Free Apocalypse Burning by Mel Odom Page A

began.
    “ Don’t, Lieutenant,” Megan said in a hoarse voice. “Not one word.
    Not till I’m ready.”
    He nodded and sat still on his side of the pickup.
    Megan struggled to keep from crying. She shook with the effort. Her face grew hot and wet. Her vision blurred. She smelled Goose all around her. Then she cursed him for being gone, for not being here when she needed him so much. It was unfair, she knew, but she couldn’t help herself. She faulted him for not being here to help her through the court situation, for not being here to help find Joey, and—most of all—for not being here to help her grieve over Chris’s disappearance.
    It’s not Goose’s fault, God. It’s Yours. You’re doing this. I don’t know what I did that was this wrong, so wrong that I deserved this. But I believed in You. Over these past few days, I’ve come to lean on You in ways I never before imagined. Now You’re going to do this to me? to my family? Is this what I get for trusting You? You’re not being fair!
    Gradually, Megan emptied of tears. She didn’t regain control of herself so much as she just ran out of emotion of any kind. She felt dead inside. Her eyes were swollen and puffy in the grayed-out reflection of herself she saw in the windshield.
    All those brave words she’d spoken in Trimble’s office about seeing Chris again didn’t mean a thing. She knew that now. More than anything, she feared she would never see her baby again. God had given her no reason to believe that. She wasn’t asking for proof, just the ability to believe as best she could in peace.
    Now she wasn’t even being given that illusion.
    Megan wiped her face with her shirttail. She didn’t look at Benbow. “You haven’t mentioned whether General Braddock’s people are offering a deal.”
    Benbow didn’t say anything.
    “Are they?” Megan looked at the young lieutenant.
    Obviously torn, Benbow hesitated. “I was approached. Off the record. This morning after the provost marshal’s office received the reports on Leslie Hollister.”
    “What does Leslie Hollister have to do with Gerry Fletcher?”
    “The provost marshal plans to tie the two together to strengthen the case against you.” Benbow spoke quietly. “They’re going to use what happened last night to Leslie Hollister against you, Megan.”
    Megan was stunned speechless.
    “The reports—and I haven’t seen them yet—indicate that you persuaded the Hollister girl that she was just dreaming, that the whole sequence of events she was going through—including the disappearance of her mother—was a figment of her imagination.”
    “I was trying to get her to relax. If I could have gotten her to lie down, she would have gone to sleep. She was out on her feet. Instead—instead—” Megan heard the sharp report of the gunshot echoing in her memory, then saw all the blood and smelled the cordite of the expended round.
    Benbow nodded. “The provost marshal’s office isn’t choosing to see things that way.”
    Megan found her voice with difficulty. “And neither is General Braddock.”
    “No. He’s not.”
    “How are they going to present what happened?”
    Shifting uncomfortably in the seat, Benbow said, “Worst-case scenario? They’re going to say that you tried to convince Leslie Hollister to commit suicide.”
    “That’s insane.” Megan couldn’t believe it. “Why would I do something like that?”
    Benbow hesitated only a moment. “The provost marshal’s office is prepared to make the case that you did that because you’re suicidal yourself.”
    “That’s not true.”
    “They’re going to say that you tried to get Leslie Hollister to commit suicide so you could box yourself in with your own self-destruction. That you wanted to get your own personal life so tense that you could see only suicide as an option. You didn’t want to give yourself an out.”
    “They think I want to kill myself?”
    Benbow looked at her earnestly. “Megan, I know you. I know