LITMIR.BIZ

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Jamison introduced Major Bret Hansen, the medical examiner and pathologist at the hospital on post. The two men shook hands before the ME donned latex gloves and stooped to examine the body. Jamison also introduced Corporal Raynard Otis, who strung crime-scene tape around the area where the body lay and began to search the ground for evidence.

      As the two men worked, Phil turned to the CID agent. “You’ve been assigned the case?”

      “Negative. I’m here to secure the range and assist Major Hansen.” Jamison looked over his shoulder toward the bleacher area. “Special Agent Kelly McQueen will be handling this one.”

      Phil’s heart thumped against his chest as he followed Jamison’s gaze and recognized the very determined complication walking toward them. More than anything, Phil didn’t want his focus swayed off course by the pretty face that seemed to pop up everywhere he went on post.

      Phil had heard some of the single officers grouse about the attractive CID agent. Her good looks weren’t the problem. It was her no-nonsense attitude. A number of guys called her the Ice McQueen. And the fact that she’d won the Outstanding Marksmanship Award was off-putting to some.

      Easy enough to understand their frustration. Kelly was an anomaly. Beautiful yet aloof, and 100 percent focused on her job. Phil had to admit he admired her for maintaining her distance from many of the men on post whose interests revolved around her pretty face instead of the strength of character she undoubtedly possessed.

      He also understood her desire to keep her personal relationships separate from her military career. He had vowed long ago to never get involved with female personnel. When and if he settled down, it would be with a woman who wanted to be a stay-at-home mom with a houseful of children to love. Somehow that didn’t go hand in hand with a career military gal who needed to be at Uncle Sam’s beck and call.

      Kelly McQueen might be good at what she did, but Phil had to keep his focus on the investigation and not the special agent. He didn’t want sparks of interest to interfere with the work ahead. Instead, he wanted an answer to the question that pinged through his brain. How had one of his men shot and killed another soldier in the unit?

      Biting down on his lip, he steeled himself to the ironic twist of events. Phil didn’t need the Ice McQueen in his life. No matter how attracted he was to her.

      Kelly hadn’t expected Captain Thibodeaux’s eyes to be as black as the night that had settled over the range. Nor had she expected the frown that furrowed his brow and tugged at his full lips. The guy had “Keep Out of My Business” written all over him. Even his hands were fisted, as if she were an adversary instead of someone assigned to help him get to the bottom of a very bad situation.

      “Evening, Captain.” She held out her CID identification. “I’m Special Agent Kelly McQueen with the Criminal Investigation Division on post.”

      “Phil Thibodeaux.” He breathed in a lungful of air. “I’m aware of who you are, Agent McQueen.”

      “It’s Kelly, please. We’ll be working together to find out what happened today. I suggest we drop formalities.”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      “I’d like to talk to the soldiers in your unit and determine if anyone saw anything outside the norm.”

      He raised his brow. “You mean like one of my men being shot?”

      The Cajun may have dropped his accent but not his attitude. “That is why I’m here, Captain.”

      Before he could reply, she turned her gaze toward the ridgeline where Taylor’s squad had made their final attack on foot. “Which of your platoons was advancing in this area?”

      His brow furrowed. “Weren’t you at the live-fire demonstration, ma’am?”

      “That’s correct, Captain, but my attention was on the visitors I was assigned to safeguard.”

      He hesitated for a moment before his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly and his hard-core expression softened.

      Noting the visible signs of his change of attitude, Kelly regretted her own stubborn desire to always be on the offensive.

      “Never let down your guard” had become a personal mantra. Her mother, when she had been alive, had pointed out numerous time that the tough facade Kelly tried to project was both a blessing and a curse.

      Growing up as a headstrong teen, Kelly hadn’t wanted advice from a woman who was a pushover when it came to Kelly’s “here today, gone tomorrow” father. A little backbone and a firm no-you-can’t-come-back attitude from her mother would have made life a lot more bearable for her only child. Not that Kelly was complaining. She had survived, thanks to an army recruiter who pointed out the benefits of enlisting in the military.

      But all that was in the past, and at the moment, Kelly needed to deal with Captain Thibodeaux. To his credit, the captain had just lost a man to friendly fire and was still able to function. Perhaps she should cut him a little slack. Her initial assessment had been biased, no doubt, by his Cajun roots.

      “First Platoon was advancing up this small hill.” Phil finally provided the information she had requested. “The three squads had dismounted. The men were gaining ground on the enemy.”

      He pointed to where the soldiers had made their advance. “Corporal Taylor was on the far end of the squad, moving forward. The bullet hit just below his protective vest.”

      Kelly focused on the range, mentally seeing the attack unfold. “The other soldiers in the platoon were to the victim’s right?”

      “That’s correct. The men were in their squads and spread out in a V formation, moving forward.”

      “How far apart were they?”

      Phil shrugged. “Roughly eight to ten meters.”

      “And the other two platoons?”

      “Were positioned farther east.”

      “Too far away to have shot into the First Platoon?”

      “It’s unlikely.”

      “But could have happened?” she pressed.

      He nodded, his lips tight. “Yes, but as I mentioned, highly unlikely.”

      “Which means the shooter is probably one of the men in First Platoon.”

      The captain bristled. “This was a training accident, Agent McQueen. The soldier who accidentally dislodged a bullet that hit Corporal Taylor is not a shooter.”

      “Yet one of the guns fired the deadly round.”

      “Accidentally.”

      She tilted her head. “Are you sure of that, Captain?”

      “Ma’am, most of the men in this unit just returned from a year in combat. They are well trained and competent. I’d stake my life on any of them.”

      She glanced at the soldier on the ground. “Regrettably, Corporal Taylor can’t say the same.”

      Once again, they seemed at have hit an impasse. Attempting to give them both space, she walked to where the medical examiner knelt over the body. Her heart went out to the corporal, who didn’t deserve to have his life end on a dusty army range in South Georgia.

      Jamison approached her. His voice was low when he spoke. “The doc will have the bullet for us after the autopsy tomorrow. I called our lab at Fort Gillam and told them we’d need ballistics run.”

      Kelly nodded her approval as Jamison continued. “Once the lab comes up with a match, we’ll have the serial number of the weapon that fired the bullet and the name of the soldier to whom the rifle had been issued.”

      Just as Jamison had mentioned, the investigation should be fairly straightforward, but complications were a fact of life when a death was involved. Uncovering the real reason a soldier had died could turn into a lengthy process.

      She

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