Operation Power Play
She’d take this time to check the website and catch up with email. Her inbox had been too full for too long. She needed to get back on track. Her compatriots across the country were good people and had stepped up when they’d learned of her uncle’s ill health, but Accountability Counts was her baby, and she had neglected it for too long.
After her initial sort she had two updates on current situations, four inquiries she would refer to the appropriate military offices—no doubt after having to reassure each that most of the rank and file were honest and true—and three cases she would direct to regional coordinators, mostly concerning other family members affected in ways similar to her own. One more was local, so she would look into that herself. Then came the standard batch of praise and threats.
Thankfully, today the praise outnumbered the threats two to one. She filed the good ones to read when she had time or needed the lift and moved the threats to the library she’d created just for that. If nothing else, she’d learned that early on. Document, document, document, the mantra of anyone dealing with large entities. She read them only for tone, to see if anything unusual jumped out, anything to indicate the twisted psyche behind them would do more than just spew venom from behind the safety of an anonymous internet. It wasn’t pleasant, but it was necessary. She had ruffled some lofty feathers, and some were on birds in a position to do her great harm in many ways.
The rest were spam, scams or phishing, and she deleted them unread. That chore done, she wrote a quick blog post on the updates, ending it with her usual encouragement.
“Don’t give up,” she wrote. “There are so many good people out there, steadfast and loyal. You just have to find them.”
Before she even clicked on the publish button, her mind was back on Brett Dunbar. She told herself he kept popping into her thoughts because she was anxious for him to call and tell her if he’d found anything out on the application.
Okay, she admitted, also because he was one of the good guys. She didn’t know why she was so certain—these days it usually took her a while before she trusted someone—but she was. Something about him, maybe the shadows that darkened his eyes, told her this was a man who understood.
It was not because he was, as Connie had said, nice looking. She would have put him a bit beyond that, but still, she wasn’t in that market anymore. She doubted she ever would be.
On that thought her cell rang. She picked it up, already irritated at the way her mind had instantly jumped to wondering if it was him. As if it were spelled with a capital H.
But that was nothing compared to how her heart leaped when she saw the number she’d seen only once before.
“Sloan?”
The way he said her name when she answered sent a little shiver through her and made an image of him, tall, lean, with those eyes and that touch of gray in his hair, snap into sharp focus in her mind, which irritated her even more. She nearly let out an abrupt answer but bit it back. Still, she needed a little distance.
“Yes. Detective Dunbar, isn’t it?”
There, that was formal enough. And she knew he’d gotten it, because there was a fractional hesitation before he spoke again.
“Am I...interrupting something?”
“I was catching up on a little work,” she said, before she realized he might have meant something else entirely. Which somehow also grated on her nerves.
Boy, it doesn’t take much for you today, does it, Miss Snarky McGrouch?
“I’m sorry. This will be quick. It seems that your aunt’s application was simply lost. It never got logged in, and my contact found it in a stack of other papers in a file cabinet in his boss’s office.”
“Lost? For four months?”
“Your tax dollars at work,” he said, his tone so wry she nearly smiled despite her mood. “Anyway, he logged it in personally and will walk it through himself. He said it looked cut-and-dried, and it shouldn’t be long.”
Sloan felt her outrage at the delay ebb away. Relief flooded her. She let out an audible sigh. “Thank you. Truly, I can’t thank you enough, Brett.”
And just like that she let down the wall she’d thrown back up when she’d answered the phone.
“You’re welcome, Sloan.”
And he’d caught it, she thought ruefully. And made a mental note not to underestimate this man. He was, after all, a detective; he wasn’t likely to miss much. But she had the feeling that would be the case no matter what career he was in.
It wasn’t until after they’d hung up that she realized that underestimating him wouldn’t be a problem, because he had no reason to ever call again. He’d done a favor, generously, because he was a good guy. And now it was over. No need to ever talk to her again.
Unless he wanted to for other reasons, personal ones. She felt herself flush and shook her head sharply. No. Just no. That way lay idiocy. He was a cop, and on the don’t-get-involved scale, that was barely a step below a serviceman.
Not, of course, that she had any reason to think he was even interested. Just because Aunt Connie was an inveterate matchmaker didn’t mean the other party she’d chosen would be cooperative.
But she certainly couldn’t fault her aunt’s taste.
* * *
There was no reason for him to be doing this. The situation with the Day permit had been resolved, if not completely explained. But it would go through now, and probably quickly. They’d be in a hurry to make up for the screwup.
So there was no reason for him to see or even talk to Sloan Burke again. Unless it was on some rainy day when his run took him past her aunt’s home. Which, if things went through, wouldn’t be her aunt’s house much longer.
It didn’t matter. He was going to be running a different route anyway, as soon as he laid one out. It was a nonissue.
He looked back at the website on his screen. If they’d had any idea who they were dealing with, that application probably would have been done in a day, he thought.
Accountability Counts.
Catchy. To the point. Effective.
Cutter stirred at his feet, but only to change position and go back to sleep. Brett had thrown the ball—the glow-in-the-dark one, since it was dark by the time he got home this time of year—for a good hour and had at last surrendered to arm twinges and hunger. The dog had appeared barely winded and probably could have gone on for another hour, but he’d amenably followed him back inside. It had taken several towels to dry them both off enough to go past the mudroom, and he’d looked glumly at the small pile, thinking he’d never done this much laundry in his life.
Dinner for both had been a hurried, eaten-standing affair, leftover Chinese takeout for him, the usual for Cutter, from the supply Teague and Laney had laughingly stuffed in his trunk at the wedding. Those two wouldn’t be long behind Hayley and Quinn. He was happy for them. Teague was a good guy, and Laney was a sweetheart.
His thoughts had been distraction enough that he’d done what he’d sworn not to do. He’d pulled his laptop over and done a search on Sloan Burke. Her website had been the first listing, but before he’d even gotten that far, the photo in the upper-right corner of the results page had snagged him. It was the same photo Rafe had shown him, from the hearing on Capitol Hill. He had clicked on it, enlarged it. And felt his stomach knot again at how weary she looked. But in this larger version he could also see the set of her delicate jaw, the determination in her posture, every line of her declaring she wasn’t going to give up, ever.
And she hadn’t. The website on his screen now was proof of that. Accountability Counts was an active site, with a forum he couldn’t read because he wasn’t registered, but he could still see many threads with different posters. He wondered how many crackpots it attracted. Some, he guessed, just by its nature and the nature of the online world, too often a hiding place for predators and vicious cowards who would never have the nerve to confront anyone in real life.
But the list of successes on the front page was impressive. Red tape sliced through, reputations defended and restored, grieving friends and family given solace. In a way, he thought, she was running a very specialized sort of Foxworth operation.
For a moment he thought about what Rafe had said. Quinn would take you on here in an instant if you wanted...
Tempting, he thought. He’d always thought he would stay a cop forever. But Foxworth, free of the restraints he had to deal with, able to do the right thing even if it wasn’t a police matter, willing to help people like the Days with something this simple just as much as they were willing to help Laney save her kidnapped friend, was indeed very tempting.
In his musing, he did the next thing he’d sworn he wouldn’t do. He clicked on the About link and found himself reading the story of the beginnings of Accountability Counts. The story matched what Rafe had told him except that CPO Jason Burke, navy SEAL, came off as even more heroic.
As did Sloan. Just how long it had taken, how much controversy there had been and how far some people had gone to hide the true circumstances of the incident spoke of her courage in staying the course. Through it all Jason Burke’s widow had been steadfast, persistent and determined to find the truth.
And the photographs were like another punch in the gut.
A young man, tall, strong, geared up, armed and ready, with eyes that looked as if they were seeing far beyond whatever was currently in their view. He looked like the kind of man who would charge into hell to save a friend or, as he had, someone he owed. A man with vision, who saw the big picture but could focus on the here and now and get the job done.
But it was the wedding picture that really hit him. That same man gazing upon the woman beside him as if he’d found all the treasure of the world. And that woman, dressed in a simple flowing white dress, looking up at him as if she’d been waiting for this moment—and him—all her days.
And he knew with utter certainty that had he lived, Mr. and Mrs. Jason Burke would have been together for life.
And that, he thought, is the end of that.
He closed the browser, powered down the laptop and put it on the table beside him. He went about the business of getting ready for bed mechanically, trying not to think. Let the dog out, waited for him to come back, all the while looking at the night sky, clearing now from the earlier rain. Dried the dog’s feet, added another towel to the pile. Closed and locked the door. Brushed his teeth. Pulled off his clothes and again added to the laundry pile. Ignored the chill of the sheets as he got into bed.
And lay there for a very long time, staring into the dark.
Finally, he felt a bounce as Cutter jumped up on the bed. He was startled since the dog had never done it before. Not that he minded, really. Not as if he were displacing anyone, except maybe a sad memory.
A furry head came to rest on his shoulder, and he heard a quiet doggy sigh. It made him smile, and he lifted his other hand to stroke the dog’s head. It felt oddly soothing, and when he finally slept, the dreams he’d been fearing didn’t come.
Chapter 7
Sloan debated with herself for nearly an hour, all the time wondering when she had lost her usually sharp decision-making skills. She’d picked up and put down her phone at least three times, and the repeated action made her feel beyond foolish.
It wasn’t that she didn’t have reason to make the call; obviously she did. There was only one reason she hadn’t already done it, and she didn’t understand it. Yes, Brett Dunbar was six feet plus of very attractive male, but she’d run into that before—there was no shortage of those in the world. But too many of them were a lot smaller—and uglier—on the inside.
None of which mattered, she told herself firmly. This was a business call, in essence. It wasn’t as if she were going to harass or constantly bother him. She just needed the name of the person he’d talked to.
She nearly laughed aloud at herself. She had called the chief of naval operations with less vacillation. She had called the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, for God’s sake. And the White House. Yet she was worried about calling one sheriff’s detective in a small county almost as far from DC as you could get short of Alaska or Hawaii?
She picked up the phone and hit the call button before she could change her mind again. Maybe she’d get his voice mail. That would be easier, wouldn’t it? It would—
“Dunbar.”
His voice was as deep and resonant as she remembered, but that was no excuse for the little leap her pulse took.
“Hello, Detective,” she said after a too-long silence, realizing belatedly she should have decided how to address him before she had called. “This is Sloan Burke. I hope you don’t mind that I used this number.”
“That’s fine, Mrs. Burke. What can I do for you?”
She supposed she had the formal tone coming after using his job title instead of his name. But then it hit her that he had said “Mrs.,” not “Ms.” as he had before. She frowned. She knew it had never come up in their conversations. But he was a cop. Maybe he checked on people as a matter of routine. It wasn’t as if it were a secret; her story was out there for anyone to find. It was part of the price she’d paid. Unlike whatever nightmare put those shadows in Brett’s eyes, hers were out there in public.
She pulled herself together. Distraction wasn’t her norm, and it was starting to irritate her. “I wondered if I could have the name of the person you spoke to at the county,” she said. “My aunt’s application now seems to be among the missing.”
There was a pause. Too long. That wasn’t good—she’d learned that the hard way. Was it that hard for him to decide if he could trust her with a simple name? What was it about people in authority? Why did they always have to—?
“Sorry. I was driving. Missing?”
She was glad he couldn’t see her, because she felt her cheeks heat. She’d made an assumption about his silence, that he was like all the others who had tried to fend her off, when in fact he’d merely been pulling over to talk safely.
“It’s been a few days, so I thought I could at least find out where it was in the process. But I got the same person who told me it was frozen before. She said there was no application at all in my aunt’s name.”
“What? That’s crazy. Rick had it in his hand when he called me back.”
“That’s your contact?”
“Yes. Rick Alvarado.”
“You’re sure he had it? He wouldn’t...just say he did to cover losing it?”
“No. He wouldn’t lie to me.”
“Would Mr. Alvarado—or you—mind if I called him?”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t. And why would I?”
“He’s your contact.”
“This isn’t chain of command, Mrs. Burke. Feel free.”
Was there an edge in his voice? And there it was again, that Mrs. Burke. And did that chain-of-command comment mean he truly had looked her up, knew she’d fought her way up that chain more than once? She sighed inwardly in exasperation. She hadn’t spent this kind of time trying to guess at what someone wasn’t saying since she’d had to deal with brass who wanted to help her but couldn’t without damaging themselves.
“Been doing some research?” she asked.
“The joys of the internet,” was all he said, but he sounded a bit embarrassed. “I’ll call him again if you want,” he said, quickly dodging any further questions on that subject.
“It’s not your problem. You’ve already done enough.” Purposely she added, “Thank you, Brett.”
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Burke,” he said, and was gone, almost abruptly.
Mrs. Burke. Even when she’d called him Brett.
Obviously he had done that research. So he had to know her husband was dead. And how. And what had happened after. For some people, that put her in the too-uncomfortable-to-talk-to category. It seemed Brett Dunbar might be one of those.
That disappointed her.
And that, in turn, set off a warning bell in her mind.
With a stern self-directed lecture about foolishness, she ordered herself back to the task at hand and called the permit office once more.
* * *
Brett sat in the car where he’d pulled off to the side of the road, his phone still in his hand.
That, he thought, had been a disaster of a conversation.
No wonder she’d cowed half the top brass in a couple of military services. He had a feeling she would have eventually accomplished what she’d done even without the help of that battle-toughened senator. She was smart, determined and dedicated. She’d figured out he’d looked her up and tacitly, with her formal tone, acknowledged the distance he had put between them by using her married name. That didn’t surprise him; he’d guessed as much.
What surprised him was how much it bothered him, that tone in her voice. It was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? He’d wanted that safe distance between them.
Well, he’d gotten it. And if he didn’t like it, that was his problem.
He checked the highway, picked his spot and merged back into traffic. He made himself map out the rest of his afternoon so he wouldn’t dwell on one Sloan Burke. Or how the more he’d read, the more he’d admired her. Or how he had, against his better judgment, called up online video of those hearings, had watched with a pained sort of raptness as she told the story of her husband’s death and the cover-up it had revealed. Her testimony had been passionate, articulate and damning. She had never faltered, never let herself be diverted or intimidated. She had shamed them all with her courage, and in the end she had won.
And with each moment he’d watched, he’d envied a dead man more.
Chapter 8
Brett arrived back at the office to a slew of messages, paper, voice mail and emails. Some were the kind that ate at him, queries on cases where there was no progress. One was a break—the suspect in the case where he’d given the deposition had pled out, saving him from any potential trial appearance. The last two were information he’d asked for on other cases.
He sorted them out, prioritizing, making notes of requested details and happily deleting the one from the prosecutor freeing him. For once, the clerk didn’t come by to gripe at him for not giving everyone he dealt with his cell number. He was pondering that miracle when that cell phone rang.
He recognized the number immediately. Stared at the small screen for a moment. Glanced around to see if anyone was within earshot, then grimaced at himself for doing it.
Finally, he answered.
“I’m sorry to bother you again,” she said without preamble. “And I’m probably being horribly presumptuous, but...”
Her voice trailed off, and a dozen ways she might be presumptuous shot through his mind, most of which kicked his pulse up into territory it rarely visited unless he was running.
And running was just what he should do. Far away from Mrs. Sloan Burke.
“What is it?” He knew he sounded clipped, and with an effort, he added more evenly, “Do you need me to call Rick again after all?”
“That’s just it. He isn’t there.”
He frowned. “He’s not always. He has to visit sites sometimes. You might have to call him back later.”
“No, I mean he’s gone. As in no longer working there.”
Brett went still. “What?”
“That’s why I called you back. It didn’t seem like you knew that.”
“No, I didn’t. Did they say why?”
“No. But they very pointedly didn’t say why, with that tone people get when there’s an unpleasant story behind it. You know what I mean?”
“Yes.” He fought a sinking feeling. Rick had had that job for a long time, and he couldn’t imagine why he would leave it. Not when he was working so hard to help his daughter stay straight. “I can’t believe he’d just quit. He’s got a daughter in college, and he’s trying hard to keep her there, out of trouble.”
“She was in trouble?”
“A few years ago,” he said. “It was one of my cases.”
It had been quite a mess Caro had gotten herself into, following some less-than-well-chosen friends into drugs and then into a small crime ring, stealing phones and tablets they would wipe and resell. He’d seen immediately she was in way over her head, scared, and had known there was a chance to save her. She’d just been reeling after the death of her mother. The girl had, with a little help, pulled herself free and turned her life around, he’d thought for good.
He hoped some major problem with her wasn’t the reason Rick had left.
“You helped her, didn’t you?” Sloan asked when he didn’t go on. “That’s why her father thinks he owes you.”
She didn’t miss much, he thought. And he shouldn’t have said that about Caro getting into trouble. It wasn’t anybody else’s business. Not to mention she’d been a juvenile, not the kind of case he should be discussing with a civilian.
“She helped herself,” he said. “I just gave her a little direction. That’s all they said, no hint as to why?” he asked, fending off any other questions he couldn’t or shouldn’t answer.
“Nothing. But I’m a stranger. They’d probably tell you.”
“I’ll call.” And after a moment’s hesitation, he added, “Thank you, Sloan.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll ask about your permit, too.”
“That’s all right. You need to deal with your friend’s situation. I think we’ll just forget it and start over. We’ll go in this afternoon when the visiting caretaker is here for Uncle Chuck.”
“That’s generous of you.”
“I’ve calmed down a bit,” she said, her tone wry. “Sometimes you just have to cut your losses. And in the grand scheme of things, a lost application isn’t much.”
“I suppose not,” he said. Not compared to what she’d been through before, he thought as they disconnected. Maybe he should just show them who they were dealing with. Perhaps a clip of that video from DC would help them realize they did not want this woman coming after them.
He found Rick’s work number quickly, since he’d just called it. Instead of the usual businesslike recording of Rick’s words, he got a mechanical voice telling him to leave a message at the tone. He left a brief, innocuous message asking him to call. He found the cell number and called it. It went straight to voice mail. Then he tried the home phone with the same result.
He debated for a moment over his next step. He didn’t really want to call Rick’s boss, an autocratic guy his friend had complained about more than once, but his gut was beginning to fire. He checked the county directory on the wall and got the number. As he listened to the ringing, it occurred to him that perhaps Rick might have had good reason for leaving. Maybe another job, one that paid more, would make things easier on both he and Caro. He hoped that was the case.
Another encounter with a recording, this one declaring rather importantly that Mr. Franklin was at a meeting with the county administrator. He didn’t leave a message this time.
There was one other call he could make, he thought. Caro. He did call occasionally anyway to see how she was doing, offering support if she needed it. She was a success story in his book, even if his involvement was exactly the kind of thing some at LAPD had tried to grind out of him. “Finish the case and forget it”was a philosophy he’d never been able to adhere to very well.
He brought up Caro’s number and hit the call button, expecting voice mail again. She wasn’t as bad as some her age about texting only, but she often didn’t answer right away. But she always checked messages, so he mentally ran through what he would say when the recording came on.
Instead he got a cheerful “Hey, you, what’s up?”
“That’s what I was calling to ask you. Everything all right?”
“I’m fine, for somebody on their way to statistics class,” she said. “How are you?”