"I won't expect to see you for the next few days. Take as much time as you need, all right?"

Nell didn't answer. She couldn't. She just pressed the power button on the cordless phone.

She tried to think. Tried to remember the names of Jake's high-powered friendsa"people she'd called both to tell about the change in wedding plans, and then about Daisy's death. There were several other admirals that Jake knew quite well. And what was the name of that FInCOM security commander? Tom something. He'd come out to the farm a few times to double-check the security fence....

On the television, the reporter was talking with the anchor, discussing Jake's career in Vietnam, his long-term relationship with popular artist Daisy Owen, their marriage and her relatively recent death.

The reporter touched her earpiece. "I'm sorry," she said, interrupting the anchor in midsentence. "We've just received word that the alleged assassin, the man believed to be responsible for Admiral Jake Robinson's murder and the murders of at least five members of his security team, is being brought out of the hospital, being transferred to FInCOM Headquarters to await arraignment."

The camera jiggled sickeningly as the cameraman rushed to get into position. The hospital doors opened, and a crowd of police and other uniformed men came out.

Nell got to her knees, still holding the telephone as she moved closer to the TV set, wanting a glimpse of the face of the man who had killed her friend.

That man was in the centre of the crowd, his long, dark hair parted in the middle and hanging slackly down to his shoulders. The picture was still wobbling, though, and Nell could see little more than the pale blur of his face.

"Admiral Stonegate!" the reporter called to one of the men in the crowd. "Admiral Stonegate, sir! Can you identify this man for our viewers?"

The camera zoomed in on the murder suspect, and the cordless phone dropped out of Nell's hands and clattered on the kitchen floor.

It was Crash. The man being led to the police cars was Crash Hawken.

His hair was long and stringy-parted in the middle and hanging around his face in a style that was far from flattering. But Nell would have known that face anywhere. Those cheekbones, that elegant nose, the too-grim mouth. His pale grey eyes were nearly vacant, though. He seemed unaware of the explosion of questions and cameras focusing on him.

The relief that flooded through Nell was so sharp and overpowering, she nearly doubled over.

Crash was alive.

Thank God he was alive.

"I've been authorized to release the following statement. The man in our custody is former Navy Lieutenant William R. Hawken," a raspy male voice said.

On the screen, Crash was pushed into the back seat of a car. The camera focused for a moment on his hands, cuffed at the wrist behind his back, before once again settling, through the rain-streaked window of the car, on his seemingly soulless eyes.

"The charges include conspiracy, treason, and first-degree murder," the male voice continued. As the car pulled away, the camera moved to focus on the reporter, who was one of a crowd surrounding a short, white-haired navy admiral. "With the evidence we have, it's an open-and-shut case. There's no question in my mind of Hawken's guilt. I was a close friend of Jake Robinson's and I intend, personally, to push for the death penalty in this case."

The death penalty.

Nell stared at the TV as the words being spoken finally broke through her relief that Crash was alive.

Crash was being arrested. His hands had been cuffed. He'd been charged with conspiracy, the man had said. And treason. And murder.

It didn't make sense. How could anyone who claimed to be a friend of Jake's possibly believe that Crash could have killed him? Anyone who knew them both would have to know how ridiculous that was. Crash could no more have killed Jake than she could have gone to the window, opened it, and flown twice around the outside of her house before coming back inside. It was ridiculous. Impossible. Totally absurd.

Nell pushed herself up off the kitchen floor and went into the little room she'd made into her home office. She turned on the light and her computer. Somewhere, in some forgotten file deep in the bowels of her hard disk, she must still have the names and phone numbers of the people she'd invited to Jake and Daisy's wedding. Someone would be able to help her prove that Crash was innocent.

She wiped her face and went to work.

Crash had to shuffle when he walked. Even for the short trip from his cell to the visiting room, he had to be handcuffed and chained like a common criminal. His hands and feet were considered to be deadly weapons because of his martial-arts skills. He couldn't raise his hands to push his hair out of his face without a guard pointing a rifle in his direction.

He couldn't imagine who had come to see hima"who, that is, had the pull and the clout and the sheer determination to request and be granted a chance to talk one-on-one to a man charged with conspiracy, treason and murder.

It sure wasn't any of the members of his SEAL Team. His former SEAL Team. He'd been stripped of his commission and rank upon his arrival here at the federal prison. He'd been stripped of everything but his name, and he was almost certain that they would've have taken that as well, if they could have.

But no, there was no one in his former SEAL Team who would want to sit down and talk to him right now. They all thought he'd killed Captain Lovett and the Possuma"Chief Steven Piersona"in the gun battle at Jake Robinson's house.

And why shouldn't they believe that? The ballistics report showed that Crash's bullets had been found in both of the SEALs' bodies-despite the fact Crash had been standing right next to the Possum when the man was hit.

It was quite possible that the only reason Crash was still alive today was because the chief had fallen in front of him when he'd gone down, also taking the bullets that had been meant for Crash.

No, Crash's mysterious visitor wasn't a member of SEAL Team Twelve. But it was possible he was a member of SEAL Team Ten's elite Alpha Squad. Crash had worked with Alpha Squad this past summer, helping to train an experimental joint FInCOM/SEAL counterterrorist team.

Crash had worked with Alpha Squad on the same operation in Southeast Asia that Jake had believed was the cause of this entire hellish tragedy. It had been that very op that Jake had been investigating right before his deatha"and had detailed in the encoded file he had sent Crash. Crash couldn't deny that that particular operation had gone about as wrong as it possibly could. Jake had believed that the snafu had not been accidental, and that the mistakes made were now being covered up.

And Jake never could abide a cover-up.

But was a cover-up of a botched op enough reason to kill an admiral?

Crash had had little else to think about day and night during the past week.

But right now, he had a visitor and he turned his thoughts toward wondering who was sitting on the other side of the wired glass window in the visitors' room.

It might be his swim buddy, Cowboy Jonesa"the man with whom he'd gone through the punishingly harsh SEAL training. Cowboy wouldn't condemn him. At least not before talking to him. And then there was Blue McCoy. Last summer Crash had come to know and trust Alpha Squad's taciturn executive officer.

He liked to think that Blue would want to hear Crash's version of the story first, too.

Still, it was odd to imagine that someone he had met only six months earlier would take the time to question him about what had happened, when his own teammates, men he'd worked with for years, had clearly already judged and found him guilty as charged.

Crash waited while one of the guards unlocked the door. It swung open and...

It wasn't Cowboy and it definitely wasn't Blue McCoy.

Out of all the people in all the world, Nell Burns was the last person Crash had expected to see sitting in that chair on the other side of that protective glass.

Yet there she was, her hands tightly clasped on the table in front of her.

She looked almost exactly the same as she had the last time he'd seen hera"the morning she'd walked out of his room after they'd spent the night together. It had been nearly a year, but he could still remember that night as if it had been yesterday.

Her hair was cut in the same chin-length style. Only her clothes were differenta"a severely tailored business suit with shoulder pads in the jacket, and a stiff white shirt that did its best to hide the soft curves of her breasts.

But she didn't have to wear sexy, revealing clothes. It didn't matter what she worea"boxy suit or burlap sack. The image of her perfect body was forever branded in his memory.

God, he was pathetic. After all this time, he still wanted Nell more than he'd ever wanted any woman.

The guard pulled out his chair and Crash sat, refusing to acknowledge just how much he'd missed her, refusing to let himself care that the glass divider kept him from breathing in her sweet perfume, refusing to care that she had to see him like this, chained up like some kind of animal.

But he did care. God, how he cared.

Separate. Detach. He had to start thinking like the kind of man he wasa"a man with no future. A man on a final mission.

Crash had a single goal nowa"to hunt down and destroy the man responsible for Jake Robinson's death. He had lost far more than his commanding officer when he'd been unable to save Jake's life. He'd lost a friend who'd been like a father to him. And he'd lost everything else that was important to him as well-the trust of his teammates, his rank, his commission, his status as a SEAL. Without those things he was nothing. A nonentity.

He was as good as dead.

But it was that very fact that gave him the upper hand against the unknown man who was behind his fall from grace. Because with everything that mattered to him gone, Crash had nothing more to lose. He was going to succeed at his mission if it was the last thing he ever did. He was determined to succeed, even at the price of his own worthless life.

As Crash sat and gazed at Nell through the protective glass, he was struck by the irony of the situation. He'd worked hard to make sure that Nell wasn't his to havea"or his to lose. Yet here he was, having lost everything else in his life, except, it appeared, her trust.

Yeah, the irony was incredible. His one ally, the only person who believed he didn't kill Jake Robinson, was a woman who by all rights should want nothing more to do with him.

And he knew Nell didn't believe that he'd killed Jake. Even after a year apart, he could still read her like a first-grade primer.

See Nell.

See Nell refuse to run.

See Nell's loyalty blazing in her eyes.

Crash sat in the chair and waited for her to speak.

She leaned forward slightly. "I'm so sorry about Jake."

It was exactly what he'd expected her to say. He nodded. "Yeah. Me, too." His voice came out sounding harsh and raspy, and he cleared his throat.

"I tried to go to his funeral, but apparently he'd requested it be private and... they didn't let you go either, did they?"

Crash shook his head no.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He nodded again.

"I would've come sooner," she told him, "but it took me nearly a week to talk my way in here."

A week. His chest felt tight at the thought of her going to bat for him day after day for an entire week. He wasn't sure what to say to that, so he didn't say anything.

Her gaze slipped to the bandage he still had on his arm. "Are you all right?"

When he didn't answer, she sat back, closing her eyes briefly. "I'm sorry. Stupid question. Of course you're not all right." She leaned forward again. "What can I do to help?"

Her eyes were so intensely blue. For a moment he was back in Malaysia, gazing out at the South China Sea.

"Nothing," he said quietly. "There's nothing you can do."

She shifted in her seat, clearly frustrated. "There must be something. Are you happy with your lawyer? It's important to have a good defence lawyer that you trust."

"My lawyer's fine."

"This is your life that's at stake, Billy."

"My lawyer's fine," he said again.

"Fine's not good enough. Look, I know a really good criminal defence lawyer. You remember Dex..."

"Nell, I don't need another lawyer, particularly nota"" He cut himself off short. Particularly not Dexter Lancaster. Crash knew he had no right to be jealous, especially not now. An entire year had passed since he'd willingly given up his right to be jealous. But there was no way he was going to sit down with Dexter Lancaster and plan a defence he wasn't even going to need. He'd spend the entire time torturing himself, wondering if Dex was planning to leave their meeting and head over to Nell's house and...

Don't go there, don't go there, don't go there....

God, he was on the verge of losing it. All he needed was Nell finding out that he'd been keeping track of her this past year, that he knew she was seeing Lancaster socially. All she needed was to know that he'd made an effort to find out if she was okaya"made a gargantuan effort, since he'd had to do it from some godforsaken corner of the world.

And then she would read some deep meaning into it. She would think he'd kept track of her because he'd cared. And he would have to explain that it was only responsibility that had driven him to check up on her, and once again, she would be hurt.

What he needed to do was make her leave. He'd done it before, he could do it again.

"What really happened at the farm last week?"

That was one question he could answer honestly. "I don't know. Someone started shooting. I wasn't ready for it, and..." He shook his head.

Nell cleared her throat. "I was told that the ballistics reports prove that you killed Jake and most of the other men. That's pretty damning evidence."

It was damning evidence, indeed. It proved to Crash that this "Commander" that Jake had spoken about, this man Jake himself had believed was responsible for setting up the assassination, was someone with lots of clout in Washington. He was a powerful man with powerful connections. He had to be, in order to have had the results of those ballistics tests falsified. And those test results had been falsified.

Crash was being framed, and he was going to find out just who was framing him. He knew when he found that out, he'd also find the man responsible for Jake's death.

It was possible whoever had framed him was watching him, even now. They surely would be aware Nell had come to see him. It was important for her own safety that she not make a habit of this.

Nell leaned even closer to the protective glass. "Billy, I can't believe that you killed him, but...isn't it possible that in the chaos, your bullets accidentally hit Jake?"

"Yeah, right. That must've been what happened," he lied. He stood up. The last thing he needed was her brain-storming alternatives and coming up with the theory that he'd been framed. If she did come up with that, and if she was vocal about it, she'd be putting herself in danger. "I've got to go."

She stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Where?"

He moved very close to the microphone that allowed her to hear him on the other side of the glass. He spoke very softly, very quickly. "Nell, I don't want or need your help. I want you to stand up and walk out of here. And I don't want you to come back. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

She shook her head. "I still think of you as my friend. I can't justa""

"Go away," he said harshly, enunciating each word very clearly. "Go away."

He turned and shuffled toward the guards at the door, aware that she hadn't moved, aware that she was watching him, hating his chains, hating himself.

One guard unlocked the door as the other held his rifle at the ready.

Crash went out the door and didn't look back.

Chapter 10.