Heavy Artillery Husband (12 page)

Chapter Ten

Sophia ignored the ridiculous canned music assaulting her ear while she waited for Bradley Roth, the reporter who'd broken the Torres murder suspect story, to pick up. She knew he'd take the call and, if he didn't, she knew who to call next.

Beside her, she sensed the shift in Frank. He was exhausted but amused. And more than a little relieved they weren't going near an army post anytime soon. If her hunch played out, they might get away with lying low for another day or two, giving Halloran enough rope to hang himself.

As Frank navigated the traffic, she watched, half of her braced for another ambush. Based on the article she'd seen, if they'd continued to the fort, they'd have been caught for sure.

The story had gone national, making it too late to give the news to Frankie gently. Thank God, Aidan was with her. He would get her through this and keep her safe.

“Bradley Roth,” the reporter said, picking up the call at last. “Who's this?”

“Sophia Leone,” she said, keeping her tone all business. “I saw the report pinning the Torres murder on my dead husband.”

“Yes, ma'am. Do you have anything to add?”

She gave the reporter points for audacity and courage. “I suppose a retraction is out of the question?”

“My source is solid, Mrs. Leone.”

“Your source must be thrilled to have someone take him at face value,” she replied. “He's wrong.”

“My source,” Roth began, deftly avoiding any gender confirmation, “is above reproach. Unlike your husband.”

“I'm not sure how often you've dealt with widows, Mr. Roth. We can be sensitive.”

“Then let's cut to the chase so we don't prolong your distress.”

“General Leone—”

“Former General Leone,” Roth corrected.

She sighed loudly for effect. “The treason charge was fabricated. My husband was neither traitor nor killer.”

Frank's hands clenched the steering wheel. She wanted to reach out to him. If only that sweet contact wouldn't leech the steel out of her voice. She needed every drop of it right now.

“Without any corroboration or proof from you, I can only assume your sensitive nature has you ignoring the facts and public record of his trial, the verdict and the new evidence recently discovered in the Torres case,” Roth said.

She wanted to laugh as he used her turn of phrase against her. “Mr. Roth, you're being used. My family doesn't appreciate your sensationalized account that my husband is somehow alive and committing crimes. You can be sure I'll take decisive action against you and your employer.”

“It's a free country and a free press, Mrs. Leone.”

“Thanks in part to my husband and the troops he led,” she said pointedly.

“Your own statement seals his guilt regarding the treason charge.” Roth's initial curiosity about her was giving way to impatience.

“Ah, thank you for confirming your source,” she said smoothly. “I'll let my assistant know what to do with your request when you call for an interview in a few days.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Yes.” She let the smile show in her voice. “I believe you will.”

“Wait!”

She hesitated, let him think she'd disconnected. “Yes?”

“If you're so sure about the inaccuracy of my report, give me something to track down.”

“Why should I help you do your job?”

“I'll print a retraction,” Roth offered. “My influence can help shift the media tide in the general's favor.”

“That's quite a claim.” Her gaze lingered on her husband's white-knuckled hands. The traffic wasn't bad enough to warrant the reaction, so she assumed he didn't care for the game she was playing. Too bad. She couldn't let Halloran's gambit go unanswered. With everyone looking for Frank Leone, disgraced general turned killer, they were nearing time for a full frontal assault, and she wanted to be sure they were ready offensively and defensively.

“Although I'm sure you don't carry the clearance to see my original statement, I can assure you I did not testify against my husband.” She paused when her voice started to shake. “You need to take a closer look at your source and his connections. I can assure you retired General Halloran has been abusing his authority for many years. In fact, I intend to prove he's smuggling drugs and laundering money through a privately held bank south of Tucson.”

“Can you back that up?” Roth asked in a reverent whisper.

“I can,” she said. “If you refrain from spreading more lies about my husband, I'll keep you in the loop as the evidence comes to light.”

Beside her Frank gave a low whistle. She prayed Roth didn't hear it. “Do we have a deal?”

“Absolutely.”

“I'll be in touch.” Sophia ended the call, her hands trembling.

“What was that?” Frank asked through gritted teeth.

“An effective counterpunch,” she stated.

“Is that a new synonym for
stupid
?”

“You're welcome.” She sent another quick text message to Frankie and then turned off her phone. “We need to get to a motel.”

“So you can manufacture evidence for another reporter?”

She refused to dignify that with a response. “A motel,” she repeated. “Something out-of-the-way, cash only.”

“I know how it's done,” he said, his voice grim. “I've been living off the radar for months.”

She clamped her lips shut while she counted to ten. Then fifty. Not enough. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them away.

She'd cried many nights, confused and hurt, when he turned distant before the last official army move to Washington. She'd cried, appalled and frustrated, when the treason charges were announced. When the verdict came down, she'd barely had time to absorb the news before they'd called her to identify the body.

“J.D. Torres was in the lab coat, wasn't he?”

“What?” Frank didn't spare her a glance as Tucson whizzed by the windows.

“When I identified your body,” she clarified. “That wasn't a doctor. It was Torres in the lab coat.”

Frank's sigh was plenty of confirmation. “Yes.”

She sank into the memories, reviewing those strange, fractured days when she'd been pulled in so many directions. “Frankie was injured the same day you were charged with treason.”

“I remember. The treason charge took me by surprise. I knew going undercover opened up the potential for things to get ugly, but I had no idea of Halloran's true reach.”

The words dripped like ice water down her back. She shivered as horrible theories zipped around in her head. Tucson was fading into the distance before she found her voice. “Do you think...” She couldn't finish the thought. She started over. “Do you think,” she repeated, her voice stronger this time, “Halloran arranged the attack on Frankie's convoy?”

“No.” The one-syllable response was razor sharp and full of conviction.

A relieved breath shuddered in and out of her lungs. Her heart rate, stuttering a moment ago, settled back into a steady rhythm.

When they were several miles north of Tucson, the sunbaked desert stretching out on both sides of the highway broken only by a march of power lines and occasional, scrubby trees, Frank pulled to the shoulder and slammed the car into Park.

“What are you doing?” They needed to keep moving if they had any chance of outmaneuvering Halloran before the new shipment arrived.

Frank tossed his sunglasses onto the dash and scrubbed at his face.

“What's wrong?”

He wouldn't look at her. Instead, he pushed open the door and got out. He stalked a few paces ahead, turned and came back toward the SUV again.

She sat there, watching him as the minutes ticked by, wondering what the hell was going through his mind. She reached over and turned the key, cutting the engine. Pocketing the key, she got out of the SUV and leaned against the passenger door.

“What are you doing?” she demanded when he was only a few paces away.

“Bringing you in was wrong. Selfish. I can't put you through any more of this godforsaken chaos.”

Weren't they ever going to get past this?
“What I do and don't do isn't up to you,” she snapped. “You lost the right to have an opinion about my activities when you took the easy way out.”

“Easy?”
He ran his fist along the scruff shading his jaw. “You thought that escape was easy?”

She folded her arms, waiting for him to say something worth a reply. She caught his eyes following the neckline of her silk tank. Her nipples peaked, responding to his gaze as though he'd touched her. Despite her best intentions, she couldn't seem to keep her raging desire for him in check.

“Looking at the facts, it seems as if it was easier to fake your death than share the truth with your wife.”

“Sophie.” He reached for her.

She twisted away. “Don't you touch me.” She was so weak around him, despite her anger and resentment for the choices he'd made. Choices that spelled the end of their family. Last night proved how easy it would be to slide into the comfort of old habits. To love and share each other as they'd always done, shutting out the world's troubles. “Thirty years of life and marriage and teamwork, and you just tossed me out.”

“You know that's not what happened. I was protecting you.”

“How would I know that? It was bad before Hellfire, Frank.” She poked a finger into his chest. Saw the truth in his eyes. “You know it. Our relationship was going south before we moved to Washington.” She clenched her teeth, determined to see this through. This wasn't the place to rehash the past, recent or otherwise. “Get back in that car and let's finish this.”

“After what you just did, it's suicide to go to Seattle.”

She did a double take, then heard herself cackling at his choice of words. She sounded half-mad and didn't much care. Finishing this, sticking with him to the bitter end, might just cost her her sanity. “Then we'd be closer to making the scorecard even. I called that reporter for—”

“Hell, no,” he interrupted, his blue eyes flashing. “You made that call for yourself.”

She hadn't stooped to such nasty fight tactics for more than a decade. Her molars would crack any second now if she didn't find a better way to maintain her self-control. “I made that call for Frankie,” she finished stubbornly.

She wanted to give a victory shout when his shoulders drooped in defeat. “That's right,” she continued. “I called that reporter, strung him along so you had a better chance of living long enough to reconcile with your daughter.”

He stared at her, his jaw slack.

Mad as hell at herself as much as at him, she held up the car keys and aimed toward the driver's door. “Get in and do this my way or find another way out of this mayhem you created.”

“I won't let you do this.”

She turned, the heel of her tennis shoe grinding into the sandy soil, and stared him down. “Try to stop me, Frank. Just try.”

Apparently the man's wisdom triumphed over his pride as Frank hopped into the passenger seat. His seat belt clicked as she merged with traffic on the two-lane road. With the voice app on her phone, she searched and found a regional airport a few hours away with more than one motel nearby. Even if Halloran caught their scent again when she ordered another flight from the charter service Leo Solutions used, he'd be hard-pressed to find them in time to do anything about it tonight.

Which was fine with her. She had her own agenda for the evening, and it revolved around getting even with the bastard and his cronies. She'd keep her promise about staying within legal lines, but there were ways to get her point across. Ways even Halloran couldn't misunderstand.

* * *

F
RANK
DIDN
'
T
SPEAK
again until they were in a room on the first floor of a family-owned motel. What could he say? She was right about all of it, and, though he and Torres had made progress, without Sophia he wouldn't be able to topple Halloran's operation.

He pulled the curtains closed and took note of the few amenities while she booted up her computer. He wanted to apologize for everything he'd done wrong in recent years. There had to be something he could say to crack that wall of ice she was hiding behind now. She was his wife, damn it. At one time he'd known her better than he'd known himself. In light of his recent choices, he still knew her better. On the other hand, he hardly recognized the man he saw in the mirror anymore.

“You and Frankie were always the most important pieces of my life.”

She lifted her gaze, taking his measure over the rim of her reading glasses, her brown eyes clear and emotionless. “I know.”

“Everything I did, every choice good or bad...” He didn't bother finishing when her attention returned to her laptop. “Sophia,” he said, not above begging at this point. He desperately needed to clear the air.

“I'm listening.”

She wasn't—her eyes were skimming through whatever she'd found on the display. A rosy glow lit her cheeks, and her lips parted with excitement. “Good Lord.”

“What now?”

“Farrell and Paul.” She glanced up at him again, her eyes lit with excitement. “I've been thinking about his quip about clients and the cybersecurity program.”

“He pretty much confirmed Farrell is part of the import-export team.”

“Right.” She pursed her lips for a second. “He said Farrell once worked at World Bridge Shipping.”

“I assumed he just mixed up the name.”

“He did.” She leaned back in the chair, pointing at the screen. “Look.”

Frank squinted, didn't see what had her so excited. “Help me out. What am I looking for?”

“It's been right under my nose, to quote Paul again,” she muttered. “He had a private client list and kept World Crossing, Incorporated, listed under a different name. The phone numbers and website addresses match.”