Operation Power Play (9 page)

Chapter 14

B
rett noticed the rain had eased up slightly as Sloan walked with him to the front door. Her aunt and uncle had headed for the back of the house and the game. Arm in arm. Leaning on each other. It moved him, that simple sight, in ways he didn’t care to think about just now.

“Sorry about that,” Sloan said. “He’s a little—”

“It’s all right,” he said quickly, before things got even more embarrassing. Chuck Day had looked at him as if he were some sort of predator with designs on his niece. Whatever the man suspected, it was clear he wouldn’t take kindly to Sloan being hurt. In any way. For that matter, neither would he himself. “You want me to look around outside?”

It took her a moment, as if she’d forgotten what her uncle had thought he’d seen.

“That’s all right. Aunt Connie was probably right. He’s very tired of being housebound.”

“He was with you in DC.”

If she was surprised, she didn’t show it. “Yes, he was. Every step of the way. I doubt I would have made it without him.”

Brett doubted that, but he said nothing as she glanced toward the back of the house, her expression going soft, worried.

“He loved Jason, too. They both did. The whole thing put incredible stress on both of them.”

“You think it caused his heart attack?” He didn’t want to think about how that must feel. He had a close association, too close, with that kind of guilt, and he didn’t like to think of her living in that dark place, too.

“It didn’t help.” Sadness shadowed her eyes. “And it killed Jason’s dad. Jason was all he had left in the world. Losing him was bad enough, but losing him like that, and then the lies, the cover-up, it was too much.”

“So you kept going for him, too.”

She lowered her gaze. “I kept going,” she said quietly, “because there was no other choice I could live with.”

Those last words echoed in his head all the way back to his place. And he wondered how many people were left in the world who would do what she had done, simply because it was the only acceptable choice. Most he encountered would have, if faced with a similar situation, turned back, decided that a choice they’d thought unacceptable, the choice to not fight, was something they could live with after all.

But not Sloan Burke.

“You were a lucky man when you were here, Jason Burke,” he said to the air.

And from the backseat, a dog let out a very heavy sigh.

* * *

“I’m sorry, Brett,” Shari Shannon said. “I know he’s a friend.”

Brett grimaced. He’d put it off as long as he could, knowing Caro would panic, but he’d finally had to follow through. He’d called and told her her father hadn’t been seen or heard from since the day he’d talked to him. She’d been distraught, wanted to get on the first flight home, but he’d persuaded her to wait, told her who to call to make sure the case ended up at least in his office.

And then he’d corralled the missing-persons detective himself.

“He became a friend, yes.” He gave her a sideways look. “No lecture on how that’s against policy?”

“Friends are friends, regardless of how you meet them. And they’re not so thick on the trees that you can ignore one that happens to fall in your path through your work.”

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “Feeling philosophical this morning?”

She smiled. “Me? Never happen—you know me.”

Shari was one of the most reality-based people he’d ever met. But she knew human nature, what motivated people, which was what made her a good detective. Unexpectedly, she had married an artist, a local wood-carver, a couple of years ago. To Brett it seemed like the proverbial odd couple, but it clearly worked for them. Maybe they balanced each other out.

Speaking of philosophical, he muttered inwardly, he’d been doing way too much of this mental wandering. Time to snap out of it and pay attention.

“What can you tell me?” she asked briskly.

He told her what he knew, kept it strictly about Rick and didn’t give her any of the speculation that had been running through his mind. He told her about where he’d been last heard from, about checking the house, his car being gone and no sign of any struggle or forced entry. And by way of personal warning, he mentioned Rick’s boss’s close ties with the county administrator.

“Great,” she muttered. “Can’t imagine having to work for a friend of the governor’s pocket pet.”

Brett smothered a laugh that probably would have been more of a snicker at the image.

“The house. You didn’t go in?”

He shook his head. “It was more curiosity at that point. And no legal standing.”

“So he could be...inside.”

He knew what she was suggesting as well as she did. That Rick could be lying injured or dead inside the house. He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Most rooms were visible through the windows. And it just didn’t have that feel.”

“All right. But it needs to be checked off the list.”

He nodded. Shari was nothing if not thorough and her next question proved it.

“What did you call him about in the first place?”

He explained again but mentioned only Connie and Chuck, keeping Sloan to himself. And Cutter. There was no explanation for that dog he could give the practical-minded Shari and not get laughed out of the office.

Even so, by the time he finished, Shari was grinning at him. “You really are a big softy under all that tough exterior, aren’t you, Dunbar?”

He grimaced. “I made a phone call.” True, it had gone way beyond that now, but that didn’t need to be shared.

“Right,” Shari said archly, but quickly turned back to business. “And that was the last time you talked with him? When he called you back about that inquiry you made?”

“Yes.”

“So,” she said when he’d finished, “we know he was here, just down the street at The Mug, that Tuesday at twelve thirty-two. But that’s the last he’s been seen or heard from?”

“That we know of.”

“The daughter said she gave you permission to break into the house if you had to. And vehemently only you.”

“She knows me. Trusts me.”

“Then I guess we’re off to do a little B and E. One car?”

He shook his head. “I’ve got something else to do in the north end after.”

“All right.”

“I’ll go sign out.”

“Sign me out, too. And on the way to the parking lot, you can explain.”

“Explain what?” he asked warily.

“Why all of a sudden you have dog hair all over you every day.”

Chapter 15

“D
etective Dunbar, good to see you!”

The hearty, jovial voice of Harcourt Mead boomed out across the room. Brett sighed inwardly. He was in no mood. The search at Rick’s house yesterday had turned up nothing. No notes left, no sign of anything disturbed, nothing but the normal day-to-day things like a magazine here, a book there and the TV remote left on the arm of a chair. He knew nothing more than he’d known before about where Rick had gone. Caro might have to come home after all. She was the only one who might be able to tell them if there was anything unusual or missing.

And now he had to deal with this guy. Normally he would do whatever he had to, make up a meeting, fake a hot case, anything to avoid the man. Especially this time of day, when he was about to grab some lunch. But Mead was the reason he’d instead made a point of taking the case file he’d just completed straight to the sergeant, which meant walking past the lieutenant’s office.

He’d met him only once, but the man bragged often enough about his knack for remembering faces and names. County administrator was an appointed position, but he acted like a campaigning politician anyway. Just by the way he acted, Brett was sure the man had designs on elected office someday.

He was also the man who, according to the harried woman in the county office, had personally denied the Days’ first application, even though it was not in his direct purview.

“I was just talking to your boss here about that big drug arrest the task force made this morning. Well done!”

The office had been buzzing about it. The lieutenant also oversaw the county’s contingent assigned to the statewide narcotics task force, and one of their own had played a key part in today’s closing down of a string of meth labs across the western part of the state. It was big news. And where there was big news, politicians tended to gather. The governor had already taken up more TV time, along with the law enforcement leaders whose departments were involved. The actual detectives who broke the case all shunned the spotlight. Too often they had to work undercover, so aside from one officer assigned to public information, they avoided the kind of limelight men like the governor—and Harcourt Mead—seemed to crave.

“Yes,” Brett said when it became clear some sort of response from him was expected. “Those guys do good work.”

“Since our sheriff is tied up in the capitol, I’m heading outside to speak to the local press right now, make sure our people get full credit.”

Figured he wouldn’t wait until the sheriff was back from the just-completed statewide press gaggle. He’d want his own face in front, at least locally, and wouldn’t want to wait ninety minutes just to share the spotlight.

“Local media’s already here?” Brett asked.

“Assembling on the front steps of the campus,” he said, referring to the complex that housed the county offices, the sheriff’s office and the county jail. “They’ll want that hometown touch, you know.”

I’ll be going out the back, then.

“In fact,” Mead went on, “I was trying to convince Lieutenant Carter to come out with me, but she has an unavoidable appointment.”

Smart woman.

He glanced at the lieutenant, whose expression was unreadable. If she had an opinion about the guy inserting himself into a story he had no part in, it didn’t show. Given the man’s close ties with the governor himself—and his tendency to exploit those ties—hers was probably the wisest course.

“Sir?” A harried-looking young man appeared at Mead’s elbow. Unlike Mead, he wore a visitor’s badge. Brett wondered if the man refused to wear one, because of course everyone knew who he was.

“What is it, Perkins?” He didn’t bother to introduce the newcomer.

“It’s that woman again.”

Mead frowned. “What woman?”

“The one who was outside your office yesterday, protesting. She’s out in front trying to get the media to talk to her.”

Brett’s breath stopped. Sloan.

She had done what she’d promised, and she’d started immediately. In two days she’d already shown up at a hearing about a proposed new commercial district and a speech given by a port commissioner, and she’d rallied at least thirty people on short notice to protest outside the very office where Harcourt Mead fancied himself a czar. Her next target would be the upcoming county commissioner’s meeting. That would really chap Mead’s hide.

“That bitch,” Mead muttered under his breath, so low that Brett doubted the lieutenant, still at her desk, could have heard it. And so viciously it sent a chill through him.

His gut instincts, lulled by a couple of hours full of paperwork, roared to life. He had no proof of anything—logic told him not to assume connections where there probably weren’t any—but there were facts he couldn’t deny. This man had personally interfered in something he technically had no authority over. The man Brett had asked to look into that something had been fired, apparently on his order. And that man was now missing.

And now Sloan was causing problems for him. Suddenly this diversion tactic didn’t seem like such a good idea.

“Trouble?” he asked, keeping his voice level even as his mind raced.

“Just some fool who thinks she can fight city hall,” Mead answered. It sounded dismissive, but something glinted in the man’s eyes that made him even more uneasy.

“Want me to give you a hand clearing her out?” Mead looked startled at the offer. “Might look better than calling for uniforms.”

Mead eyed him more closely then, taking in his dress shirt and suit. Brett half expected the guy to ask him to put on a tie, but after a moment he put that wide smile back on his face.

“That is an excellent point, Detective.”

Lieutenant Carter was frowning. He gave her a sideways glance. She was no doubt wondering what had possessed him, he who would normally have avoided this like a black-tie dinner. But thankfully, she said nothing, probably eager just to get this clown out of her office.

When they arrived at the front of the complex, he took in the situation quickly. There was indeed a small cluster of media, cameras, recorders, some of the smaller local outlets using smartphones for both.

And there she was.

His eyes widened at the sight of her. He’d never seen this Sloan before. The videos online, shot from across a hearing room, hadn’t come close to this. Her hair was upswept in a tidy knot, and he could see every delicate line of her face. Instead of her usual jeans and sweater, she was wearing a trim tailored suit in a shade of dark green that made her eyes look even more vivid. The skirt was slim, the jacket nipped in at the waist.
Legs
, he thought almost numbly. She had on a pair of heels that were almost the color of her skin, and her long legs were curved and... She was... She looked...

He couldn’t think of a word that wouldn’t get him in trouble. Most of them seemed to involve tasting, like
luscious,
delicious
. But this was also the woman who’d gone to Washington, DC, and made a difference. She looked the part, sharp, smart, strong, and he felt a bit of the awe that had made the taciturn, hard-to-impress Rafe Crawford salute her.

She was still speaking, and as she did, she touched a gold pin on one lapel of her jacket.

“...belongs to my aunt. She gave it to me to wear in her stead because she couldn’t be here, because my uncle is too ill, too weak to be left alone. She cannot fight anymore, so I’m here to fight for her. Just as any of you would do for your parents, I’m sure.”

She was good, he thought. Really good. She had them listening to something completely different than what they were here for.

“That’s her,” Mead hissed in his ear. “Stop her.”

There was little he liked less than facing down the media, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had to get her out of there. And if it got him in good with Mead, that could only help.

He strode forward through the gathered group. He took Sloan’s elbow, taking advantage of her surprise at seeing him. He hoped the media would interpret it as simple, not specific, surprise.

“Excuse us. Mr. Mead has seen to it the lady now has an appointment with someone to address her grievance,” he said without looking at the crowd. Then, lowering his voice to a whisper only she could hear, he said, “Go with it. Make Mead really like me.”

He felt her second’s hesitation, wondered if she was doubting him. Given who she’d been up against in the past, he couldn’t blame her. But after that brief moment she went without protest, smiling as if she’d believed what he’d said.

He glanced back. Harcourt Mead was nodding at him approvingly. And then the media cluster closed in, and out came the big smile once more.

“Yes, that’s what I’m here for, to take care of the people of my county,” he boomed out.

Brett was thankful his back was to the man as the cameras were raised once more.

* * *

“You think he’ll tell you anything?”

Brett glanced at her. “I don’t know. But I think he’s more likely to now than he would have been before.”

“Point taken,” she said, sounding weary.

They were sitting in her car, a small black SUV parked down the street and out of sight of the county offices. The first thing she’d done when she’d opened the door was kick off the heels. Even her feet were beautiful, he thought with an inward sigh. Small, slender, with high arches, they seemed to draw his eyes up to delicate ankles and those legs...

Determinedly, he kept his mouth shut. He hadn’t been this physically aware of a woman in a very long time, and he not only didn’t know how to deal anymore, he didn’t know if he liked it at all. He’d had that part of his life nicely and safely nailed away and had assumed it would stay that way. The occasional indulgence with a willing partner, a short-term hookup, was the most he ever wanted.

And Sloan Burke was so very much not the type for that. No, this was a woman who came with strings. The kind of strings he wasn’t ever going to risk again. So he’d damned well better keep his eyes and his thoughts under control.

“How’s Cutter?”

The question—and non sequitur—came abruptly.

“I... He’s fine. I assume. He’s at home. Of course.”
Well, now, there was a cogent sentence.

“I’ve missed him the last couple of mornings.”

She’d noticed. He’d finally mapped out that other route for running. He’d half expected the dog to refuse the change, but he’d gone along with apparent unconcern. In a way it reassured him that he indeed was only a dog.

But it did nothing to change the fact that the entire distance, he was thinking of where he wasn’t going instead of where he was.

“I was hoping everything was all right—you weren’t hurt or something,” she said when he didn’t speak. She was studying her hands as they rested on the lower arc of the steering wheel.

“No. I’m fine. He’s fine. I’m going to head out to Foxworth with him as soon as I get home.”

That made her look up at him. “Did they find something?”

“No. I’m just wondering if they turned up anything on Franklin and Mead yet, so I thought I’d stop by. Give Cutter a chance to see Rafe, too.”

“I should go, too, then,” she said.

No. For my sake, no.

Obviously she was free of the problems he was having, of keeping himself at arm’s length. And that alone should have been helping him maintain that distance. Clearly she wasn’t interested, even if he was fool enough to pursue it.

“I’ll drive,” she said, “since we’re already in my car. I’ll bring you back to get yours.”

“I can manage that without you having to come all the way back here,” he said, not even realizing until he said it that he’d just agreed to her coming. But she did have a point, he told himself. And it would save him from having to tell her anything he learned later.

More important, it would save him from having that battle with himself over it.