“And so did I.” She held his gaze, and when neither of them blinked, she said, “Please continue.”
One eyebrow rose a fraction. “How did you earn marksmanship cred?”
“My two brothers vied for slots on the USA Olympic shooting team. Neither made it, but I always had to try everything they did. Whenever they practiced, my father took me along and taught me how to shoot. I’ve used numerous handguns, rifles, shotguns, and…” KC hung her head. Coop’s eyes were glazing over. “I tend to go on and on.”
This time Coop burst out laughing. “Believe me, I noticed. Your enthusiasm is commendable. Now, I need an explanation for the gap in your work history. You indicated—no, I have to ask. Why a stunt double? That has to be the most interesting career a rookie has ever had.”
“I’m not a run-of-the-mill gal, and I wanted a job that was exciting and different. I have the physical strength and agility to do it and the knowledge of body movements, et cetera.”
A silent pause.
“You’re done?” Coop asked.
“Yeah. I can be concise.”
“Touché. You left that job two years ago. I know you passed our background checks which means you haven’t been incarcerated. You’re under no obligation to tell me, but I’m curious. What have you been doing in the interim?” He rocked in his chair.
“There’s no way I can describe all that happened in a few sentences. Do you still want to know?”
“Yes. Just the facts.”
“I can do facts.” She giggled. “The two-minute version or the two-hour...?”
Coop’s facial expression remained stoic.
Either he was a master at hiding his emotions or he didn’t appreciate her humor. She cleared her throat. Get serious, girl, or you’ll be fired before you’re hired.
KC set her shoulder bag on the floor and stood. “I have to pace, if you don’t mind. Two years ago, I broke my left leg, a compound tib-fib fracture. Right here.” She bent and touched her lower shin. “Docs put in a plate, but then I contracted osteomyelitis—infection of the bone—and had to have more surgery, use a bone-growth stimulator.”
“Sounds serious.”
“It was. Eventually I wanted to return to my job at the studio, but my folks convinced me to quit. Besides, I’m too big to portray most women, and not big enough for some men. Also, my compromised leg might have been a liability, and there were certain stunts I couldn’t perform.” Don’t go there. “While recuperating, I worked in my family’s insurance business. Sitting in a chair, with my leg propped up, entering online claims and stuff.”
At the door, she shoved her hands into her pockets. This was always the hard part. Oh, Lord, please let me get through without tears. “No sooner had my leg healed, I was diagnosed with cancer. Ovarian. Six months of chemo, all that’s associated with it.” She rubbed her forearm to relieve the itch. Chronic dry skin, a leftover side effect. “And of course, surgery, you know, to remove bits and pieces.”
Settling in the chair again, she ran a hand over her bald head. “Before chemo, my hair was black. When it grew out, it was gray and sparse. I don’t like it, so I keep my head shaved.” She drew in a deep breath. “All that kept me busy for two years. Any more questions?”
Coop’s gaze had followed her as she spoke.
Now he openly stared.
KC couldn’t decide what emotion played across his face. At least it wasn’t sympathy. Maybe a touch of admiration, and, there, yes, sadness.
“No, um, thank you.” He clicked his pen on and off. On and off. “You survived a lot—”
“Don’t call me a survivor. Cancer is a nasty disease that’s always lurking inside. It can return any minute. I have regular checkups, and so far, no reoccurrence.” She gave him her broadest smile and meant it. “That’s why I grab life by its pointy little ears, and I intend to make the most of every opportunity.”
“I understand.” He turned a page in a file. “Why do you want to become an IRO agent?”
She had her rehearsed answer ready. “I like the idea of helping people in unconventional ways. As you can tell I’m not a nine-to-five, sit-in-an-office-all-day type of person. I want to be physically involved, and what better way than to retrieve those in need?” And to gain access to IRO’s advanced technical resources. KC picked up her bag and made a pretense of rummaging inside, concealing her face from Coop’s intense scrutiny. No way did she want him to know her answer had not been the whole truth.
A cell phone buzzed. Coop patted papers and files on his desk to locate it. He glanced at the screen. “Excuse me. I have to take this. Hey, Bowen.”
He nodded, glanced at KC, and stood. “Got it. Send me the address. It’s been a while since my last visit.” Phone stowed, he headed toward the door. “Rookie Agent KC Briggs fetch your go-bag and change into more appropriate gear. We have an assignment.”
KC’s stomach lurched, and her heart plummeted.
Was she ready for on-the-job training?
3
Terry Franklin, the name displayed in the e-mail on Cooper’s phone screen was more than familiar to him. Since transferring to the San Diego branch of IRO a year ago, he’d visited the home of the California State Representative twice to help deal with Andrew, his teenage son. This time the boy had come home from visiting friends in a highly agitated state, drunk, and hallucinating. His parents weren’t able to control him. Not a typical IRO assignment, but Franklin and the boss had a history, and the job would serve as training for KC.
Cooper paced the narrow hallway outside IRO’s locker room.
KC emerged seconds later, bringing with her the subtle orange and vanilla scent he’d first noticed in his office. Her head reached past his chin—she had to be close to six foot. In blue jeans, white shirt, and black boots she looked more like an agent now.
“Snap,” she said, circling her finger at his blue jeans, white shirt, and brown cowboy boots.
“Yeah, let’s not make it a habit.” Hiding a smile, he led the way out of the building to his pickup and opened the passenger door.
“Do you open doors for your male trainees?”
“No, I—“
“Then please don’t treat me any different than you would a man.”
Cooper inclined his head. “OK. We have a twenty-five-mile drive ahead of us, north to Rancho Santa Fe.” Settled behind the wheel, he set his backpack on the center console. “Did you have lunch before the interview?”
“No, I was too nervous.”
“Inge Janes, the assistant you claimed you could bench-press, ordered us sandwiches and bottles of tea. Help yourself.” He nudged his backpack toward her as he navigated out of the crowded parking lot.
“I’m starving.” KC unwrapped a sub sandwich halfway and handed it to him, then she prepared her own. “I’m glad we have tea instead of sodas. I can’t drink them.”
Had she read his bio? Cooper disliked sodas, too. Uncanny. “Thanks. I’ll take my tea, now.” Piquant aromas of salami and olives permeated the cab as he bit into his Italian sub. Mmm.
She opened his bottle and set it in the cup holder. After swallowing a gulp of her drink, she asked, “Do IRO agents have baseball caps with the logo? You know, like the FBI?”
“No. Sometimes we’re in situations where we don’t want people to know who we are. But you can wear one if you want, as long as it’s appropriate.”
“How about this?” She whipped a light blue cap from her back pocket and set it on her head. Studded with rhinestones, the fancy cap set off her eyes and enhanced her honey skin tone.
“Um, not what I had in mind, but hey, it suits you.”
“It’s my favorite color—teal blue.”
What happened to light blue, greenish-blue? He’d learned a new descriptor and would never forget teal, now. Cooper took another bite. Miss KC Briggs admitted she was not a run-of-the-mill gal. Being her training officer was proving to be anything but ordinary.
When they finished eating, KC collected the trash
and stuffed it in a sack, which she tossed into the back seat. “I suppose I don’t need my weapon.”
“No. For a while, Bowen won’t give us assignments that might require us to be armed.”
“Don’t you carry?”
“Not if I can help it.”
KC sent him a withering stare. “Really? You’re a pro, and you don’t have a gun. Why not?”
Cooper passed a troop of motorcycles. How much to tell her? “I didn’t say I don’t have one. I just choose not to carry it all the time.” Enough for now.
“Huh. You’re an interesting guy.”
For the next dozen miles, KC said nothing.
Nearing the exit off Interstate 5, Cooper took advantage of her silence to outline their assignment. “We’re going to State Representative Terry Franklin’s home. I’ve been there twice already, and I’ve established a good rapport. His son has a substance abuse problem and behavioral issues.”
“That’s sad. I’ll pray for him.”
Despite his limited knowledge of KC, he imagined she’d give her all to her spiritual beliefs. He could take a lesson from her. “He needs prayer, for sure.” Don’t we all?
“Why’d his parents call IRO and not the cops or a doctor? Do agents provide psychological counseling on a routine basis?”
“Good questions.” Cooper slowed and merged with vehicles taking the Via De La Valle exit. “Remember you signed a confidentiality agreement. None of what you see or hear can be shared with anyone outside of the agency. Right?”
KC nodded. “Lips sealed.” She chuckled. “Really, Coop. I understand.”
“Mr. Franklin has a family connection to Bowen Boudine. That’s why we’ve been assisting him. Andrew Franklin is fifteen. His parents should admit him to a rehab program, but his dad said he wants to keep their dirty laundry out of the public eye. So far, the kid has done nothing dangerous. But today might be the exception. Seems he’s more agitated than his folks have ever witnessed, and he’s ranting incoherently. And they saw him stash a half dozen or so bottles of alcohol in his bedroom.”
“Which he got from…”
“His parents’ loaded bar. Yeah, I know. You’d think after his last escapade, they would have—but we’re not here to judge. Only to deescalate the situation, and maybe offer advice.”
“Is he violent?” KC wrung her hands.
“He hasn’t been previously. But you don’t have to worry because you’ll only be observing today.”
She exhaled and her exuberance seemed to deflate.
Cooper wanted to pat her shoulder, but she might ask, “Do you do that to male trainees?” So he gripped the wheel and turned onto Las Colinas Road. The Franklins’ home was nestled on the hillside ahead.
He checked his phone for the gate code, and when the wrought-iron behemoth swung open, he drove down the winding road to the front entrance.
“That’s Patsy, Terry’s wife, by the door.”
“You use first names with clients, too?”
“Depends. The Franklins asked me last time to dispense with formalities.” Cooper set the parking brake and climbed out of the truck.
Blonde Patsy, all decked out in a tailored, navy-blue dress, jewelry, and high heeled shoes pulled Cooper inside before he could introduce KC. “I’m so glad to see you. Drew’s been screaming for hours. Says he’s going to kill the men in there with him. But he’s alone, as far as we know.”
“Where’s Terry?”
“Upstairs, outside Drew’s room. He’s trying to calm our boy.” She sniffed into a lace-edged handkerchief.
“We’ll do all we can, but maybe it’s time to call in the authorities.”
“No, not yet.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “Please, Cooper, talk him down, like you did before.”
He’d give it a shot. But the kid’s parents needed to listen to his advice, or pacifying Andrew might become a daily assignment. “KC, grab my duffle bag from the backseat and meet me upstairs. Patsy, please wait here and show my partner the way when she returns.”
Taking the stairs two at a time, Cooper followed the yelling and loud music to Andrew’s room. “Terry, what’s happening?” The man wore a three-piece charcoal suit. Did the Franklins always dress as if they were going to a social event?
“Thank the Lord, you’re here.” He pointed to the door. “Drew just closed it, and he’s dragging over furniture.”
Cooper turned the handle, but the door didn’t budge. He rammed his shoulder against it. No luck. “It’s more than a heavy object barricading the door. I think he’s locked it somehow.”
“We replaced the knob like you suggested. The new one doesn’t have a lock, so I don’t know how he’s done it.”
Duffle bag in hand, eyes wide, KC ran down the hall, followed by Patsy struggling to keep up.
“Why did you close the door?” Patsy asked her husband.
“I didn’t. Drew did, and now it’s locked.” He checked his watch for the second time.
“Are you going somewhere, Terry?” Cooper opened his bag.
“No. I’ve already cancelled our appearance at the fundraiser, but I was just checking to see if we’d make it to the after party. I guess we won’t.” He swiped a stray strand of dark hair out of his eyes.
Kids and careers. Not for the first time, Cooper wondered if Angela and their baby had survived, how would he have juggled fatherhood and a demanding job?
Andrew’s screeching and the music stopped. The four adults looked at each other.
“Let’s work quietly,” Cooper whispered. He knelt and looked under the door. There were two objects blocking the light with a narrow gap between them. Just what he needed. He opened the bag and withdrew a laptop and a long, thin cord.
KC joined him. “What are you doing?”
“There’s a little camera at the end of the cord. I’ll push it under the door, and whatever it sees will display on the computer screen. That way, we’ll know for sure if Andrew’s alone, and what state he’s in.”
He assembled the equipment and carefully inserted the scope under the door. As he adjusted its position, different views of the bedroom filled the screen. Andrew sat on the edge of the bed facing the window, hugging his knees. Empty bottles lay strewn across the carpet. But Andrew was the only person in the room.
By tweaking the angle of the camera, Cooper scanned the far wall. Movie posters decorated most of the surface.
KC squeezed his shoulder. “Stop. That poster. It’s from the last movie I worked on. I remember all the main character’s dialogue.”
“Which movie?” Patsy asked.
“Leticia, the Amazon Slayer.”
Andrew’s wailing began again, and this time the music volume rattled the rafters.
“Sissy Granger is Drew’s favorite movie star. He’s watched all her movies at least ten times each.” Patsy’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, my baby. What are we going to do?”
Cooper withdrew the cord in case Andrew noticed it.
While securing the equipment in his bag, he stared at KC. A wild idea simmered. He’d told her she’d only observe today, but maybe he could put her unusual skills to use.
4
Words from Sissy’s dialogue played in KC’s mind. Leticia, the Amazon Slayer had been one of her favorite movies to work on. She’d doubled for the star in almost every scene. Exciting, nonstop action. What if…? No, Coop wouldn’t let her. KC rested against the wall while Coop talked to Terry.
The men nodded and gestured, and finally, Coop picked up his bag. “Patsy, stay here. You have my cell number. Call me if Andrew opens the door. KC, let’s go outside. I have a plan.”
Followed by Terry, KC and Coop hurried down the stairs and out the back door. Coop scrounged in his bag and then handed her an earpiece and receiver set. “Clip this to your shirt, and obviously this part goes behind your ear, and then—”
“I’ve seen them used before.” KC fitted the contraption in place. “Are you planning on going somewhere?”
He
ignored her question. “Show us Andrew’s bedroom windows.”
Tromping over the manicured lawn, Terry faced the house, and then stopped. “Those two, and the little one to the left is his bathroom.”
Blaring heavy-metal music pulsed out the open windows.
KC blinked against the sunlight bouncing off the cream-colored stone as she eyed the wall, taking in the thin ledge halfway up, the small balcony at another window.
“Do you have a stepladder, Terry?” Coop shielded his eyes with his hand.
“I’m sure we do.”
“You don’t need a ladder. I can climb the wall.” Would she ever learn to think before speaking?
The men stared at her.
“Oh, no you won’t.” Coop stood in front of her. “When we have the ladder, I’ll evaluate our options.”
“But this is in my wheelhouse. You won’t believe the things I’ve climbed—”
“With a safety net, or harness, no doubt.”
“Not always. My brothers and I do free ascent climbing. I can handle this.”
“Not today.”
“I think the ladder is in the shed. Come with me, Cooper.” He tapped his elbow. “Bursitis. I won’t be able to carry it alone.” Terry loosened his tie and headed around the pool.
Squinting at KC, Coop pointed at her, opened his mouth but said nothing. He caught up with Terry and they disappeared behind a grove of trees.
KC waited a handful of seconds before examining the obstacle in front of her. Rough stone, each piece different, probably hand cut, good holds in places. Balcony to the left of Drew’s bathroom window. Yup. I can do this. May Your strength be my guide, Lord. She ditched her cap and rubbed dirt on her hands for traction. At the corner of the house, she spied stones that jutted out at just the right angles. “Oh, yeah, here we go.” Good thing I kept my nails short, and my boots have rubber soles.
A minute later, she’d scaled the wall and reached the ledge. She took a moment to catch her breath while hugging the wall.
Was this a good idea? Coop told her to wait. Her insides knotted. Disobeying her training officer on day one would not bode well for her future with IRO. Although she had no doubt that she could make it all the way to the balcony and Drew’s window beyond, KC descended and was back on solid ground just as the men rounded the pool house carrying the ladder. She snatched her cap from the lawn and shoved it in her back pocket. Her fingertips stung. Bloody scrapes—no big deal. I’ve had worse. Next time, I’ll bring my climbing gloves. She wiped her hands on her jeans.
Justice at Dawn Page 2