Chapter 1

October 19, 1996

Ballroom

Mayflower Hotel

Washington, DC

Major Sarah Mackenzie leaned closer to the full-length mirror, checking her lipstick and adjusting her evening gown one last time before returning to the JAG table.

It had come as a pleasant surprise to discover that the JAG officers stationed at Headquarters were expected to put in an appearance this year at the annual Navy Ball hosted by the Secretary of Defense, rather than attend a ball hosted by one of the nearby bases. Alexander Nelson, Secretary of the Navy, had personally delivered the invitations to Admiral Chegwidden earlier in the week, and the Admiral had then passed the invitations out to the appropriate JAG personnel. It hadn’t given Sarah a lot of time to shop for an appropriate dress, but she was pleased with what she’d found, as well as the fact that it’d been on sale. That allowed her to get matching shoes and a matching purse. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been able to find a date, but she was hoping that she’d get asked to dance.

This was Sarah’s first real social gathering with the JAG staff since her transfer just two weeks earlier. The new posting had come as a surprise to her; she’d liked her CO at her previous duty station, and hadn’t been there for very long. But the opportunity to work at JAG HQ wasn’t entirely unwelcome, since she intended to make military law her career. So, she’d packed up all of her things, somehow managed to find a suitable apartment that wasn’t too outrageously expensive and still within driving distance of her job, and had shown up, eager to begin work.

She’d been thrown into the fray right away, being given a fairly heavy caseload almost from the first moment she’d walked in the door. Consequently, she’d spent almost every waking moment in the office familiarizing herself with the cases and getting acclimated to the new work environment. The hours she spent out of the office had been spent unpacking and organizing her apartment. Her schedule hadn’t left a whole lot of time to get to know her fellow JAG officers, with the exception of Ensign Bud Roberts, who’d been assigned to be her legal aide.

Bud was a pleasant young man, seemingly always in a good mood, and always willing to see the positive side of any situation. ‘Definitely a “glass half full” kind of guy,’ Sarah mused. And he wasn’t just a friendly face; Bud had plans and dreams of his own. He shared Sarah’s philosophy, in that he was pursuing those dreams; he wasn’t just waiting around for someone else to fulfill them for him. He spent his evenings attending law school and studying, when he wasn’t helping Sarah with her casework. Despite the disparity in rank, they’d struck up an easy friendship alongside their work relationship, something that Sarah hadn’t often experienced before, at least in tandem.

She sometimes wondered if the similarities in their backgrounds had anything to do with it. They’d been working on a case, just a day or two earlier, in which they were assigned to represent a Navy NCO involved in a domestic violence case, and they’d begun discussing the situation in which the family was mired. It turned out that Bud and Sarah shared more than just an interest in military law. Both of their fathers had been career military, NCOs, and abusive alcoholics, and both of their mothers had abandoned their children when they’d left in search of their own safety. In addition, both Sarah and Bud had turned to the service as a way out of an untenable home situation, and as a means towards furthering their education. Sarah saw some of herself in Bud, and wished only the best for the young Ensign. She decided then and there that she was going to do her best to mentor him, in the law as well as his attempts to build a better life for himself.

When she got close enough, the woman called out, “Mac!” Her voice was a little loud, so she attracted not only Sarah’s attention, but also that of a number of people in the general vicinity.

“Charlotte!” Sarah exclaimed, excusing herself from Carolyn and walking closer, where the two women hugged excitedly, before Sarah led Charlotte to an empty seat at the JAG table. Majors Sarah MacKenzie and Charlotte Fitzwilliam had met in Officer Candidate School, and, as two of the few women there, had bonded quickly. They’d found themselves to be kindred spirits in many ways; they’d both ended up at the top of the class, showing up many of their male classmates in the process, and they’d both held themselves to high standards, excelling in their chosen career paths, Sarah in law and Charlotte in intelligence.

Their mantra, when it came to what they wanted in life, was simple: a great career, a good man, and comfortable shoes... lots and lots of them. In that order. For different reasons, they both had great difficulty trusting men. Sarah had grown up with a verbally abusive father, started drinking early, and gotten involved with equally abusive boyfriends, until her uncle, Colonel Matt O’Hara sobered her up and straightened her out. Charlotte’s parents were divorced, and her father, although not abusive, tended to tell her and her brother that he’d come and take them someplace, only to not show up. Her first serious boyfriend had cheated on her, and she’d become very wary of men, in general. So, Charlotte and Sarah looked out for each other, too, when it came to romantic entanglements, and, between their protectiveness of each other and excessive caution, they earned the nickname ‘the Ice Queens’ from their fellow officer candidates.

Sarah and Charlotte were thrilled to see each other after an absence of several months, and each had been trying to make contact with the other, to let her know that she was being transferred to Washington. Charlotte was currently stationed at the Pentagon, and Sarah laughed when that was all of the information she got out of her friend. She knew that Charlotte’s chosen career path was in intelligence, and, while she didn’t really understand how someone could make a lifetime career out of the often distasteful ‘spy business,’ she knew her friend excelled in her job.

One of the so-called advantages of being both a defense contractor and a campaign contributor is that invitations to parties and official events were often forthcoming. Roland Sims’ invitation to the Navy Ball was accompanied by a personal note from the Secretary himself, and he’d promptly invited two friends of the family to join him, his wife, and daughters. Porter Webb was the widow of his college roommate and friend, Neville. She was a witty and amusing dinner companion and, for Roland, made a nice contrast to his wife Lydia, who tended to turn into more of a southern belle than she usually was at these affairs. Lydia had some social-climbing tendencies that Roland thought completely unnecessary. He was fine with where he was in life.

Roland had also invited Porter and Neville’s son, Clayton. Although Roland though Clayton was kind of quirky, he liked him. Besides, Clayton was a close friend of Roland’s daughter, Harriet, and Roland was hoping that Clayton might help fend off some of the arrogant, pilot, bad-boy types that his daughter seemed to be unable to resist. This was a major concern for Roland, since Harriet had, much to her mother’s irritation, just joined the Navy and was a newly-minted Ensign.

These two younger members of the party, who had just finished dancing, were quietly but good-naturedly bickering, which was not an unusual occurrence when the two were in each other’s vicinity. Harriet Beaumont Sims was an attractive twenty-four year old blonde; while not conventionally pretty, she had a friendly, open face, and an easy, artless way about her, which easily made her friends, and boyfriends, wherever she went.

Her companion, Clayton Webb, was, however, a completely different story. Clay had followed in his father’s footsteps, much to his mother’s chagrin, into the clandestine service of the CIA. While he often drew attention from women, because he was good looking, intelligent, and, from his elegant manner of dressing, obviously wealthy, he was uncomfortable in strictly social situations. This was particularly the case around strangers, and even more pronounced around women. In addition, because of the nature of his job, and his intense awareness of the dangers it entailed, which was an outgrowth of the effect that his father’s death had on him, Clay had made the conscious decision to keep most people at arm’s length. Clay’s nervousness manifested itself in a standoffishness that almost always made him seem arrogant and condescending, although he didn’t actually mean to be that way. Harriet was well aware of this tendency of his, and, noticing that he seemed to be more on edge than usual that evening, was trying to tease him out of it. Despite their squabbling, either would go to the ends of the earth for the other, if necessary. In that way, they were far more like siblings, than friends.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into coming here tonight, Harriet. I could be at home, drinking my own scotch, and relaxing. Instead, I’m here, drinking vastly inferior scotch, in a crowd of people I don’t give a damn about,” Clay expostulated, in an exasperated tone of voice.

“Oh, Clay! Would you give it a rest, for just a little while?” Harriet demanded, still smiling at him. “First of all, most people appreciate the chance to go to the Navy Ball hosted by the Secretary of Defense, instead of viewing it as a punishment. Second, if the scotch is *that* bad, then why are you drinking so much of it?” she teased. “And, third, you didn’t have any choice about coming down here, remember? As I recall, your mother ‘suggested’ that you’d benefit from a little social activity. She worries about you, you know, spending all that time by yourself.”

Clay hardly heard her words; he’d been distracted by sounds of feminine laughter from the table next to theirs. Whoever those women were, they were certainly having a good time tonight, laughing and carrying on as if they didn’t have a care in the world. They didn’t seem to mind being dragged off to this party against their will, with a still-healing bullet wound that was simultaneously itching from the stitches and aching like mad. Just thinking about his situation made Clay even more irritable, even though it was partially his own fault for refusing to take any more pain medication. He was now directing his dark mood towards the laughing women at the next table.

“Oh, God! Would you look at those... Well, you can hardly dignify them with the term ‘ladies,’” he huffed to Harriet. “Their escorts all seem to be Navy men; they’re probably in the Navy, too. If that’s the kind of woman the new Navy is enlisting, Harriet, you should’ve considered more carefully before joining up.”

“Oh, come on, Clay! Why are you in such a snit tonight?” Harriet asked, now perplexed at his petulant attitude. “Those women are very pretty, and I can’t see that they’re behaving badly. Sure, they’re having fun; but this *is* a party. It’s not like they’re drunk, or anything. I’d kind of like to meet them, and some of their male friends,” she added, in a wistful tone of voice.

Clay just grumbled an unintelligible answer. The brunette sitting at the next table had caught his attention, pulling it away from Harriet and her questions; despite his earlier complaints, he knew that she was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen. But why did she have to resemble the woman who’d shot him less than a week ago? He’d decided, then and there, that brunettes were off the menu, permanently. Especially beautiful brunettes with exotic eyes and lush, kissable mouths. Between the woman who shot him, and an ill-fated romance with Ana Dominguez-Flores in Guatemala, his experiences with this type of brunette had inevitably led to some sort of physical or emotional pain, and he wasn’t inclined to take that kind of risk again, at least, not any time soon.

Harriet tried to get Clay to dance with her again, but he declined, still sunk in his personal reveries about dangerous brunettes, and feeling the ache in his leg. Sighing, the young woman got up and made her way to the bar, where she got herself a Seven-Up. Turning around, she bumped into one of the men from the neighboring table. She’d noticed him earlier; while he wasn’t classically handsome, he had a nice smile, and looked quite friendly. They laughed at literally bumping into each other, and Harriet remarked on his Navy uniform, and mentioned her recent commission. One thing led to another, and before long, the two were dancing, their similar outgoing and easy personalities immediately attracting the one to the other. During a short break, Bud introduced her to JAG colleagues.

After catching up on all of each other’s news, and figuring out how they could get in touch with each other, Charlotte went back to her table and her date. Sarah was pleasantly surprised to find herself spending more time dancing this evening than she’d expected, or her new shoes really allowed for; she finally returned to the JAG table so she could take her shoes off under the table, where no one would notice. While she was surreptitiously massaging her aching feet, Clayton Webb got up to get himself a scotch and soda; at the same time, Harriet came off the dance floor for a moment, her goal to convince Clay to ask someone to dance. She cornered him as he neared their table.

“Come on, Clay,” she urged, “You’ve got to dance. I know that you’re a good dancer, so you can’t use that excuse. I hate to see you sitting around by yourself all night, acting like a snob. And an idiot. You ought to be out there, enjoying yourself, instead of sulking.”

“Enjoy myself?” he snorted a disbelieving laugh. “As if I could enjoy myself at a function like this! I already spend way too much of my time at functions like this, Harriet. As for dancing, I can’t believe you’re even suggesting it. I’ve danced with your mother, my mother, you, and all of your sisters. All of you are currently dancing with someone else. And there isn’t another woman at this party that I’d waste five minutes on.”

“Jesus, Clay! I wouldn’t be as picky as you in a million years,” Harriet said, speaking loudly enough to be heard over the music. “I swear, I’ve never seen so many pretty women together in one room before in my life. And a couple of them are really beautiful,” she said, as she not so subtly nudged Clay to get his attention.

“Look, Harriet, you’re wasting your time. Go back to your partner,” Clay said, motioning toward Ensign Bud Roberts, the young man that Harriet had been dancing with for most of the evening.

“He *is* really nice, and not the worst dancer, either, although he’s not as good as you.” Her attempt to make Clay smile fell flat. “Seriously, though, look Clay, one of Bud’s friends, Major Sarah MacKenzie, is sitting down at that table just behind you. She’s very pretty and very nice, too. Why don’t you go over there and ask her to dance?” Harriet knew that Sarah was not only a Major in the Marine Corps, but also a lawyer, and she thought it might do Clay some good to be interested in a woman who could hold her own with him intellectually. He dated way too many gold-digging bimbos, in Harriet’s considered opinion.

“Whom are you talking about?” Clay asked, turning around. Harriet pointed at the tall, slender brunette in the red dress seated at the next table. Clay stood silently for a moment, just looking at Sarah, the very brunette he’d noted earlier, until he noticed her noticing him watching her. ‘Shit! She saw me staring at her.’ Turning back, embarrassed, Clay spoke again, in his most arrogant tones, trying to hide his discomfiture at being caught staring, particularly at someone he simultaneously found really attractive and reminded him of some very painful incidents in his life. “Well... She’s all right, I guess. But she’s not really pretty enough to tempt *me* into asking her to dance. Besides, why should I waste my time asking some woman to dance that no one else at this piss-poor excuse for party thought worth wasting their time on? Go on back to your Ensign, Harriet. You’re just wasting your time with me.”

Harriet just sighed, and decided to follow Clay’s advice. Clayton Webb walked back to the Sims table with his scotch and sat down, wishing he was anywhere but where he was.

Although Sarah knew was overhearing what was supposed to be a private conversation, she could find no graceful way of letting them know that she could hear every word that they were saying. At first, she’d been rather amused at the man’s snobbery, but when he’d turned his general observations into personal ones, and unleashed his commentary about her, she resented his condescending remarks about her worth and her appearance. She felt his comments acutely, as her disadvantaged upbringing always made her feel less than worthy to attend events like this. In addition, the man and his comments brought back a lot of bad memories about her father, who never seemed to feel that she was worth wasting any time on.

But, despite that resentment, by the time her friends, including Charlotte, returned to the table for a few minutes, during a short break by the band, Sarah had mostly recovered her usual good humor. She took delight in telling her fellow officers about what’d happened, and what the man had said, taking some enjoyment out of ridiculing his arrogant attitude. Unlike Clay, however, Sarah kept her voice down.

“You know who that is?” At Sarah’s shake of her head, Carolyn Imes, who’d been on the receiving end of the spy’s less-than-endearing manners once before, enlightened her. “He’s Clayton Webb; he *claims* he works for the State Department, but I have a tough time believing someone so undiplomatic could survive in Foggy Bottom. Besides, Mac, in my *not* so humble opinion,” Carolyn loyally declared, “you didn’t lose much by not being to Webb’s taste -- arrogant little turd. God, he’s really full of himself, isn’t he? Acts like his own shit don’t stink.”

Charlotte laughed quietly to herself, thinking that Carolyn’s description of Clayton Webb was deadly accurate. She knew Clay a little; they ran in the same intelligence circles, although they’d never worked together. He had an excellent reputation as an agent, although almost everyone remarked on his occasional lack of social graces. Charlotte, however, kept her mouth shut; she didn’t want to blow his cover by indicating that she knew him, and from where. She also didn’t want everyone at the JAG table to know she worked in intelligence, and she knew Sarah would know not to say anything regarding that fact.

“Not pretty enough to dance with! He should be so lucky,” the Admiral grumbled, annoyed at the insult to the newest, and prettiest, member of his staff. “Mac, if he ever *does* ask you to dance, I think you should tell him where to stick it,” he advised, glaring heatedly at the CIA agent across the expanse of two tables.

“Sir, I think I can assure you that dancing with Mr. Clayton Webb isn’t on my calendar for the foreseeable future,” Sarah assured her commanding officer, with a laugh and a pointed look at the offending gentleman.

“It’s too bad, though,” Admiral Chegwidden’s wife, Dr. Denise Annesley, said. “He’s a good looking man, and, I hear, very rich. It’s a shame he’s such an arrogant prick.” At her pronouncement, everyone started laughing again. Denny looked very sweet and was quite accomplished in her field -- physics -- but she had a tendency to swear like a sailor, and most people found the incongruity quite amusing.

Clay sat at his table, overhearing the laughter and noticing the looks directed his way, immediately aware of what, or rather whom, was being discussed. He knew that, with his temper being as bad as it was right now, he should’ve bowed out and just stayed home. Now he’d not only made rude remarks about a woman, in public, where it seemed she’d overheard them, but he’d also apparently insulted one of Admiral A.J. Chegwidden’s staff members. Chegwidden was known in government circles for having a fierce temper, and for being very protective of his staff. He’d be lucky to get through the night without having his nose broken by the irate flag officer.

When the band’s break was over, everyone went back to dancing, although, at this late hour, it seemed that almost everyone who hadn’t come with a date had ended up paired up with someone. Although Sarah had danced quite a bit during the first part of the evening, she found herself spending more time alone, and getting fairly tired. Clayton Webb was also sitting alone at his table, drowning his foul mood in scotch, and waiting for his mother to be ready for him to escort her home. He glanced over at Sarah more than once, and found himself regretting having opened his big mouth earlier. She wasn’t the unknown woman who’d shot him, nor was she Ana, who’d been the source of so much pleasure, and so much pain, and he knew he shouldn’t have lashed out in her direction. She seemed intelligent, and he realized she might have been someone pleasant to talk to. But he’d have been terrible company tonight, he realized, so it was probably just as well that he hadn’t made the effort. But, the truth was, he really wasn’t over the brunette thing yet. The last time he looked back at her, he saw her make her excuses to the Admiral on her way out the door. Clay sighed, wishing he could find a reason to leave, too.

Harriet Sims, on the other hand, was having a wonderful time. Although Bud Roberts wasn’t the best dancer, he was enthusiastic, and willing to try new things. Bud was, frankly, a little quirky in some ways, but he was so genuinely nice, and funny, although he didn’t often mean to be, that Harriet found herself really drawn in by him. He wasn’t the type of man she usually found herself attracted to, but, as Clay would surely have told her, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. She tended to like bad-boy types, risk-takers, and she’d let herself be talked into some stupid stunts by them in the past.

Bud liked Harriet, as well. She was smart and pretty, and she laughed at his jokes, which most women didn’t do. At the end of the night, Harriet had to remind him to get her phone number, and they stood awkwardly near the coat check, when they’d retrieved their belongings. Bud wasn’t sure if he should try to kiss her or not, because he couldn’t really tell if she liked him, or if he even should, since she was also an Ensign. Realizing that Bud was, perhaps, not the best at reading subtle female signals, Harriet gave him a quick peck on the cheek before joining her family, leaving a beaming Bud Roberts staring after her.

Chapter 2

November 1996

JAG HQ

After the Navy Ball, life at JAG HQ got incredibly busy for several of the officers. A high profile murder case had come into the office at the beginning of October, and was now quickly heading for trial. A Marine Force Recon Master Sergeant, Jason Collins, just off a special mission in Bosnia, had arrived home ahead of schedule to find his wife in bed with the minor son of Marine Lieutenant Colonel Harrison Hurst, an officer on the fast track to his general’s stars. Sergeant Collins had had a rough time in Bosnia, where’d he’s spent most of his time tracking war criminals around the countryside, and, consequently, running smack into a large number of the atrocities committed by the men he’d been seeking. In other words, Collins had already been on edge before returning to the States, and, upon seeing his wife Fran in bed with Benjamin Hurst, he’d turned around, retrieved his pistol from his desk, walked back into the bedroom, and started shooting.

In light of the scandalous nature of the murders, and the attendant publicity the case was receiving, JAG had its hands full. Sarah had been assigned to defend Collins, and Carolyn Imes was prosecuting. Because Carolyn had decided to seek the death penalty, even more eyes were on the outcome of the case than there normally would be, even for a case as high profile as this. While Sarah tended to prefer acting as prosecutor, she always prepared a vigorous defense, even when her client was guilty. Collins was guilty of something, the question was, of what level of murder. In other words, she really wasn’t looking forward to trying this case. Lieutenant Colonel Hurst had certain clout and a bit of a temper, and, since she was also a Marine, she was a little nervous about defending his son’s murderer. Particularly after what she’d been hearing about Benjamin, the Colonel’s son, who’d been, to put it mildly, a little out of control. She was hoping she wouldn’t have to use that information in court, although she would if it became absolutely necessary. At any rate, she couldn’t help but feel a certain sympathy for Collins, who’d come home from a long, rough tour of duty, only to find his wife in flagrante delicto. Sarah’s investigation had turned up decent mitigating evidence, and Sarah had even been able to talk Sergeant Collins into taking a plea to second-degree murder. Unfortunately for Sergeant Collins, Carolyn Imes wasn’t interested in dealing, apparently because of the pressure Lieutenant Colonel Hurst had been putting on her.

To top it all off, Admiral Chegwidden wanted the case tried quickly, hoping to minimize the bad press the Navy and Marines were receiving in the media; as a result, Sarah and Bud had been working around the clock, trying to gather any evidence that might help their client. At the back of her mind, Sarah knew that Bud’s ability to help her would be limited starting around Thanksgiving, because of his upcoming law school finals. Sarah felt badly for working Bud so hard, not only because of his studies, but also because he was clearly smitten with Harriet Sims, and all of this work on their case meant that he had virtually no free time to spend pursuing the young Ensign, who was at Norfolk, awaiting deployment on the USS Seahawk.

The day after the Navy Ball, Bud had called Sarah at home and shyly asked whether she thought it would be okay for him to call Harriet already, or if it would be too soon. Sarah had smiled and willed herself not to laugh, somewhat thankful that Bud had decided to call her rather than seek advice from a man, who probably would’ve told him to wait the precisely six days and seventeen hours that men knew they could get away with before the woman they liked would lose interest in them. She’d told him it would be fine; he’d taken her advice, and he and Harriet had been talking on the phone every few days ever since then. They hadn’t seen each other, however, because of work, studies, and the distance to Norfolk.

After a particularly long, but fruitful, week, during which Bud and Sarah had finally been able to interview the other members of the Force Recon team about what had happened in Bosnia, and they’d located an expert to testify about the effect the atrocities had on Collins, Sarah decided that a night out was in order. What had originally begun as an offer to take Bud out to dinner, however, ended up turning into a JAG happy hour. Since the evening had expanded, Sarah also invited her friend, Charlotte, to come along, since everyone had gotten along together so well at the Navy Ball, and also because Sarah hadn’t had very much time to spend with her since the Collins case had crossed her desk.

After she’d set up the evening, Bud told Sarah that Harriet had an unexpected weekend of leave coming, but he wasn’t sure what he should to do about it. Sarah told Bud to go ahead and take advantage of the windfall leave, and ask Harriet out. But Bud, being Bud, was concerned about missing the gathering that Sarah had sort of organized with him in mind. Bud kept dithering about whether to ask Harriet out at all, whether he should ask her out for Friday or for Saturday if he did ask her out, and generally driving Sarah crazy with his inability to make a decision. Finally Sarah decided to step in and play matchmaker. She’d already decided that Harriet was really sweet, and perfect for her painfully girl-shy assistant, so Sarah took the bull by the horns and called Harriet to invite her out with the group. In the course of the conversations, Sarah subtly let Harriet know that Bud would be there that evening. Sarah also made sure that Harriet understood that she’d inadvertently “ordered” him to attend, making him feel as though he couldn’t, in good conscience, get out of it.

Harriet was a little relieved to hear from Major MacKenzie; although she’d enjoyed her phone calls with Bud, she still had no idea where their conversations were heading. The way it currently stood, she and Bud could end up as best friends or married, or something somewhere in between, but she couldn’t tell from what had happened so far.

Despite the relief she felt, the invitation to join them for Happy Hour at Benzinger’s had also put Harriet into a minor panic. Although she liked Bud a lot, and Major MacKenzie had been sweet to invite her to go out with them, Harriet still felt as if she’d be out of place at a happy hour with a bunch of lawyers, all of whom outranked her. So, slightly agitated at the prospect before her, she called Clayton Webb to see if she could con him into going with her, to provide some much needed moral support.

“Please, Clay, please, go with me,” she’d begged, using her most convincing pitiful voice. It was very important to make him feel sorry enough for her to agree to go along with her, but not so much that she exasperated him into further stubbornness.

“I’m tired, Harriet, and it’s been a long week. I don’t know any of those people, and I’m just not in the mood to socialize.” Clay wasn’t lying; it *had* been a long week. He’d spent several days cultivating a new contact in Indonesia, and it was requiring a lot of hand holding, which meant a lot of late nights, doing the hand holding over the phone, at the contact’s convenience. Besides, he really didn’t think that he’d enjoy a happy hour at a bar with a bunch of virtual strangers; although, if he were honest with himself, he didn’t particularly want to go home to an empty house, either.

“Clay, you know how it is, going alone to a bar to meet a bunch of people where you really don’t know anyone. Bud’s going to be there, but I don’t know how he really feels about me, and I’d like to have an excuse to leave if I end up humiliated, or something. Besides, I’d do it for you,” Harriet said, sure that that would clinch the deal. She was about to start whining, but decided not to play that card yet.

“Oh, all right,” he relented, heaving a heavy sigh so that Harriet would know just how much of an imposition he felt this was going to be. “Where is it?”

Knowing just how Clay operated, Harried ignored the sigh and gave him directions, and they made arrangements for whoever got there first to wait for the other.

Friday Happy Hour

Benzinger’s

When Sarah had arranged the time for the happy hour, she’d made sure to give everyone enough time to run home and change into street clothes. It had been her experience that “unit cohesion,” as it were, was generally helped in social situations when everyone was dressed in street clothes, rather than in their uniforms. Because she’d invited everyone, including the Admiral, it was even more important this particular night, she thought. Admiral Chegwidden could be very imposing, generally, but even more so in uniform. After a quick reconnaissance of her closet to see what was available -- and clean -- Sarah chose a pair of brown jeans, boots with a high, but chunky, heel, comfortable enough that she could stand around for a long time, if necessary, and a sweater set whose color went perfectly with her jeans. She also wore a choker necklace made out of garnets and matching earrings, the warm color of the stones perfectly complementing the warm browns of her outfit. She’d even parted her hair differently and pinned it back with a pretty barrette with a garnet-colored stone in it, and redone her makeup, in the attempt to look as different as possible from the ‘by-the-book’ Marine officer that she normally presented to her colleagues.

When she arrived at the bar, she noticed a nice red BMW sitting in the parking lot, although she didn’t see that the car was still occupied. Clayton Webb, whose car it was, noticed her, however, as she walked quickly through the parking lot. Although it was cold, she’d decided to leave her coat in the car, and brave the elements for the short walk, rather than have to deal with the coat inside the crowded bar. She was just as stunning in casual clothes as she’d been in the gown he’d seen her in a month before at the Navy Ball. This woman could be dangerous for his equilibrium, he quickly decided. Clay was saved from any further reflection on this topic by Harriet’s arrival, and they walked into the bar together. Because this had been a last minute invitation from Harriet, Clay was still dressed for work, instead of casually dressed like the other invitees. Sarah had told Harriet that everyone was changing clothes, so Harriet made him take off his vest and tie, knowing that he’d feel even more out of place in a three-piece suit. He balked at first, but he finally acquiesced, primarily so Harriet would stop bugging him about it. His suits were like armor to him, and he was reluctant to shed them; on the other hand, he knew he’d feel like an idiot tonight, if everyone was in jeans or other casual clothes, and he was dressed in a three-piece Armani suit.

During the short walk into the bar, Harriet gave him a list of instructions on how to behave, so that Bud wouldn’t misinterpret things and think they’d come as a couple.

“I’m going to tell him that we were going to have dinner with your mother in Fairfax later, and you didn’t want to go all the way home and come back out again, so I invited you along to kill the time. Then, if he and I are having a good time, I’m going to tell him it’s okay if I blow you both off,” she carefully explained.

Clay started laughing. “Harriet, you’re a little sneak, you know that? I’d forgotten that about you.” He almost said something about recruiting her into his line of work, but he caught himself in time. Harriet thought he worked for the State Department.

“Just don’t make it seem like we’re ‘together,’” she instructed him, for the third time in the past five minutes.

“Yeah, I get it, Harriet!” Clay rolled his eyes, trying to control his laughter, and slight exasperation, at her nervousness.

They walked into the warmth of the bar as a wave of laughter rolled across the room from the far corner, where they both recognized people from the table next to theirs at the Navy Ball. Harriet and Clay both unconsciously took deep breaths and started across the room, Clay careful to stay a very respectful distance away. He spotted Charlotte Fitzwilliam at the bar, and, relieved to have someone else to talk with in addition to the jittery Harriet, he headed over that way, after asking Harriet if she wanted something to drink. When Harriet rolled her eyes, he realized for him to buy her a drink would be stepping on her plans to have Bud do that.

He’d met Charlotte once or twice in the course of his work, and she knew what he really did for a living. In addition to warning her about his cover job with State, it would give him a chance to get a drink, and let Harriet catch up with Bud, without having him in tow. For some reason, as yet incomprehensible to Clay, Harriet seemed to really like the rather socially inept Bud Roberts. Although Clay hadn’t had him checked out yet, it was on his “to do” list.

“Hello, Charlotte Fitzwilliam, right?” Clay said, walking up. Extending his hand, he added, “Clayton Webb. State Department.” Charlotte gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“Oh, hello, there, it’s been a while,” Charlotte said, smiling and shaking his hand. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him out of a three-piece suit, except maybe at the Navy Ball last month, when he’d been wearing a three-piece tuxedo. She looked around, almost imperceptibly, although Clay caught the movement. “Is this a Company bar?”

“No,” he smiled. “A good friend, Harriet Sims, asked me to come along, so she wouldn’t have to show up at the happy hour over there by herself.” He motioned towards the JAG crowd, then ordered a very nice, very expensive scotch, and offered to buy a drink for Charlotte, too.

As Charlotte ordered a martini, he saw Sarah MacKenzie approaching her from behind, saying, “Charlotte!” The two women hugged, and he realized that Charlotte was here for the same reason as he was.

Charlotte pulled Sarah forward a little, and asked, “Have you met Clayton Webb? He works for State, although I can never remember your title. Clayton, Major Sarah MacKenzie. She’s a lawyer for the Marine Corps.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Sarah. Can I buy you a drink?” Sarah really was quite lovely, and Clay found himself quite taken with her eyes. They had initially been sparkling at the pleasure of seeing her friend, but the expression in them had become decidedly frosty when she saw him standing there talking to Charlotte. While he’d wondered for a second why she was being so hostile towards him, the reason quickly surfaced. ‘Oh, yeah,’ he remembered now; he’d pretty well insulted her at the Navy Ball, and it was apparent, then and now, that she’d heard every single unflattering word he’d said about her. ‘Just as well,’ he thought, ‘I’ve sworn off brunettes, anyway.’

“No, thank you, I have a soda at the table. Besides, I don’t drink.” She was polite about it, but so firm on the subject that he wasn’t inclined to ever ask her such a question again.

He wondered why she was telling him about her drinking preferences, and curious enough about her comment that he almost shrugged and said something really stupid and socially inept, like, ‘suit yourself’ or ‘whatever.’ Instead, he restrained the urge and remained silent. He merely turned, smiled, and handed Charlotte her martini, and, before collecting his own drink, threw enough money on the bar for both their drinks and to leave a really nice tip. Sarah noticed, and her eyes grew a little wide; the men she was used to dealing with were usually what she could only call parsimonious when it came to spending. As they headed towards the JAG group, she wondered why he was following them, and her earlier annoyance with him grew.

Harriet saw Clay heading over to the group, and she moved to make room for him, reintroducing him to Bud, much to Sarah’s obvious relief. When she saw Harriet, Sarah remembered that she and Clayton Webb had been seated at the same table, and she suddenly realized that Harriet must’ve asked him to come with her that night. Harriet seemed really nice, but Sarah couldn’t say much for her choice of friends.

Bud was very welcoming to Clay, and the three of them talked for a while, until Clay finally got the hint and backed out of the conversation. Sarah and Charlotte were at a nearby table, still talking to each other, and he felt incredibly awkward striking up a conversation with anyone else, even though he’d met a few of the other JAG people before.

He stood by himself for a few minutes, contemplating Harriet and Bud Roberts. Bud seemed nice enough, although, frankly, he was a little odd. He seemed to be a fountain of trivia, and his conversation veered from one subject to the next without rhyme or reason. Bud wasn’t the cocksure type of bad boy that Harriet had gone for in the past, though, which was a good thing, Clay thought. He’d already resolved to check into Bud Roberts’ background, just in case; Harriet would probably be pissed at him, but he couldn’t help wanting to protect the people he loved. She’d been hurt too many times before.

Lost in thought and without a conversation partner, Clay found himself glancing again over at Sarah MacKenzie, as he’d been doing all night. And, as she had a few other times, she caught him looking at her, and he immediately looked away, embarrassed at being caught.

He didn’t know what it was about her, but he couldn’t stop looking at Sarah. Just then, Denny Annesley came over and introduced herself as Admiral Chegwidden’s wife. She was nice enough, but Clay found her to be rather loud and a little overbearing. Denny had seen the handsome man standing off by himself, and, because she was so happily in love herself, she wanted to make sure everyone else was, too; she was particularly interested in the “assisting” the single women under her husband’s command, some of whom she’d become very friendly with. She’d noticed the well-dressed man staring blatantly at Sarah MacKenzie, and she could tell that Sarah had noticed him noticing her, so she went over to speak to him, intent upon seeing how she could further this potential match.

After a brief inquiry, Denny discovered that the man’s name was Clayton Webb, and that he worked for the State Department. She could tell from his suit and the expensive scotch he’d ordered that he had money, but she was having trouble drawing him out in conversation. She finally got him to talk a little bit about horseback riding, when she asked about his hobbies. Clay explained that he’d been in a lot of competitions earlier in his life, and Denny eagerly asked him a lot of questions; her own riding days had been cut short when, during her teenage years, her family had moved from the rolling hills of Kentucky ‘horse country’ to the heart of Chicago. She was blatantly fishing for an invitation to ride, and perhaps a few lessons, but Clay knew better than to get involved with teaching an Admiral’s wife to jump horses after an almost forty-year hiatus. With great relief, he saw Harriet motioning wildly to him, and he excused himself to go over to her.

Clay was a perhaps little abrupt in his departure, but not really extraordinarily so for him; nevertheless, between that, and his failure to pick up her hints about horseback riding, Denny was a little perturbed with him. She rejoined her husband, who was talking to Carolyn Imes and Lieutenant, J.G., Loren Singer. Since all of them had heard the story of Clayton Webb’s tirade about Sarah MacKenzie at the Navy Ball, they’d been taking bets on how long it would be before Clay upset Denny.

“You really shouldn’t have bothered, ma’am,” Carolyn informed her. “He seems to be rude all of the time. Maybe he’s so diplomatic all day, he needs to let loose at night?” Everyone laughed at her comment.

Loren Singer had also noticed Clayton Webb staring at Sarah MacKenzie. Loren harbored a not so secret wish to be the first female JAG. She’d become quite jealous when Major MacKenzie had come on board at JAG HQ and had been assigned the big cases, and she was particularly resentful of not being tapped by either side to help with the Collins case. She didn’t know Clayton Webb, except that he worked for State, but it was clear, from looking at how he dressed and held himself, that he had money. It was also clear that he was interested in Major MacKenzie, and Loren thought it might be kind of fun, and possibly profitable, to put a stop to that, right now. She’d managed to dig up some particularly interesting dirt on Major MacKenzie, and, since she’d first seen him look over at the Major with interest in his eyes, she’d begun plotting ways to arrange for him to overhear her telling someone all about what she’d discovered. She needed to be extremely careful, though; the Major had quickly become one of the Admiral’s favorites, and he was fiercely protective of her. He hated gossip, and brooked no dissension in the ranks. If she weren’t extremely careful, her little plan could easily backfire.

Loren watched Clay walk away from Harriet after squeezing her arm, and she decided that the opportunity was perfectly timed. Loren walked right up to him and introduced herself. Although Clay didn’t have a talent for making small talk with strangers, he was a very good judge of character, which was partially why he preferred observing to participating in situations like this one. With Loren Singer’s bold approach and the expressions on the faces of some of the other JAG staff when she did, he was instantly put on guard. He also perceived Sarah’s notice of Singer’s approach, and saw her immediately whisper to Charlotte, who appeared to laugh at despite her attempts to stop herself.

Loren started coming on strong right away, making Clay even more uncomfortable and cautious, and he couldn’t help glancing around at the few people that he knew. He tried sending out “save me” signals to Harriet, but she was too busy talking to Bud to notice his dilemma. In desperation, he tried Charlotte and Sarah, but they weren’t even looking at him. Furious, Loren noticed where his eyes were going, and she decided introduce the heart of her plan to damage Sarah’s standing in Clay’s eyes. “You know, Mr. Webb, Major MacKenzie used to steal cars in high school. And she’s an alcoholic. Her daddy was apparently an abusive drunk.”

“Really?” Clay said coolly. “She told me she didn’t drink.”

“Well,” Loren said, “I guess she doesn’t anymore, but she was quite the drunk until her uncle sobered her up. I heard she also totally wild, married at sixteen, or something like that.”

Clay didn’t know why this woman was irritating him so much, but, although it seemed Sarah’s background was about as far from his as possible, that sort of thing really didn’t matter to him, as long as she wasn’t still married and drinking. He decided he’d like Loren Singer to go away from him as quickly as possible, so his response to her gossip was, “Well, it sounds like she’s come a long way since then. Isn’t she defending Sergeant Collins, who blew his wife and her underage lover away? I’m sure she wouldn’t have been assigned a high profile case like that if she weren’t an outstanding attorney.”

At Clay’s praise of her nemesis, Loren became incredibly angry; not only because he didn’t react as she thought he should, but also because he’d rubbed her face in the Collins thing. In response, she stalked off indignantly. Clay sighed with relief, then snuck off and placed a to-go order, so that he could get out of the restaurant, go home, and have something to eat in the peace and quiet of his own home. His previous reluctance to spend time in his large and seemingly lonely townhouse had vanished after spending a couple of hours with this rather motley, and slightly disarming, group; he was now very much looking forward to the time alone.

Sarah and Charlotte had noticed his exchange with Singer and her anger when she stalked away, and remarked that it was evident that Clayton Webb had Loren’s number. “She’s a snake,” Sarah informed Charlotte. “I don’t like to say that about another woman, but I’ve gotten bad vibes from her from day one, and I’ve sort of made it my mission not to work with her, if I can help it.”

“Probably not a bad idea,” Charlotte agreed.

The fact that Clay seemed to realize that there was something “off” about Singer, managed to raise Sarah’s opinion of Clay, ever so slightly. It seemed to Sarah, though, that he’d been giving her disdainful, contemptuous looks all night long. She couldn’t figure out what she’d ever done to him to make him dislike her so much, but she didn’t say anything to anyone, even Charlotte, about the number of times she’d caught him looking at her. Although Sarah MacKenzie was a beautiful woman, with curves that most men loved, she really had no true concept of her beauty, or what its affect on men might be. Consequently, it didn’t occur to her that Clay was looking at her because he was attracted to her.

When Clay’s food was finally ready, he said goodbye to Harriet, but no one else seemed to even notice that he was leaving. Which was just the way he liked it. Although he’d toyed with the idea of saying goodbye to Sarah, he decided that he really needed to keep his distance from her. He realized, with a smile at his own absurdity, that his current resolution about brunettes was a little irrational, but he couldn’t help but think about some of what Lieutenant Singer had told him about Sarah MacKenzie. He was sure it was a wise choice not to pursue anything more than a casual acquaintance with someone with the kind of emotional baggage Sarah probably had; after all, he had enough of his own to deal with.

The Collins trial took place during the second week of December, right during Bud’s finals. It was an incredibly trying week for him, although he was also excited about essentially sitting as second chair in a death penalty case, in spite of the seriousness of the charges and potential sentence. Of course, Sarah did all the heavy lifting, doing all of the direct and cross examinations herself, but Bud was essential in handling her exhibits and taking notes, as well as performing any necessary legwork she assigned to him. She ended up putting Collins on the stand, to testify on his own behalf. Because he was Force Recon, and had been thoroughly vetted, both psychologically and professionally, before being accepted to the program, he had no black marks on his record, apart from the crime he was accused of. Sarah felt that there was no good reason not to call him, particularly because she knew that juries tend to more readily convict people who don’t testify on their own behalf, even when they’re instructed to disregard that fact. Collins had, in fact, done a great job for himself, and ended up convicted of second-degree murder. Considering the alternative -- the death penalty -- Sarah was ecstatic at the outcome, particularly since the fact that Collins had left the room, retrieved a weapon, and came back constituted evidence of premeditation.

For Bud’s part, he was too tired to be really happy, and he honestly missed Harriet, who’d finally been deployed. She ended up not going on the Seahawk, which was headed to the Mediterranean, but rather on the U.S.S. Francis Marion, bound for the far side of the Pacific. It seemed that no one had previously taken note of the fact that Harriet spoke Japanese, until right before she was scheduled to get on the Seahawk as a Public Information Officer. Although the Navy didn’t always use logic in its assignments, this time it did, and sent her out of San Diego at the last minute, where her skills might end up being useful.

By the time Harriet had shipped out, Bud had fallen hard for her, although he was having a little trouble making his feelings known. They’d had a great time at the Navy Ball and the happy hour get-together, but, because she was in Norfolk and he was so busy, they hadn’t had the chance to see each other again. Plus, because of finals, Bud hadn’t been able to call her as much he would’ve otherwise done, although Harriet had said again and again that she understood.

Although Bud was nice and always pleasant, his early experiences couldn’t help but make him naturally cautious when it came to relationships, although it was a totally unconscious reaction on his part. His father had always been such an embarrassment that Bud had never even brought friends home from school. In any event, Bud had always been smart, two steps ahead of everyone, and, regardless of the fact that he was well liked, he hadn’t had many friends until he came to JAG. In other words, he hadn’t done a very good job of making it clear to Harriet how he really felt about her before she left.

As soon as he’d had the opportunity, Clayton Webb had run a background search on Bud Roberts. He’d discovered that Bud had two younger siblings, a brother, Michael, and a sister, Winnie, and was named after his father. The mother had apparently left long ago, taking only Winnie, and nothing was known about them. Although Bud had a squeaky clean record, his father was quite a different story. From reading Bud, Sr.’s record, Clay began to get a vivid picture of Bud’s childhood. There were charges of domestic violence, drunk driving, assault, not to mention a record of counseling for alcohol abuse in his military record. Although Bud didn’t seem, from the little Clay knew of him, to be the type of guy to perpetuate the cycle of abuse, there was really no telling. Clay didn’t plan on telling Harriet what he’d found out, but he resolved to keep an eye on Bud, and say something to her later, if he saw even a hint of something he didn’t like.

Chapter 3

January 1, 1997

Washington, DC

Sarah watched her breath steam out into the icy early morning air. DC winters could be bone-chillingly bold, and even more so when a person was awakened from a sound sleep by the shrilling of a phone. The call had been an urgent one, jolting her from her warm, comfortable bed to deal with a crisis half a world away. She was just glad she no longer drank; being awakened at 0331 on New Year’s Day was bad enough, but even the idea of having to face flying and a crisis with a hangover was enough to make her shudder. Sarah sincerely hoped that Bud hadn’t overindulged the night before, or he’d be facing his own hell today.

She grabbed her suitcase out of the back of her car, and headed into the flight center at Andrews. ‘Oh, good! He’s already here,’ Sarah thought, as she noticed Bud’s cute little VW bug parked the next aisle over from her Jeep.