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  She dropped her head back with a long, drawn-out sigh. “I haven’t had a vacation in a year.”

  “I know. It’s a potential friendly-fire incident. You’ll be in and out. Done and on that beach in no time. I need you on this one. You’ve got the law-degree background.”

  “A year, Chris.”

  “In and out. I promise.”

  “Why can’t someone else do it?” she whined. She wasn’t proud of it, but she’d so been looking forward to this vacation, and not only was she going alone, but she had to postpone it for work. That just plain sucked.

  “The only other qualified person—” he cleared his throat “—is on vacation with his spouse.”

  “What? That is not fair.”

  “I know, but he’s already gone and he’s a senior agent. It’s the way it works, so that leaves you.”

  “You really are in a bind? That’s the only reason you’re assigning me?”

  “The only reason.”

  Okay, that hurt. It was the only reason he was sending her. It wasn’t because he trusted her or thought she was competent. It was because she was a junior agent and available. Well, then she would do as good a job as she could. This was a sensitive situation. Ruling a death as friendly fire wasn’t a popular job and she would handle the family with care and compassion. Her heart already went out to the serviceman who had lost his life. Compared to a stupid vacation, there was no comparison. “I want the same number of days.”

  “Done.”

  “Where am I going?”

  “California. I’ll send the details to your phone. I’ll pay for your flight to Aruba.”

  “And any fees that I am going to incur because of this detour.”

  “Yes, any fees.”

  “All right,” she grumbled. “I’ll do it, but you’ll owe me.”

  “Thank you, Amber. You are a team player.”

  * * *

  Twelve hours later, Amber wasn’t feeling like a team player. In fact, her bitch ratio was way above the 50 percent mark. She was cursing her boss a blue streak. Who knew it would be snowing. Snowing in California! After landing in Reno, she rented a car and started driving. It wasn’t until she was in the middle of nowhere that the heavy winds and blowing snow came with no warning. The conditions were terrible, and by the time she got close to the Marine Corps Mountain Warfare Training Center, or MWTC, in godforsaken Pickel Meadows, her grip on the wheel made her hands hurt.

  Leaning forward so she could see the road better, her shoulders tense from the lack of visibility, she was momentarily distracted by her phone buzzing. Pete, again! When was that guy going to get the message, and what could he possibly want? When she returned her eyes to the road, she squealed and slammed on the brakes. A huge brown moose the size of an SUV was smack-dab in the way.

  She swerved and just missed his tail. But her car spun on the slick asphalt, and with no traction, she careened right onto the shoulder. Coming to a jarring stop, she leaned her forehead against the steering wheel, her heart cartwheeling. There was no way she would have survived a collision with the big bull. A deer, maybe, but not a moose. “Thanks a bunch, Bullwinkle,” she groused as he took off and ran down the road, then disappeared into the snow-covered trees.

  “Great, now you run.”

  Taking a deep breath, she pressed on the gas, her gut twisting when the tires only spun. She tried again, but it was no use. The car was stuck. She slammed the palm of her hand against the wheel.

  “Dammit!”

  She was supposed to be on vacation! Damn Chris.

  She closed her eyes and opened the door. She was within walking distance of the base, according to her GPS. She grabbed her phone and locked the door.

  Cold smacked her in the face and took her breath, sheering right through the lightweight coat she’d brought with her, biting the skin of her legs through her slacks. She slipped in the snow, even with her flat-heeled, sensible shoes, and she grabbed on to the hood of the car to steady herself.

  Once she had her balance, she started to walk very carefully against the blowing snow. Icy whiteness surrounded her in a cocoon of cold. Her teeth chattered and she started to lose her sense of time. Had she been out here for minutes or hours?

  The frigid wind whipped and tore through her again, turning her blood to icy sludge.

  She gasped at another gust and peered through the falling flakes. There. A light. She increased her speed and reached the gate. The guard ran out and helped her inside.

  “Ma’am, what are you doing out in this on foot?” The name on his uniform was Caldwell.

  “M-my c-car broke down. Special A-Agent Amber D-Dalton, NCIS. Does i-it snow like th-this often?”

  “We’re six thousand five hundred feet above sea level, ma’am. The unpredictability of the weather is the only constant here.” He reached for the phone. Minutes later a jeep showed up. “I’ll get someone to retrieve your vehicle. Colonel Jacobs is expecting you.”

  “Thank you,” she said around her chattering, handing him the keys.

  The jeep took her to a tan-and-red-roofed building and, after thanking her driver, she rushed inside. The man behind the desk rose. “Special Agent Dalton?”

  “Yes.” It was clear from his uniform that he was a corporal. His last name was Morgan.

  “Please follow me.”

  He led her to an office, as she soaked up the warmth of the building.

  Colonel Jacobs rose as his aide ushered her into his office. “Special Agent Dalton,” he said, looking surprised. Guess they didn’t expect a woman. “Please have a seat. You must be frozen to the bone. We had expected you sooner. Sorry about your mishap, but we’ll sort it out for you.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Morgan, alert Master Sergeant Michaels that Special Agent Dalton has arrived.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I had no idea that there was going to be a blizzard. I was sent here at the last minute.”

  “We do our best to keep on top of it, but this high up it’s a crapshoot. It can be sunny one minute and a blizzard the next. Even we sometimes get caught off guard. You can visit the Base Exchange after our meeting to pick up a few things.” He gave her an appreciative glance. It went a long way to assuaging her pride at her recent dumping.

  “Colonel Jacobs, Master Sergeant Michaels reporting for duty, sir.” The deep, raspy voice sounded from the doorway, sending ripples through her.

  “Ah, Michaels, come in.”

  Amber turned and caught her breath.

  He stood at attention, his eyes on Colonel Jacobs until she rose. Then they flicked her way but were soon back to the colonel. He was tall, taller than her. She was five foot eleven, but he had at least five inches on her.

  The guy was built. He had a powerful chest that tapered down to a lean waist, and his muscles were so pronounced his fatigues molded over the thickness, tightening the shirt across his broad shoulders. Beneath the thick shirt was a brown T-shirt that covered the hollow of his throat. The sleeves of his white-and-gray camo were rolled up and stretched over his bulging biceps with a glorious curve of muscle that literally made her mouth water. Shocked at her reaction, she could only stare.

  Then there was his face. Her eyes traveled up the strong column of his throat with a day’s worth of dark stubble. Thick, midnight-black hair was spiked up into a flattop, the sides shaved. His broad forehead spanned above deep-set, startling blue eyes with an intense gaze, a firm chin and a hard jawline, a prominent but narrow nose and sharply defined cheekbones. He was drop-dead gorgeous.

  His eyes kept drifting back to her as she moved forward. “At ease,” Colonel Jacobs said. His posture relaxed as he set his hands behind his back at waist level in a resting stance Amber couldn’t help thinking was way too sexy.

  Colonel Jacobs tu
rned to her and said, “This is Master Sergeant Tristan Michaels. Sarge, this is Special Agent Amber Dalton.”

  He nodded curtly as Amber tried to catch her breath and rein in her reaction to the impressive marine.

  “Master Sergeant Michaels was Lance Corporal Connelly’s instructor. He was the one who found the body, along with his class. We’ve already cleared him to work with you on this case.”

  “You found no negligence on his part.”

  Master Sergeant Michaels stiffened and scowled at her. “With all due respect, Agent Dalton, I can assure you that I take every precaution in making sure that none of my men are in the line of fire.”

  “Then how did Lance Corporal Connelly die?”

  He clamped his lips closed and looked at Colonel Jacobs. The colonel nodded. “Full cooperation,” he said.

  “Truthfully, I don’t know.” He’s upset, she thought immediately. She could hear it in his voice and the fact that he didn’t know was gnawing at him. “I thought he’d gone AWOL.”

  “When?”

  “He didn’t show up for class yesterday. I went to the barracks and checked for him in case he was ill. He wasn’t there, but his bunk was made and all his belongings were in his locker.”

  “Yesterday? You didn’t report him?”

  He glanced at the colonel again. “No,” he said softly, looking her straight in the eyes. He was a bold man, obviously a warrior who took responsibility for his actions. She couldn’t help but admire that.

  “Why?”

  He sighed. “He had an exemplary record and was the best student I have ever had. He was always on time, eager, and he excelled. I wanted to give him time to reconsider.”

  He was more than a student to this marine. She would bet her next paycheck on it. Michaels had a soft spot for him. “I’m sorry for your loss, Sergeant.”

  His jaw worked and he looked away. “He was my responsibility. I will do everything in my power to find out what happened here. His parents deserve at least that.”

  “They do. I have read his record and it was as you say. Remarkable.” She stepped closer to him and breathed in the scent of his aftershave. “Tell me about finding him.”

  “I had taken my sniper class back up the mountain for a three-day training session. The class was coming to a close, and after they had taken their shots, I caught a glimpse of his jacket in the wind in the distance. He was lying on his back. He was frozen, so I believe he must have died last night.”

  “Were you shooting last night?”

  “Yes, night training.”

  “So it was dark with no lights at all?”

  “Yes, it’s part of the training.”

  “He could have been killed then?”

  “Not by my men.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Nine men, five shots. I acted as spotter for Lance Corporal Sheppard, who had partnered with Lance Corporal Connelly. When I checked the targets, there were five bullet holes. All accounted for. It was the only time there was active fire.”

  That explained why he’d been cleared.

  “We confiscated all handguns, including mine. None of them had been fired. The crime-scene guys collected the shell casings they could find.”

  “What do you think he was doing up there?”

  “Again, I don’t know. He didn’t have his pack with him. I know he was accounted for when we came down to break and refuel before the three-day session.” Now he sounded frustrated, his voice filled with grief.

  Colonel Jacobs said, “Our police department removed the body and sent him off to the Mono County Sheriff’s Department and he’s now being autopsied at Trevor Mortuary in Bishop. Dr. Carl Thompson out of Northern Inyo Hospital will be performing the autopsy. Sarge has his contact info.”

  Colonel Jacobs picked up a file folder off his desk and handed it to her. She opened it to find James, his skin and lips blue tinged and his body buried in snow. The grisly pictures moved her because he was so young. He had a strong face, his eyes a deep brown, his expression one of surprise.

  Chris had already alerted her that his parents were being notified by the Marines. After surviving two tours, it was so tragic that the kid was killed at home, presumably by his own platoon. She glanced at his service record, which was included. Twenty-five, decorated, and he’d just reenlisted.

  “May I take this to look at it more closely?”

  “Yes, that is a copy for you. There are also pictures of the scene after we removed the body. I’d appreciate any insights you have on this.”

  She nodded.

  “It’s getting late and you must be exhausted.” The colonel looked at Master Sergeant Michaels. “Michaels will accompany you. I’m sorry, but our billet is completely full at the moment and the only room we have right now is with the Sarge. He is in a two-room town house on base. Obviously, we can’t put you in the barracks and I’m not going to subject you to tenting it with the enlisted.”

  Amber chuckled at the twinkle in the colonel’s eyes. “Bless you,” she said, her stomach jumping at the thought of having to bunk with the hunky marine. “It should be sufficient. If this is friendly fire, it shouldn’t take long to determine that. Then I’ll be on my way to Aruba.”

  “Aruba?” Jacobs said, envy in his voice.

  “Yes, delayed vacation.”

  She shook the colonel’s hand and left his office, following the master sergeant’s broad back. He paused to pick up a coat. Slipping into it, he zipped it up to his neck, where he wrapped a scarf. He pulled a fleecy brown cap over his dark cropped hair, then pulled on a pair of tan gloves.

  Colonel Jacobs’s aide, Corporal Morgan, stopped them at the entrance to the outside. He said, “They dropped off your suitcase, ma’am. I took the liberty of putting it in the master sergeant’s jeep.”

  Without a word, he led her back out into the weather.

  “Sergeant, I need to go to the BX if you don’t mind.”

  “The colonel mentioned that to me. I don’t mind.” He smiled, “Here it’s MCX for Marine Corps Exchange. The army calls it the BX for Base Exchange.”

  “We both know that the only other organization that has more acronyms than the US government is the US military.”

  He nodded, eyeing her. “You’re not prepared for this weather? We are in the mountains.”

  She sniffed. “I wasn’t aware it snowed in California.” His censorious tone got Amber’s back up.

  He snorted, staring at her over the hood of the jeep.

  She narrowed her eyes, but he didn’t seem affected. She ducked into his jeep and was soon at the MCX picking up some boots, pants, shirts and a heavier jacket.

  “Anywhere else you need to go?” he asked once they were back in his jeep.

  “No, the billet is fine.”

  “Where did you come from?”

  “The Navy Yard in DC.”

  “Don’t they have agents in the Southwest to handle this?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t ask questions. I go where they tell me to go.”

  “It’s apparent you don’t ask questions, since you weren’t prepared for the snow. How long you been an NCIS agent?”

  “Eleven months.”

  “You’re still a probie?” His mouth tightened at her inexperience.

  Amber tried not to take it personally, but he was beginning to tread on her last nerve. “Yes, technically I’m still on probation. But I’m a fully trained NCIS agent and have plenty of investigations under my belt,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “You want me to cut you some slack?”

  “Yes, but you’re not going to.”

  “You should have made it your mission to know everything about where you were going. It’s the uninformed that walk into danger.”

  “
Thank you, Sergeant, for that pearl of wisdom. I was supposed to be getting on a plane to fly to the warm sands of Aruba. My bag is packed with bikinis, shorts and skimpy tops.” When his eyebrow rose at her snippy tone, she bit her lip. Jeez, he pushed her buttons so that she was getting defensive. She went on more calmly. “I knew all about Aruba with its warm ocean water and heated pool. You know that hotel I’m going to? There’s a bar that serves drinks right in the pool.”

  “Does it? Convenient. Then your suitcase full of bikinis will fit right in.”

  She huffed. “Why don’t you educate me, then, Sergeant Michaels?”

  “About what?”

  “About the base. About the mountains.”

  Looking as if he’d rather be chewing glass than being her liaison, he said, “Yes, ma’am. MWTC is a part of Marine Air Ground Task Force Training Command and conducts unit and individual training courses to prepare not only the USMC, but all branches of the US military and foreign allies for maneuvers in mountainous, high-altitude and cold-weather environments. MWTC supports other commands, as well as DOD agencies involved in waging war with specialized equipment for use in mountain and cold-weather operations.”

  “What do you teach?”

  “Along with cold-weather sniping, I teach mountain recon.”

  “What is your background?”

  “Classified.”

  That was a convenient answer to keep her in the dark about him. Well, she wasn’t an agent without means. The colonel might have cleared him, but Amber was going to make her own decisions about who was innocent and guilty. She raised her chin. “Go on. The area?”

  “MWTC is at the base of the Sierra Nevada, a range of mountains that encompasses four hundred miles bordering the eastern edge of the state—fifty miles across with eighty miles being the widest. Peaks here can rise up to nine thousand feet. The highest part of the range is between Tahoe and Yosemite. The range is largely made up of volcanic rock and not so good for climbing, but great for scrambles, hikes and taking in the spectacular beauty because the Sierra Nevada are all about the scenic view. Most of it is protected and heavily forested. The northern boundary has some of the highest peaks, known for their rock climbing and some of the most stirring sights on the planet. It’s inspiring, and once you climb to the top, the solitude is tangible.”