forehead.

Brody lunged forward, stopping well short of the man. “Boo.”

Weston screamed and dropped, covering his head with arms.

Disappointing, really. The vicious little terrorist was weaker than the woman he’d victimized. “Not so threatening now, are you?”

“Just leave me alone, I’ll do whatever you want. Just leave me alone.” He practically sobbed the words.

“You want me to leave you alone?” Brody studied him, and because he never pretended not to possess a sense of viciousness, stomped his foot. Weston jerked, dropping his arms, and slammed his head on the wall with a very satisfying crack. Pain creased his forehead, and hatred flashed in his eyes.

“If you’re going to kill me, just do it already,” Weston screamed, and like any animal pushed into a corner, he struck out. Brody caught his fist and twisted his hand, bending the arm in a direction it wasn’t meant to go. His second scream rose on a ragged note and then went to a whimper. He tried to strike with his free hand, and Brody caught it, then delivered the same treatment. Fucker pissed himself for the second time.

“Do you know how much pressure it takes to break a bone?” He kept his tone conversational. “How if you apply it correctly, you can snap it in two places? Standard bone breaks heal pretty well, joints on the other hand….” Increasing the pressure, he studied the man’s face as it mottled red and his breathing came in rapid-fire gasps. “Some pain can be so intense, it shreds your ability to think and form coherent sentences. Your nerves report something is wrong to the brain, it sends a signal like an SOS. Your thalamus gets the message, and then farms it out. Sometimes it even crowd-sources the signal to figure out what is the pain, where did it come from?”

Weston’s eyes rolled back, so Brody switched the pressure. He let him have a few seconds of relief. Weston sagged, and then Brody caught his thumbs and bent them backward. A fresh scream tore out of his target’s throat.

“Your brain asks, is it sharp? Have I felt this before? Is it better or worse than something else I did? For example….” Slamming Weston’s left hand to the wall, he heard one of the knuckles crack and the man whimpered. “Better or worse than your thumbs being screwed? What about your arms? Better or worse? Did you know not every pain makes you cry? The limbic system decides. Fascinating shit. It’s why physical pain and emotional pain can cause the
exact
same reaction…and how torture can be so very effective.”

Releasing him, Brody rose. “Your heart rate increases. You sweat. Respiration increases, and your brain fights to keep up with all the input coming at it. Of course, they say to help alleviate one pain, you send the brain a new signal.” Placing his foot on the man’s knee, he began to exert force and Weston’s eyes bugged out. “Emotional and mental pain are the same way. You keep hitting the same set of nerves, they’re going to eventually shut off or develop a tolerance for it, so you have to create a worse one to get the brain’s attention. Tell me, Dale. Do I have your attention?”

He made a sound, it might have been a word.

“I’m sorry,” Brody said and leaned down, increasing the force applied to his knee. “What did you say?”

Weston gurgled. “Yes…you…have…God, it hurts!”

“Good.” Straightening, he removed his foot from the knee. “Take a moment, catch your breath.”

“You’re fucking insane.” Curled in on himself, Weston remained flushed, and tears wet his cheeks.

“Whine less. You’re still breathing.” That could change. Brody glanced at his watch. “Time is nearly up, Dale. So pay attention. I won’t repeat myself. You’re going to confess. You’re going to tell the cops every single thing you did, then you’re going to plead guilty and accept whatever time you’re given.”

“Why would I?”

Letting every emotion drain out of his voice, Brody said coldly, “Because if you don’t, one night, when you think you’re safe, when you think everyone has forgotten, and nothing bad could happen…you’re going to see me. It will be the last thing you see, and when I bury you, it will be in a very deep, very dark hole where no one will hear you or find you again. You’re going to beg me to kill you, but death would be too kind.”

Brakes squealed outside the house.

“Do you understand, Dale?”

With a hard swallow, Weston gave him a defiant look. “I don’t believe you.”

Outside, car doors slammed.

“Wrong answer.” With one hand, he hauled Weston to his feet, and with the other, he handed him his gun. The man stared at the weapon stupidly, and the door burst open. “This is going to hurt.”

Foster came through the door first, gun drawn, with Rowdy following. They both spotted the gun, and Brody field-stripped it. The pistol went to pieces in his hand. He kicked, connecting with Weston’s knee. The sickening crunch of bone split the silence, and Weston went down with a wet scream. Taking a step back, Brody raised his hands and met Foster and Rowdy’s gazes evenly.

“Self defense.”

“You crazy son of a bitch,” Rowdy muttered. He holstered his sidearm and approached Brody with handcuffs. Foster followed in his wake, cell phone in hand, requesting a bus to the address for Weston. He paused when he caught sight of the coffee table and all the evidence of stalking in plain sight.

Understanding registered in Rowdy’s eyes, but it didn’t diminish his anger. Brody allowed him to handcuff him. “Lieutenant Essex, you’re under arrest for violating Article 86 of the UCMJ. Under Article 31, you have the right not to incriminate yourself, no one has the right to question you without declaring the nature of the accusation, no statement may be made under coercion or inducement, and no one evidence
unrelated
to the charge will be compelled before a military tribunal. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” But he didn’t go into cuffs alone. Foster read Weston his rights and shackled him as well. Brody didn’t shift his focus from Weston, and though the man wept, he looked away every single time his gaze collided with Brody’s.

Mission accomplished.

Thirty-six hours later at Quantico, Brody stood at sharp attention, facing Colonel Linda Edmond in a courtroom occupied by the judge and two other JAG officers—Navy Lieutenant Terrance Mills for the prosecution and Marine Captain Mitch Thomas for the defense.

“Lieutenant Essex, you are being charged under Article 86 of the UCMJ, absence from your unit,” the judge said, examining the papers in front of her. “Do you understand the charge?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“According to the statement you gave to NCIS, and later repeated to Colonel Jessup, you left Camp Leatherneck of your own volition, with no assistance, and flew to the United States in order to assist your girlfriend with a personal issue?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

No emotion disturbed her expression, but she glanced up from the papers to study him. “Has the issue been resolved, Lieutenant?”

Oh, yeah. “Yes, ma’am.”

“According to a statement filed by Special Agent Easton, you surrendered yourself when he contacted you with regard to your failure to appear.” It wasn’t a question, so Brody kept his mouth shut. “I also have statements here from Congressman Sparks, Lieutenant Colonel Tom Baxter, Captain Luke Dexter, Gunnery Sergeant Jasmine Cavanaugh, Sergeant Ryan Brun, Sergeant Mary Phillips, Corporal Roxanne Cortez…. The list here is rather extensive, Lieutenant. You apparently have quite the fan club.”

Still no question, so Brody remained silent. The judge didn’t appear disapproving or even curious. She seemed…bemused. Only the sound of papers shuffling filled the room, and finally she set them aside. “Captain Thomas has filed your statement and intention to plead guilty to the charge. Is that your intention, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Very well, Lieutenant. This court-martial accepts your guilty plea and commends you on taking responsibility for your actions. As you intended to return to your duty station and took no action to avoid being returned, and you were absent for seven days, you face confinement for six months and forfeiture of two-thirds pay, per month, for six months.”

He’d expected the sentencing, and was glad Shannon had remained in Dallas as he’d asked. His only regret had been not being able to see her before Rowdy hustled him onto a plane. It had been the best decision. Federal custody reduced the chances the DPD would charge him with assault.

Weston, on the other hand, confessed before they even got him to the hospital. Rowdy dropped him a note via Captain Thomas. Weston faced a pretty decent set of charges.

Shannon was safe.

“Lieutenant Essex, your contract is due to expire in ninety days. You filed for leave, and you haven’t signed a new contract or filed an intention to renew your contract. Were you planning to renew your contract?”

Moment of truth. “Undecided, ma’am.”

His response gave the colonel pause. “Explain, Lieutenant.”

“I’ve served for nearly fifteen years, ma’am, the majority of which I was deployed. Afghanistan, Iraq, Afghanistan again, Turkey, Kenya, Iraq, and most recently Afghanistan again. The Corps is my family, my father, my brother, my sisters, and my mother. I am proud of my record and my service. My only regrets are the brothers and sisters I wasn’t able to bring home, but based on my recent decision-making, I believe I am compromised and question whether I will be as successful in future service as I have been in my previous.” A hard truth, but he’d chosen Shannon over duty. He’d tested the argument while he’d been twiddling his thumbs, awaiting his orders to return to the States and to a well-deserved leave, instead of in the middle of a firefight or in the back hell of beyond—but had word reached him there of Shannon’s predicament, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t have made the same choice.

“A commendable concern, Lieutenant. And if your discharge was delayed and your contract not allowed to expire?”

It would delay his seeing Shannon, but she’d said yes to marrying him once. They’d make it work. His woman was strong. “I would obey the order, ma’am.”

“With prejudice?” Was she asking as a part of his sentencing or out of honest interest?

“I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning, ma’am.”

“If I ordered you to serve out your confinement then report for duty and reassignment without leave, and without the expiration of your service contract, Lieutenant. What would be your response?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He had no other response.

“You have ninety days to decide, Lieutenant. Until then, you are confined. Your pay will be docked by two-thirds for the next three months. Your promotion to Captain is on hold. I expect your answer before the ninety days is up. At that time, we will discuss whether you will serve an additional ninety days. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.” He snapped a salute. Ninety days confinement and docked pay—it was a slap on the wrist.

The colonel rose. “Off the record,” she instructed the court reporter, and the corporal ceased typing immediately. “I cannot credit you for absenting yourself from duty; however, I can applaud your honor and dedication to your girlfriend.”

“Fiancée, and thank you, ma’am.”

“Congratulations, Lieutenant. Court dismissed.”

Three Months Later

When Brody’s uniform had been delivered first thing in the morning, the corporal in charge of the delivery saluted and informed him Captain Thomas waited for him in a conference room. Other than an hour each day in the exercise yard that Brody spent running, and a weekly trip to a barber on base, and one specific visit with Captain Thomas a month earlier, Brody had spent the entirety of his confinement in close quarters and alone. Dressed, he finished packing the last of his clothes into a duffle and double-checked the room was neat before exiting to find the corporal and sergeant awaiting him. Both men snapped into attention at his arrival.

He nodded to them. “At ease.”

“Thank you, sir. This way.” One led, with the other falling into step behind him.

Brody would not miss the empty walls and simple rooms of the facility. Considering he’d had access to running water and a rather comfortable cot, he couldn’t complain about the accommodations either.

Inside the room, Captain Thomas worked on a file while waiting for Brody. Assuming attention, Brody saluted the captain. “Lieutenant Essex reporting, sir.”

“At ease and good morning, Lieutenant.” Thomas rose, stretched out his hand, and smiled. “We’ll keep this brief.”

Clasping the other man’s hand for a brief shake, Brody nodded. “Morning, Mitch.”

“First things first.” Mitch swiveled the folder around and slid it across the table. “Your promotion cleared. Sign the bottom line, and you’ll receive retroactive pay to the day it was initially filed.”

“Minus the two-thirds of the last three months.” Not that he minded; he’d worked hard to earn his captain’s bars. He signed the paperwork where indicated, and Mitch countersigned it. The ceremony of having his bars pinned would usually be more formal, but Brody had no complaints.