Silent Witness (2 page)

“Someone from the Pentagon thought it a brilliant idea to take bored OIG agents and integrate them into JAG, the Naval Criminal Investigative Service and the Criminal Investigative Service to help us with our investigation load. Admittedly, this war situation is slowly plowing us under, because we are severely understaffed due to our JAGs being assigned to the Middle East. People haven't quit committing crimes just because we're shorthanded. The Secretary of the Navy's request just went to the Deputy Inspector General, Department of Defense. Neither the admiral nor I expected things to move this fast. That's the reason you weren't informed of this new assignment.” He squinted, then motioned him toward a chair. “Agent Tanner caught me by surprise, too. I'd heard of this plan, but hadn't expected it to get put into motion so quickly.”

Dismayed, Jim reluctantly sat in the chair catty-corner to Dornier's magnificent desk. Dornier rarely invited anyone to sit in his office. This was a very bad sign.

Cochrane's hands were tense against his thighs. He felt pure, unadulterated rage. But he couldn't betray his feelings here. The havoc in his life from his divorce had already placed him on thin ice with his C.O. “Sir, with all due respect—”

“Can't do it, Lieutenant,” Dornier growled, looking down at the sheaf of papers needing his signature. “Wake up and smell the coffee. This support idea is entirely beyond my control.” He stood and placed both hands flat on his desk, then leaned forward. “Mr. Cochrane, you will work with Agent Tanner. This is a test in the U.S. Navy, to see if the whole plan flies or not. It's a one-year assignment, and could be extended, depending upon caseloads and personnel availability. It's a flux situation with no black-and-white answer for now.”

Cochrane thought about rebutting, but decided against it. Rising out of the chair and coming to attention, he said, “Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and tell Agent Tanner I'd like to see her once again after she gets settled in. According to her superiors, she's considered an irreplaceable asset to the OIG. Unfortunately, she has no investigative experience, so you'll have to train her. I hear she's smart and catches on fast. She's a Jungian trained analyst by trade. That won't hurt us. We're always needing a shrink's advice in our cases. Nice to have an ‘expert' in-house, eh?”

“Yes, sir.” But not in his office. And not working with him!

“One last thing, Mr. Cochrane.” Dornier fixed him with his best you'd-better-not-screw-this-up look.

“Yes, sir?”

“Powers higher up than you and me have designated this little test as ‘very important.' So, the partnership is equal. Agent Tanner is not here to fetch you coffee or deal with all the unpleasant little tasks on cases you don't like handling. She's not your secretary or assistant. It's up to you to make this a success. Is that clear, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir, very clear. I'll make it work.”
How?

Dornier smiled. “That's what I wanted to hear. Dismissed, Mr. Cochrane. In the next week, we'll find you a bigger office, so the two of you can fit into it.”

Hell's bells!
Jim left the room in shock. He didn't hear the normal workplace sounds, the low voices, or see the people looking in his direction as he stalked angrily back to his office. Tanner had no investigative experience! Of all things to saddle him with! Gone was his easy, rolling gait. He marched stiffly down the passageway, feeling like a boiler ready to implode. His pa's soft voice came back to him.
Son, don't bawl over spilt milk. Jest find yerself 'nother cow to milk, instead.

Jim's gaze flew down the passageway. Ellen Tanner was in his office, leaning against his reference table, awaiting his return. She stood out like a sore thumb—completely out of place in his world of sharp, crisp uniforms. Her hair was wild, her face winsome, her green eyes gentle, not cocky. She was a damn shrink.
And what the hell was a “Jungian” analyst? He'd never heard of that type before. What had he done to deserve this curse? He was more frightened of her as a woman than as a cohort at this point. Some unknown power drew him helplessly to her on an emotional level. That scared the living bejesus out of him because of his split from Jodi.

His heart was pounding, jumping up and down and doing somersaults in his chest at the moment. He was feeling terribly vulnerable, completely off guard.

Slamming the door behind him, Jim glared at Tanner. “Okay, so we're partners,” he snarled.
Ouch.
He saw the hurt leap into her eyes at his nasty growl. This wasn't the real him. He'd never snarled at a woman. Raking his hand through his hair, Cochrane railed at himself over his lack of manners. Ellen Tanner was a hapless pawn in this game, too. He shouldn't be firing salvos at her, but he was scared to death.

“Lieutenant, I think we need to talk about this situation, don't you? You're obviously unhappy.”
Pissed off. Angry. Disappointed.
Ellen could add a litany of other adjectives that were clearly etched in his expression, voice and body language. She tried not to take it personally, but dammit, she was only human, after all—analyst or not. Worn out by the last gutting two years of her life, she felt wounded by his glare.

Jim turned. Those balmy green eyes had suddenly become focused—on him. Gone was the softness. He felt as if he was under the gaze of a red-tailed hawk in
tent on nailing her hapless prey. “Agent Tanner, the last thing I need right now is talk. I've just been informed that you're my partner. We'll get a larger office sometime in the next week. That's the only plus in this as far as I'm concerned.” Panic struck him. Talk?
Not a chance!
She was a shrink. She was
trained
to talk. Cochrane did not want her inside his head, or have her expect him to spill his guts to her.

“You're acting like this is a death sentence, Lieutenant. I'm not your executioner.” Although he wanted to be hers, no doubt.

“It is, and you are,” Jim said, defiance in his growl.
Double ouch.
His fear was turning to anger to keep her at arm's length. Did she already know he was drawn to her? Hell, she was probably married. There was no wedding ring on her left hand, however, he noted. Cochrane struggled to tuck his real feelings down into a black hole. She was trained to see beyond the exterior of a person. Anxiety riffled through him. Taking a stack of files, he dropped them on the edge of his desk near the cabinet. “You civilians would never understand.” He twisted to look up at her from his crouched position over the files.

“Try me,” Ellen said, shifting into her therapist mode. “I think military people and civilian people possess the same brain and heart, if my memory serves me correctly. Or am I missing something in our dialogue?” She wouldn't take his jabs lying down. Coming from an Irish and German ancestry, Ellen was going to fight for herself in this situation, not wimp out.

“This ain't about anatomy and physiology, Agent Tanner.” He was amazed that she seemed so unflappable. Those green eyes were so focused, so assessing as if she saw deep into his soul. His heart pounded with fear. With longing. “Being a civilian, you don't have the foggiest notion of how the military works.” He saw her eyes narrow speculatively upon him.

“Colorful analogies, and you've got an interesting accent. Where are you from, Lieutenant?” Maybe if she turned this personal and stroked his ego a little, he'd settle down.

“Around here,” he snarled in his best Ozarks drawl, “Ah'm knowed as Hillbilly Cochrane. You've heerd 'bout the Hatfields and McCoys? Li'l Abner? Wall Ah'm from them thar hills of Mazurey, Agent Tanner. Ah din't war shoes till high school. Ah got 'em off when Ah cud. I hate shoes.”

As Jim stacked other files into some semblance of order, he continued. “Mah pa is a moonshiner by trade. He makes the best white mule in Mazurey. Mah ma is a witchin' woman anna herb doctor. Me ahn mah brothers were always in trubble.”

Ellen stared blankly at him. Good God! What had he just babbled? And in what foreign language? She blinked a couple of times, trying to assimilate his words.

Cochrane could see her trying to understand his thick Missouri accent. Hill talk was a different language, although he'd been told that it was very close to
Old English as spoken in seventeenth century England. Jim had learned years ago that his Missouri accent could work for or against him. People tended to trust him more easily on the one hand. On the other, during a courtroom trial, he had to rein in most of his accent or people assumed he was dumb and slow—which worked against him and his client. When Jim entered college, he'd been looked upon with prejudice due to his roots. Most outsiders thought of him as an ignoramus.

Managing a slight, conciliatory smile, Ellen said, “I'll give you points for being colorful and truthful, Lieutenant.” Maybe humor would ease the tension between them?

Jim stared up at her. Nope, she wasn't thrown off the trail of bread crumbs he'd just scattered before her.
Damn. Smart and beautiful.
As he unwound from his position, he rubbed his palms against his tan slacks. “That's my specialty,” he answered. She looked faintly amused, but not in a way that made fun of him. No, her head was tilted like a bird checking out a worm—and he was the worm.

“Lieutenant, I feel you're projecting a lot of misplaced anger toward me,” Ellen began gently. “I didn't ask to be assigned to you. I have a high regard for the military and volunteered for this job. I had no idea where I'd be assigned.” That was the truth. The other truth, which she didn't tell him, was that she was fighting to get away from her old life and to start anew.

“Really?” Jim was sardonic, and that wasn't like him, but frustration was boiling up through him and he was helpless to cap it. Glaring at her, he answered his own question. “You haven't a clue, Agent Tanner. Do you? I don't care
what
you do back at the OIG for DOD, it's still a civilian job. You can return to that job when this one-year trial balloon is over. It won't work. I have to train you on the job with time I don't really have. That sucks.”

Running his fingers in frustration through his dark, cropped hair, he added caustically, “Not only do I get saddled with a woman for a partner, she's a civilian. What the hell have I done to deserve this?” He really didn't want an untrained partner, regardless of gender. But here she was: bright, pretty, gentle and very nurturing. All those things he so desperately craved and had lost. His heart kept going up and down like a roller coaster in his chest.

“Maybe it's not as bad as you think,” Ellen protested in a stronger voice. “I'm a fast learner. I'll try not to be a pain in the butt to you.” Realizing that Cochrane was not going to compromise, she erected strong, firm boundaries. Apparently the only thing he respected was fighting fire with fire. Ellen could do it, but she was so damn exhausted emotionally that it took a huge effort to assume that kind of warrior facade.

Laughing harshly, Cochrane cleared a chair for her. “I reckon you're in Hollywood la-la land when it comes to understanding the military way of doing things.”

“La-la land is a delusional world, Lieutenant. I can assure you, I operate out of cold, hard reality.” Ellen moved to the chair, and sat down. She placed the knapsack on the floor and folded her hands primly in her lap, her level gaze never leaving his. “My father was an FBI agent for thirty years. My mother still works as a policewoman in Minneapolis, where I was born. I think I have the blood and background to be a source of support for you, not the opposite.” Ellen wasn't about to be scared off by this officer.

Sitting down in his chair, Cochrane thought her parents' backgrounds were a hopeful sign, but quickly nixed the idea. He said, “Someone is trying to hornswoggle you. Because of the training you'll need, my job will be twice as hard.”

“Hornswoggle. Is that word from the Ozarks?” She didn't like that he was disempowering her by using a language she didn't understand.

“It's hill lingo. It means to pull the wool over your eyes.”

“I won't slow your investigation efforts.” Compressing her lips, Ellen gave him a narrowed-eyed look. “Aren't you being a bit paranoid about this?”

“Paranoid? You can be calm as you want, Agent Tanner, but I see the handwriting on the wall.” Jim closed his fist and looked away. On the corner of his desk was a gold-framed photo of his six-year-old daughter, Merry. “This might be a trinket on your own career
agenda, but it's like someone has just handed me a live grenade after they pulled the pin.”

“I disagree,” she insisted, her gaze on his. Despite his dislike of her, Ellen found herself drawn to the officer. That was crazy. And then she laughed silently to herself. Crazy wasn't a word she threw around lightly, but in this case, it sure fit.

“Well, you just go right ahead and disagree, Miss OIG.” The phone rang. Jim yanked it off the cradle. He answered like a snarling dog protecting its bone. “Lieutenant Cochrane speaking.”

“Mr. Cochrane?”

His brows shot up in surprise. Instantly, Jim wiped the derision from his tone. “Yes, sir, Captain Allison.” Why was the head of the JAG office and the civilian-run Criminal Investigative Services at USNAS Giddings, the Top Gun facility just north of San Diego, calling him? Automatically, Jim picked up a pen and pulled over his ever-present yellow legal pad.