Doyle said nothing.
Dean suddenly spoke.
“Ma’am, Sergeant Doyle didn’t hit me.”
Hart turned.
The red mark on Dean’s face was impossible to ignore.
“Then who did?”
Dean froze.
Doyle looked at him.
Only for a second.
But Hart saw it.
Fear passed through Dean’s expression.
“Private?”
“No one, ma’am.”
Hart stepped between them.
“Sergeant Doyle, leave.”
“Ma’am—”
“That was not a request.”
Doyle walked toward the door.
Before leaving, he looked at Dean.
Hart waited until the door closed.
Then she locked it.
Dean’s shoulders dropped slightly.
“Sit down.”
He sat.
Hart pulled a chair across from him.
“Now tell me what happened.”
Dean’s hands shook.
“This isn’t about me.”
Hart frowned.
“Then who?”
