Operation Power Play (4 page)

Rafe glanced at the image again before he blacked out the home screen and slipped the phone back in his pocket.

“Quinn, Teague and me included,” he said, then added, “She’s exactly the kind of person Foxworth was founded for.”

Brett told himself he would be better off not asking. Not knowing. He would just do this little thing, maybe help straighten out a paperwork glitch, and then slip back into his quiet, unrippled life. And Sloan would go back to hers, with her husband.

He asked anyway. “What’s the story?”

Rafe fell silent. Studied Brett again, silently. At last he said, “You sure you want to know?”

I’m sure I’d be better off if I didn’t.
“Tell me.”

One of Rafe’s dark brows arched upward, and Brett knew he hadn’t missed the indirectness of the answer. But after a moment he seemed to decide.

“All right. But come on inside. I’m going to need fuel. How do you feel about leftover pizza?”

“Like we’re related,” Brett said drily, then chuckled as Cutter jumped to his feet.

“So does he,” Rafe said. “Let’s go.”

Brett followed the two toward the main Foxworth building, telling himself he still had time to change his mind, to run before he found out something about Sloan that would make it even harder to walk away.

How the hell had he gotten into such a tangle so fast?

Even as he thought it, Cutter looked back over his shoulder at him. He couldn’t even blame the dog. Cutter had only led him there, after all. He was the one who had jumped in with both feet.

And apparently left his common sense behind.

Chapter 5

B
rett slipped Cutter the last bite of pizza, more bread than anything. The dog took it delicately, glanced at the table as if to make sure there was none left, then settled down for a nap with a happy sigh.

“Got what you wanted, dog?” he asked with a wry grin.

“He’s good at that,” Rafe said.

“So he wanted me, and/or Foxworth, involved in this. Which means...what?”

“That it’s likely more than it looks like on the surface.”

Brett sighed. Somehow he’d known that would be the answer. Steeling himself, he finally asked.

“So what’s her story?”

“Jason was a navy SEAL. Killed in action in Afghanistan a few years ago.”

“He’s...dead?” Brett hated that, after the shock, his first real feeling was relief. That it was followed instantly by pain for what Sloan must have gone through didn’t ameliorate his first snap reaction. This was an American hero they were talking about, and it shamed him that this was his gut reaction, even if it was more about Sloan than her husband.

Rafe nodded. “Officials put out a report on what happened. Sloan knew it wasn’t true.”

“How?”

“Burke had told her what was really going on. They’d talked on Skype the night before, and she had the truth. And had recorded the convo, as she always did. Just in case.”

Just in case
. Three words that made some marriages different than all others. Military marriages. And police marriages.

Brett sucked in a deep breath. “What did she do?”

“She did it right. Jumped through all the hoops, worked her way up the chain of command. But when she hit the top, the brass wouldn’t budge from their official version. So she went to the politicians. Started here, all the way up to the governor. Got nothing.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Brett said with a grimace.

“I think she hoped the governor at least would listen. He was newly elected then but under a cloud, and she thought maybe he’d want to establish his legitimacy with something big.”

Brett’s brow knit. “I remember that. His opponent just gave up.”

Rafe nodded. “Evans wasn’t a professional politician, and Ogilvie’s party machine came at him hard. Rumor was he had some sort of breakdown. He pulled out and just vanished. Left the state entirely.”

Politics, Brett thought with a grimace.

“So...what happened?” he asked. “With Sloan, I mean.”

Rafe studied him for a moment, and Brett wondered uncomfortably what he was seeing. “She widened her net. Figured it would take a politician to fight politicians. Finally found the right senator, one from Jason’s home state who had served himself, to step in.”

“Then that picture, that was at some sort of official hearing?”

“Very official. On Capitol Hill. Her testimony was the tipping point. She was like a force of nature. Every service guy I know was glued to it. They all knew she was fighting for the truth. For one of their own.” Rafe let out a compressed breath. “She showed more nerve and courage under fire than all of those suits and most of those top-of-the-heap guys sitting there with ribbons on their chests.”

“I remember hearing about this.” He’d just transferred to detectives, had still been learning his relatively new turf, so he hadn’t had much attention to spare. He knew only that it had been ugly, loud and figuratively bloody. “Didn’t a senator and even some presidential staff go down?”

“Yes.” Rafe wore an expression of grim satisfaction.

“What was the story?”

“The official version was that Burke’s squad had crossed a boundary they’d been ordered not to. That they knew if they crossed it, they’d be on their own.”

“But?”

Rafe’s expression turned sour. “There was no written record of such an order or boundary. Or anyone actually in action who had ever heard it. All the rank and file and even most of command denied any knowledge.”

“What finally happened?”

“In the end they were forced to release satellite imagery of the ambush and the surrounding territory. It showed not only that they weren’t even past that real or imagined boundary but that there was help within easy reach. A team that could easily have taken out the small force of attackers, and a chopper for air support. Once that came out, it all fell apart. Guys spoke up about how they had been ordered to stand down. And shut up about it.”

“Why was his squad there in the first place?”

“They were going to pull out one of their informants. The guy had given them info that had helped them round up several high-level targets. And twice he’d warned them of ambushes just like the one they drove into that day. But he’d been compromised and was about to be executed.”

Brett leaned back against the sofa cushions. “So they had good reason.”

“Not according to the powers that be. They were ordered not to go, thanks to that someone way higher up on the civilian power pole. Something about offending the local terrorists.”

Brett blinked. “Offend the terrorists? So they were supposed to just let the guy who helped them die?”

“Exactly.”

“But—”

“They went anyway.” Rafe grimaced as he shifted position. Brett wondered if it was what he was remembering or that his leg was bothering him. “That’s what the Skype call had been about. Jason wanted the truth in someone’s hands before they headed out. Sloan said her husband couldn’t have lived with himself if he’d just left the man to die. So instead they all died, because some hack who never had a uniform on in his life was covering his ass.”

Brett sat silently for a long moment. He wasn’t sure how this made him feel, that Sloan’s dead husband had clearly been a good man, a true hero, a man he would probably have liked and admired. It would have been easier, he thought, if the guy had been a jerk.

Just what would have been easier, he didn’t let himself think about.

“What was the final result?” he asked.

“She hammered at them for nearly two years. With all their stalling, it took that long for all the pieces to come together. In the end she brought down an area commander, that senator and his brother-in-law, who they’d been funneling rebuilding contracts to—that was what the informant had found out and was going to tell—and a couple of the staff who helped in the cover-up.”

“And they let her husband and his men all die for that? Some crony contracts?” He couldn’t help the outrage echoing in his voice, and approval flashed in Rafe’s eyes.

“Yes. Now Sloan helps others in like situations through an organization she started. Even the governor has come around.” Rafe snorted. “After she won, he pretended he was backing her all along.”

“Good for her,” he said softly.

“She was amazing.”

She still is.

Brett barely managed to keep from saying it aloud.

“You want to leave him here, take a break?” Rafe asked when he at last got up to go, and Cutter popped to his feet.

Brett considered the dog, who was looking at him steadily. With a bemused look, he said, “I suppose I’ll let him decide. Why change now?”

Rafe smiled. “A man who learns fast.”

“He’s pretty hard to ignore.”

“You’ll let me know if there’s anything we can do? I’m not much help with bureaucrats and paperwork, but Ty isn’t on vacation, and he’s a whiz at working through computer forests.”

“I will, if my guy can’t—” He broke off as his cell phone rang. Pulled it out and glanced at the incoming number. “Speak of the devil,” he muttered, and answered. “Rick? I’m with somebody interested in this, so I’m going to put you on speaker if that’s okay.”

“Sure.”

Brett switched the audio over. “Go,” he said.

“I found it,” Alvarado said without preamble. “The application was in a file in my boss’s office. Unprocessed.”

“After nearly four months?”

“Yeah. That’s so wrong. We’re not that backlogged. No idea why it’s in here. He doesn’t usually get involved until things are processed and need his signature.”

“Did you ask him?”

“He’s out this morning at some big confab in Seattle, so not yet. But it’s weird.”

“That he has it?”

“And that it’s nowhere else. Not even a computer record of it being entered in the system. It must have been misfiled or just caught up in the wrong stack of papers.”

“And what about this supposed land-use study?”

“It doesn’t exist, as far as I can tell. And there’s nothing about that area that would warrant such a study. Not saying it couldn’t be happening, but it’s not done yet, because a copy would have hit my desk at some point.”

“Can you find out?”

“Sure. But I’m thinking it all must have just been a goof.”

So. There it was. He was safely out of it. “It happens,” Brett said.

“Yeah. I’ll talk to my boss as soon as I see him and get back to you. In the meantime, I’ll get this entered and started on right away. It looks pretty cut-and-dried. Should be no problem.”

“Thanks, Rick. I owe you.”

“Hell no,” the man said. “I owe you times a hundred. Caro is doing great at school. My girl’s going to make it through college with honors.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Wouldn’t have happened if not for you. You really got through to her, like I never could.”

“She’s a good kid. She just got a little lost for a while.”

Rafe was studying him anew as he ended the call. “His daughter?”

Brett nodded. “It was a close one. She nearly got sucked up into something really bad.”

“Ever get to you?”

“All the time. It’s a rough world for kids these days. For every Caroline Alvarado, there are three who don’t make it. It wears on you.”

Rafe looked at him consideringly. “You know Quinn would take you on here in an instant if you wanted.”

Startled, Brett blinked. “What?”

“Only reason he hasn’t mentioned it to you himself is he’s pretty sure you wouldn’t give up being a cop.”

Recovering, Brett admitted, “I came close, once. But it’s kind of in the blood.”

Rafe nodded in understanding. “Figured. But thought it might be good to know there’s another option.” He smiled crookedly. “Assuming, of course, you could live with the fact that we don’t always follow the book.”

“What you do,” Brett said, “is get results.”

“There is that,” Rafe said, and grinned. “Besides, you’re kind of handy where you are.”

He’d barely seen the man so much as crack a smile before, except at the wedding, so this was something.

“Thanks. I think.” He shifted his gaze to Cutter. “So what do you want, dog? Go or stay?”

The dog looked up at Rafe. “Up to you, mutt,” he said. “Nice of you to visit, but I’m good. You don’t need to stay.”

The dog reached out with his nose and nudged Rafe’s hand. Then he turned and trotted over to Brett.

“Guess he’s all yours for the duration,” Rafe said. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” he said wryly, thinking he might just need it.

He spent most of the drive back to his place wondering if he could spare the time to stop by Sloan’s aunt’s place and let her know what Rick had said. But he was still a little too ashamed at his reaction to learning about her husband to do it. Relief sparked by a good man’s death was not something to be proud of, no matter the reason. And the thought of how much she must have loved her husband, to do what she’d done, and how much pain she had gone through made him feel worse than useless. He knew all too well no words could ease that kind of pain.

So instead he dropped Cutter off at the house, spent ten minutes throwing the tennis ball for him, ten minutes that barely took the edge off the dog’s seemingly endless energy, promised him more tonight and headed back to work. He would call from there, he told himself. Safer.

And he would finally get around to marking out another running route. One that didn’t pass the path that led to the big Craftsman house.

Chapter 6

S
loan put the last dishes in the dishwasher. She considered the meal a success. Uncle Chuck was under strict dietary restrictions and claimed she was the only one who could make those meals palatable. Sloan suspected that was as much to take some of the load off of his wife, but since that was her goal as well, she happily went along. And it didn’t hurt that they were all eating a bit healthier, she supposed.

She stopped herself from looking at the clock again. It would be five minutes later than the last time, she told herself, just as it had been all evening. Instead she got her aunt and uncle settled in with a movie selected from her streaming service, a concept they had taken to with enthusiasm.

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.