Operation Second Chance
Yes, Quinn had had to deal with this kind of pain much younger than she had, and the knowledge of that had only increased her respect for the man. And the proof of his utter happiness with Hayley—and Hayley’s own joy, after losing her father just as she had, and her mother’s long illness and death—now gave her some hope for her own future. Someday.
She watched as he flipped the pages of the volume, her mind straying into the story it held. But then, about halfway through, he stopped. And then he looked down at his dog.
“Found it, boy,” he said softly. The dog’s tail thumped against the wood floor. “Good thinking,” he murmured then. “It wouldn’t fall out in a quick search, or be seen by someone just riffling pages...”
“What?” Amanda asked, almost breathlessly.
Quinn looked up at her then. “Your father knew you read these periodically, right?”
“Yes, he did. It always made him smile because it was part of...us.”
Quinn nodded. “And so he knew exactly where to hide—” he held the book out for her to see “—this, so you would eventually find it.”
And in a small hole, carefully cut into about a half inch thickness of the book’s pages near the binding—not disturbing a word of the text, she noticed—something was nestled, secured by a single layer of clear tape.
A flash drive.
A cold chill rippled down her spine. The memory formed as clear as if her father were here before her right now. It had been one of the few times when he used her full name, and that alone had gotten her attention.
If anything bad ever happens, Amanda, remember where you always found comfort, in those stories.
She’d thought he meant things like losing her mother’s ring, or getting a bad grade. But now...
“Oh, my God,” she whispered. “He told me. I didn’t realize it until just this moment, because I didn’t understand, but he told me where to look...if anything happened to him.”
Quinn’s arm came around her, steadied her. “Then let’s see what he wanted you to find.”
Chapter 5
Adam spent a mostly sleepless night in the small motel near the University of Washington Medical Center where his appointment was. The appointment was fairly quick, although he’d had to wait nearly an hour. The results were what he’d expected. The only thing left to try for real improvement was the joint replacement. Major surgery and a lot of rehab. Again.
As he walked back to his truck after his usual “I’ll think about it,” to the doctor, he was already planning his departure. Or escape. He’d go back across the floating bridge and hit the 405, take it down to Interstate 90, and then he’d be headed home. The weather looked like it would hold until he got well over the Snoqualmie Pass, so it should be clear sailing.
He stopped to pay his bill since the place didn’t run to video checkout, and told the clerk he’d be leaving within the hour. The place did run to a coffeepot in the room—this was Seattle after all—and he started a fresh pot while he changed back into jeans and packed his other clothes and what little else he’d unpacked. He preheated the thermos with some hot water, then refilled it with coffee that should get him home even after the few hours’ sleep he’d managed. Then he poured what was left into the now empty cup from this morning, grabbed up his duffel bag and the thermos and headed for the truck, pulling the door closed behind him.
He had just put his bag on the seat and the cup in the holder when his cell rang. A faint smile flitted across his mouth; Natalie, no doubt, making sure he was getting on the road. He pulled the phone out and glanced at the screen. Frowned at the unfamiliar number that wasn’t in his contacts. But he knew the area code was for the other side of the Sound, so he answered.
“Adam? Quinn Foxworth. Are you still in town?”
His brow furrowed with curiosity. What would Quinn want with him, after yesterday? Why did he even have his number? “Yeah. I was just getting ready to leave.”
“Glad I caught you, then. Can you delay going back?”
“Ask the snow heading for the Cascades. Why?”
“Amanda is here, at Foxworth. And we need your help.”
He went very still. There wasn’t a single thing he could think of that Amanda Bonner would need—or want—his help with.
“My...help?”
“With something she found. It could be nothing, or it could be important. Can you get here?”
“Does she know you’re calling me?”
“She knows.”
“And she agreed to it?”
“Yes.” There was a pause before Quinn said wryly, “Not happily, I admit, but she agreed.”
“She must be desperate.”
“We all are, at this point.”
And just how was he supposed to say no to that? He had no idea what they thought he could do, but for Amanda to agree to contacting him, desperate must be the word.
He sucked in a deep breath, and said, “All right.”
Adam didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but the building hidden in the trees wasn’t it. He wasn’t even sure he had the right place, no matter how much his map program insisted. He wasn’t familiar with this side of the Sound. The ferry ride had been pleasant and had given him a chance to grab a quick lunch from the galley aboard—the famous clam chowder had been one thing he’d missed from over here on the rainy side. But once on the other side of the Sound he’d had to focus on finding his way. Especially since it had started to rain as he was getting off the ferry.
There was no sign, nothing except the street number on a post out on the road. He’d made the turn and followed the winding drive until he caught a glimpse of the square green three-story building that almost blended into the evergreens that surrounded it.
When he got closer, he glimpsed through the trees a small parking area, and a second warehouse-looking building to one side. And in between the buildings was a...helipad?
He frowned, slowing down even more. What exactly was the Foxworth Foundation? One of the few people he’d stayed in touch with at the department had told him Quinn had some kind of a charitable organization, but that was all he knew.
He approached cautiously. Thought he heard something. This was a mild winter day by Palouse standards, so he rolled down the window to listen. And heard the sharp but muffled bark of a dog. Quinn and Hayley’s Cutter? Or a strange guard dog who would be looking to take a bite out of him?
And then he slammed on the brakes. There wasn’t a jolt because he’d been going so slow, but he felt exactly as if there had been. Because as he’d made that last turn and come into the clearing the buildings sat in, he could also see the entire parking area. And sitting there, instantly recognizable to him, was a very familiar car. Greg’s precious classic Camaro. The vivid blue, racy little coupe brought back a flood of memories. And Adam had to fight down the inner ache.
Amanda was driving her father’s beloved car. She’d kept it. And not just that, it looked as pristine as it had always been when Greg Bonner had been driving it. It was a classic, he’d said, and he worked to keep it in tip-top shape. Adam remembered when that had segued into a lecture about treating your weapons the same way. A dirty, neglected gun might fire most of the time, but the one time it didn’t was likely going to be the time you needed it most.
Of course, that’s assuming your partner had your back and so gave you time to fire at all.
His fingers curled tightly. And he moved his left hand and slammed his right elbow with a fist. The answering pain gave him the edge he needed to get back under control.
He’d just parked his truck, a safe distance from the taunting blue car, when a door in the building slowly opened. The moment it was wide enough a dog slipped through and headed for him full tilt. He recognized the ground-eating run as well as the coloring.
No one came out behind the dog. He wondered who had opened the door and just let him out. Maybe the now pouring rain had stopped them. He got out of the truck cautiously. True, the dog had met him yesterday, and seemed friendly enough, but this was clearly his own turf and he might be feeling a bit more protective.
Cutter came to a halt before him, then reached out with his nose and nudged his hand in greeting. The right hand again, Adam noted, even though his left was closer to the animal. Was it simply that more people were right-handed and he knew it, or did the dog somehow know that that arm was damaged? He himself certainly did right now, and he wished he hadn’t been quite so energetic with that punch.
Cutter gave him a soft whuff, then turned back the way he’d come. He went a few steps, then stopped and looked back at Adam. The invitation—order?—couldn’t have been clearer.
“Lead on, dog,” he muttered, and started after him.
The moment he saw Adam was going to follow, Cutter trotted toward the door he’d come out of, seeming heedless of the rain. But if he was the herding breed Adam was guessing he was, being out in weather would hardly be a deterrent.
When they got close enough, Adam saw a square metal pad beside the door. This one didn’t have the wheelchair logo, but he guessed it was an access pad. Even as he thought it Cutter rose up on his hind legs and batted a front paw at it. The door began to swing open, and Adam wondered if that was why it was there, to give the dog free rein. Hayley had said he was very smart. And if he managed to open a vehicle hatch, he supposed something like this was child’s—or dog’s—play.
He hesitated while holding the door. Not because it was a strange place and it felt odd just going in, because Cutter had made it quite clear he was if not welcome, at least expected. No, he hesitated because he had the strangest feeling that stepping through that door was going to change everything. That being face-to-face with Amanda again was going to shatter what he’d gained by going home and spending long days riding the Palouse. He hadn’t found absolution there, for it wasn’t to be found, but he had achieved a rather fragile peace. And she was the one person most capable of shattering it.
Cutter’s head came back out the door, as if to ask why he wasn’t already inside.
“You’d better come in,” Quinn’s voice called from inside. “He won’t give up until you do.”
Adam looked down into Cutter’s dark eyes. There were the gold flecks he’d noticed yesterday, giving the dog’s stare a depth he wasn’t used to seeing in an animal. But he read the truth of Quinn’s words in the intensity of that gaze.
He stepped inside. And was startled. Because the bottom floor of this rather industrial-looking building was anything but. Instead it looked like the massive great room of a home, with comfortable seating of four chairs and a sofa in a square around a thick rug laid out before a gas fireplace that was burning merrily, no doubt supplying the warmth he could already feel. At the back on the left was a small but efficient-looking kitchen, on the right was a door open just enough to see it was a bathroom, and another door beside it that was closed.
He noticed all this as if he was taking inventory. And he knew it was to avoid looking at the three people seated in front of that fire. Quinn and Hayley in the armchairs on one side, and in one of the chairs on the other side, the one closest to the fire... Amanda. He didn’t have to look to verify it was her, he could feel it.
He noted he was on a tile floor, and there was a long row of hooks on the wall, so he guessed this was essentially a mudroom to shed wet things. His jacket definitely qualified, so he pulled it off and hung it on one of the hooks. There was a mat to dry his feet, so he used that, as well. Noticed also a stack of towels in a basket by a bench where he guessed you could sit and take off boots and shoes if they were wet enough. He didn’t think his were from just that walk from his truck.
Cutter sat next to the basket, just watching him.
The dog. It hit him suddenly the towels were there for the dog. He should have realized sooner, his mom kept a couple by the back door for the same reason.
“Want me to dry him off?” he asked across the room.
“Have at it,” Hayley answered. “I’d appreciate it. He’s been so crazy all day he’s driving us mad.”
She sounded approving, and he wondered crazily if he’d passed some sort of test. Both she and Quinn were watching him. But Amanda—he risked a glance now—was staring determinedly at the fire. Frowning. It didn’t take a genius to see that he’d been right about her not really wanting him here.
Still not looking at any of them, he picked up one of the towels. The moment he did Cutter stood up and stepped toward him. This was the routine, he guessed, and the clever dog knew it. He stood patiently as Adam ran the towel over his coat first, then each leg and paw. It wasn’t the easiest of chores done mostly one-handed, but he got it done all right. And the dog himself signaled when it was done by backing away.
Adam hung the now damp towel on one of the hooks. Cutter was again doing the “follow me” routine. So he did, even as he wished himself somewhere, anywhere else than in the same room with Amanda.
He headed for the end of the sofa farthest from her. But Cutter kept getting in his way, leaving only one path open to him, and again he was put in mind of the dogs back home, chivying cattle or horses until they went where they were supposed to.
“Dog,” he muttered. Cutter looked up at him innocently but refused to move so that he could get to any seat except the chair next to Amanda. Right next to her. Arms touching close. He could step over the dog, but something about the way the animal was looking at him...
He surrendered, figuring at least this way he was looking across to Hayley and Quinn. Who were, he now noticed, watching their dog with interest, but with no apparent desire to call him off. Instead they exchanged a glance that seemed significant, even if he had no idea what the significance was.
Amanda kept staring at the fire. He almost spoke to her, to tell her he understood she didn’t want him here, but stopped himself. There was nothing to gain there—it was obvious to all here how she felt. Well, except maybe Cutter, who didn’t seem to have gotten the message.
He waited. Silence spun out in the room. And suddenly he felt very stubborn. They’d called him here, he certainly wouldn’t be here if they hadn’t, so it was up to them to start...whatever this was.
He joined Amanda in staring at the fire. Silently. And figured this was as close as they would ever come to being in accord.
Chapter 6
Amanda wasn’t happy. She hadn’t wanted him here but had to admit the logic of Quinn’s point. And so she had agreed to the call, still half hoping he wouldn’t answer or would refuse to come. He surely had to know he wouldn’t be welcomed. By her, at least. She didn’t know about Quinn; the man was more than capable of hiding his feelings behind that cool exterior.
At the very least Adam could have sat somewhere else. Even if Cutter did keep getting in the way, he was only a dog after all. He could have stepped over him or something. Then again, where he was it was easier for her to avoid looking at him. She could just keep her eyes on Quinn and Hayley, or the fire. So maybe the dog had done her a favor.
Even as she thought it Cutter, who had taken up a position on the floor in front of them both even though the space between their feet and the big, heavy coffee table was a bit cramped for him, gave a short woof. It sounded just about like she felt, wanting to get on with it.
“Point taken,” Quinn said, sounding amused. He leaned forward and picked up the laptop from the table. The laptop where they had now plugged in the flash drive Cutter had found. She still had no idea how, and Quinn and Hayley merely shrugged and said they’d given up trying to figure out how the dog knew what he knew.
“We—or rather Cutter—found this flash drive hidden in Greg and Amanda’s office. Very well hidden. In a place where only Amanda would have likely found it, eventually.”
Quinn hit a couple of keys, and the flat screen above the fireplace came to life. He hit a couple more, and the now familiar image appeared. She looked away, unable to bear looking at the familiar handwriting.
“Recognize this?” Quinn asked.
Adam studied the image for a moment, his brow furrowed. And now Amanda couldn’t resist looking at him, when he was safely focused on the screen. He looked...older. Not just the five years it had chronologically been, but as if he’d aged two for every one. Not that he wasn’t still a good—okay, great—looking guy, but the time had left its mark. At least on the boyishly handsome face she remembered.
And had fallen for at first sight, fool that you are.
He unexpectedly glanced her way then, and she flushed as he caught her looking at him. Her gaze darted away, even as she tried not to, knowing it was a guilty reaction. She wanted to simply stare him down, showing he didn’t just mean nothing to her, but that she loathed his very presence.
“I... It’s Greg’s,” Adam said. “But you must already know that.”
“Yes,” Hayley said, her tone quiet. “Amanda told us. And how he hated typing.”
Adam nodded. “He was old school. Said the process was different, mentally, between typing and handwriting.”
“There’s truth in that,” Hayley agreed. “They’ve done studies.”
Again he nodded. “So he’d write things and then take photos of the pages to have a digital record.”
“Must have gone over well on police reports,” Quinn said.
“I did those, mostly. I was pretty fast at it.”
“Do you recognize this, specifically?” Quinn asked.
Amanda found herself holding her breath as he looked back at the projected page. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she hoped he could make sense of the jumble of seemingly unconnected words and letters and numbers.
“I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure. That’s Greg’s code, though.”
“Code?”
Amanda couldn’t stop herself from asking. Adam started to look toward her, then stopped. And she saw suddenly he didn’t like this any more than she did. It gave her a little jolt, to realize she had never, ever considered or cared about his feelings back then, other than to hope he was as miserable as he deserved to be. And her earlier thought about how much older he looked than the young-faced rookie she’d remembered came back to her, and she could only conclude that her hope had come true. Somehow it made her feel worse rather than better.
“He had this personal code he used when he wanted whatever it was kept private.”
“You mean secret?” Quinn asked.
Adam nodded. “Usually it was just hunches, speculation, things he couldn’t be sure of or prove. He didn’t want to send anyone off on a wild hair he had no proof of.”
“Our tech expert was able to break the encryption on the file and open it, but he hasn’t been able to decode the document itself. And because it’s in handwriting, an algorithm for the computer to work on it would be iffy at best.”
Adam nodded. “One of the other reasons he did it this way. He had a healthy skepticism about putting everything digital.”
“He’s not alone there,” Quinn said, rather grimly.
Cutter, restless again, got to his feet and started to pace. Which she understood, since she felt the same way, as if she were hovering on the precipice, and one breath of air would send her over.
Quinn went on. “Amanda called some of her father’s friends still at the department. None of them could make sense of this, either.”
“They couldn’t, unless they knew how Greg set up the code.”
“Do you?” It burst from her, again against her vow to remain completely silent while he was here. But this was too important.
“Yes.” He stopped.
“Don’t play games, Adam Kirk,” she snapped. “This file was last saved the day he died. It could be important.”
He finally looked at her then. And she saw the shadows that darkened his eyes. Shadows that were familiar, for she’d seen them often enough in the mirror. She saw the muscles in his jaw tighten, then release. Then he looked back at Quinn.
“It’s a double alphabet code.”
Quinn glanced at the screen. “What about the numbers?” he asked, obviously knowing what Adam had meant by that.
“They were to work with his foundation alphabet, because it had repeating letters.”
“So he numbered them,” Quinn said in understanding. “A one through five, N one through five, and so on.”
Adam nodded.
“Could someone please explain to the non-secret agent in the room?” Amanda said, trying to keep her frustration out of her voice. She knew she was touchy about this, and Adam should get some credit for at least coming when he was asked. Shouldn’t he?
Quinn answered her. “Double alphabet. One, the real one. The second, the encoding one, can be anything. The simplest—and oldest—is the real one in reverse order, but you can use anything as long as you have twenty-six letters.”
“But how does it work?” Hayley asked, and Amanda threw her a grateful glance, glad she wasn’t the only one lost.
“You just write out the two, then substitute the encoding alphabet letters—or in this case also some numbered letters—for the real alphabet,” Quinn explained.
“Or if you’re like Greg,” Adam said with a sad smile, “you do it from memory. I swear, he could read his encoded stuff like it was straight English.”
Amanda’s breath caught. It had always amazed her, her father’s memory. Brain’s a steel trap for trivia, Mandy, he had always warned her when they had watched a quiz show on television when she was a kid. Somehow that Adam knew that unsettled her. As if he had shared something personal she had thought of as her own. Childish, but sometimes she just slipped back into being a girl who really missed her dad.
“But we’re still at the starting block without his encoding alphabet,” Quinn said.
Adam sucked in a deep breath Amanda could hear. Then he let it out slowly. “I know that, too.”
Amanda stared at him. And suddenly another memory, one pushed out of her mind long ago, crashed back. He’s a good man. I trust him completely.
Apparently it was true, if he’d trusted him with the key to his code. Her father hadn’t made many mistakes about who he trusted. Only one, that she knew of. And he was sitting right here, studying his hands.
“I get he probably swore you to secrecy,” Quinn said, “but under the circumstances...”
Adam looked up then. But not at Quinn. At her. And then, slowly, he said, “It’s Amanda Catherine Bonner Aspen.”
Amanda nearly gasped aloud. Quinn looked at her. “Your full name and a significant location?”
She nodded a little numbly, even as she felt her cheeks heat. Her full name and where she had been conceived, on her parents’ first anniversary trip.
And one look at Adam’s face told her he knew the exact significance of that location. Her father had told him. Probably in that joking way guys had, about getting lucky that night or some such. Her father had been ever decorous around her, but he’d been every inch a man, and she’d heard enough of him with other friends to guess at this.
Belatedly—very, very belatedly—it struck her that Adam and her father had likely shared that kind of relationship, with the kind of joking that made women mostly roll their eyes. The kind that explained why he knew exactly what Aspen meant in the context of her life.
And she had no idea how that made her feel.
Chapter 7
Adam paced the room, occasionally stopping to look out the expansive windows. They’d moved upstairs to what was apparently the office space of Foxworth, contrasting with the homey setting below. It was a large room with a meeting table, some cubicles and cabinets along the side, and an impressive computer station on the back wall. The opposite wall was almost all window, looking out on the clearing the building sat in, across an expanse of meadow to a stand of thick trees with now bare maples stark against evergreens and a couple of madronas.