Breaking Creed

20

O’Dell could see Benjamin Platt waiting for her in the far corner booth of Old Ebbitt Grill. He was looking at a menu and hadn’t seen her yet. A half-empty pilsner reminded her how late she was. Still, she took an extra few seconds to stand back and take a good look at him.

Despite the restaurant’s dim light, she knew she would automatically peg him for a military officer — ramrod-straight back, clean-shaven, handsome face, short-cut hair, and the long, steady fingers of a surgeon. The serious set of his jaw remained, whether examining test tubes of level 4 viruses or simply making a decision between cheddar or American cheese for his burger. Sometimes she wished he wasn’t always so serious. He had a wickedly dry sense of humor and a kind and gentle manner, but his position demanded a tougher façade. O’Dell was one of the few people who saw the other side of Benjamin Platt. His serious manner was, of course, an understandable occupational hazard of his chosen profession.

As an infectious-disease officer (actually, director of USAMRIID, pronounced U-Sam-rid — United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases), his choices had to be careful and measured. The habit seeped into his personal life. Even his choice of seating was a well-thought-out process, taking the side of the booth that put his back to the corner wall so he’d be able to see everyone approach or pass by the table.

Maybe it didn’t bother her because her own career had ingrained similar habits in her that she had allowed to invade her personal life. Only recently had she realized how much of a personal life she did not have. When you chased killers for a living, you tended not to trust anyone except yourself. It was easier to keep people out.

She’d learned to compartmentalize the horrible crime scenes she’d witnessed over the years, and along with those images she’d stashed into separate compartments, she added the emotions of anger and fear. She’d gotten so good at it that she didn’t even realize she did the same thing with her personal life, bordering off her feelings and keeping people at arm’s length.

Then one day she realized she no longer even had much of a personal life. Why had she been surprised? You couldn’t shut people out just because you didn’t want to risk feeling too deeply or possibly getting hurt. Especially when she worked so hard to put up all those barricades in the first place.

In her experience, the hurt always came. It was just a matter of time. And that was the one thing she and Ben shared. They were so much alike that it was easy to be together. Like they had an unstated understanding of what to expect from each other. But perhaps that wasn’t enough to build a relationship on.

He saw her. Smiled. Like an officer and a gentleman, he stood up from the booth to greet her.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said as he leaned over and kissed her cheek. He smelled good, like he’d just gotten out of the shower. And only now did she realize that his hair was still damp, his face smooth from a second shave of the day. His khakis looked freshly pressed and his polo shirt was neatly tucked in. Had he primped just for her? Like a date? She searched his eyes for an answer, but he was already looking for the waiter.

“You’re always worth the wait,” he said with a glance as he continued to politely wait for her to sit down before he slid back into his place. He waved at a waiter, finally getting one’s attention. He pointed at his own pilsner and held up two fingers.

Maggie smiled and wondered when they had become so predictable with each other. Maybe it was simply that they had become comfortable with each other. Nothing wrong with that. Theirs had been a crazy dance. They had become friends — very good friends — then almost lovers. “Almost” because of Ben’s deliberate and measured choices, as though taking that next step was something that needed to be analyzed and calculated.

Recently he had made the mistake of confessing that he wanted children. O’Dell shouldn’t have been surprised, knowing he had lost his only daughter at the age of five. But when he announced it as though it were a requirement before they proceeded — that request, that admission, had been like a cold shower, putting the skids on whatever physical attraction had been there. So they had decided that they would be friends only. And just when they decided that was best, things started to heat up again. They were in the middle of heating up again over the last month or so, and neither of them seemed to want to admit it and rewrite the rules all over again. So they resorted to flirting, exchanging long, meaningful glances like a couple of goofy teenagers. Yes, a crazy dance.

They ordered burgers, fried calamari, and house salads off the late-night menu. Ben asked for blue cheese on his burger, raising O’Dell’s eyebrow and making him grin, as if to say, “See, I’m not so predictable after all.” So he had known exactly what she had been thinking.

As soon as the waiter left, Ben asked, “How’s Gwen doing?”

Gwen Patterson was O’Dell’s closest friend. No, she was more than that. Fifteen years O’Dell’s senior, Gwen was also a mentor as much as confidante. Three months ago, she’d been diagnosed with stage II breast cancer. O’Dell knew that Gwen was still trying to wrap her mind around that fact. As she told Ben about Gwen’s latest consult for yet another opinion, O’Dell couldn’t hide how worried she was that putting off the inevitable surgery would only make matters worse. All she could do was continue to nag Gwen, but her friend was already avoiding seeing or talking to her because of it.

By the time the calamari arrived, O’Dell realized she needed to change the subject. She asked Ben, “Can you take Jake and Harvey for a couple of days?”

Ben had become her dog sitter for her overnight assignments. Even their dogs got along great, and Ben had a huge backyard to accommodate them. It was as though they already shared custody.

“Sure. Digger will love having them. Where is Kunze sending you this time?”

She told him about the floater they’d pulled from the Potomac. Sharing her suspicions of it being a drug hit, and even how she had found Senator Delanor-Ramos in Kunze’s office. Any details she shared she knew Ben would keep to himself. His position at USAMRIID had conditioned him to keeping classified information classified, and therefore, made him the perfect confidant.

“You think it has something to do with the senator’s husband?” Ben knew where she was headed.

“His trial is coming up.” George Ramos was being held without bond in a federal prison in Florida.

“She’s on the Senate’s Homeland Security Committee. Maybe she was just going over Senate business.”

“Since when do senators come to Quantico for meetings?” O’Dell gave him a look, and he shrugged as if he already knew it was lame.

“Still, you don’t know that her visit had anything to do with this victim.”

“A package in the Potomac,” she said. “Stan thinks the guy was probably killed hundreds of miles south of here. Someone delivers a body, calls it a package, and deposits it within view of Washington, D.C. — do you really believe it’s not politically connected?”

“Could be a coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in coincidences.”

They sat back as the waiter brought their burgers and salads.

“Two more?” He pointed to their glasses but spoke directly to Ben. And Ben looked to and waited for O’Dell.

“Sure,” she said, knowing full well she wouldn’t allow herself a second. She’d take a few sips, and Ben wouldn’t notice, or at least he politely wouldn’t acknowledge it.

When the waiter left, Ben leaned across the table. “So I’m guessing Kunze isn’t sending you someplace? Where is it that you’re headed?”

“Andalusia, Alabama.”

“How exotic. Probably not a vacation destination.” He stared at her, elbows planted on either side of his food, hands clasped with no intention of beginning his meal until she explained.

“Kunze wants me to investigate,” she said as she picked up her fork and stabbed at her salad, trying to diffuse the concern in his eyes. “In order to do that, I need to find the original crime scene.”

“In Alabama?”

“That’s the address on the victim’s driver’s license. Seems like a good place to start. Besides, I’m guessing there are probably a lot of fire ants somewhere around there.”