Speak in Winter Code

by S. M. Harding

  “What the hell kind of investigations are they doing?”

  “I printed them out.” He handed me a folder. “It’s pretty much the same conspiracy theories—the Feds will take away all the guns, put a plan in action for economic dislocation, open FEMA relocation centers and detention camps so that the new global order can take over.”

  “That’s garbage.”

  “The thing is, they actually believe this stuff.” He rolled his shoulders. “I’ll dig some more, see how the Rangers have been working locally.”

  I took the folder and it felt heavy. “Is there a national network of Rangers?”

  “I’ve only been able to find two other chapters, one in Idaho and the other in northern Virginia. They may be affiliated with a group called 1776 Corps, but I can’t find a direct connection.”

  “American Revolution stuff. Strange that they’ve popped up recently and with that kind of affiliation. What am I not getting?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t have a glimmer. I’ll keep working on it.”

  “What about ballistics?”

  “One hit on NIBIN from an unsolved murder in Idaho. A Coeur d’Alene Tribal Police Officer, though I have no idea how it’s connected. I’ve asked them to send details, but haven’t gotten anything back yet.”

  “Damn.”

  “I know. Honestly Sarah, I can’t even begin to see the pattern in this, but I’m sure there is one.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Win

  Several messages came in from John Morgan and I looked at the links. Why is it when we see a name like McCrumb County Rangers we’re dismissive? Bunch of crackpots, we think. That may be true, but it doesn’t lessen the danger. I thought of Ruby Ridge, Waco and how that path led inevitably to Oklahoma City. Aryan Nation? Just racists. Branch Davidians? Religious fanatics. Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols? We shake our heads and refuse to take them seriously.

  I’d been dealing with foreign threats so long, I’d ignored internal ones until General Scott Lester went rogue. That should’ve rung my bell loud and clear. But I marked it down to a man infected with a deadly case of greed. As I followed John’s links, I couldn’t mark this down to greed or some other vice. These people believed they were patriots.

  Who was I to say they weren’t? I’d been on the other side of “through the glass darkly.” I’d seen the intel. I knew why we did what we did. Except for Iraq. Humanitarian reasons were different, they were solid. But that wasn’t the reason given and when proven false, shook the faith in our government. Was it simply a mistake? Bad intel? MCIA had good intel. I knew that because I’d help gather it. Maybe just too many voices for one administration to listen to. Any other conclusion was disastrous for democracy.

  I called Nathan and asked him to track down what he could about the Rangers and 1776 Corps, a group much more in the shadows. “I’m going to call Bill and ask him to get you clearance.”

  “You think they’re that dangerous?” he asked.

  “Every time I worked intel, I paid attention when I got a little tingle up my spine. I’ve no evidence of anything, Nathan. Just the tingle.”

  I called my old CO, Bill, explained the situation and he said he’d get the paperwork started.

  I started going back over the material. If these threats were in Tajik or Urdu, I could tell all sorts of things about the writer. But in my first language? It appeared that the writer either had a poor grasp of grammar and spelling or had run out of some of the letters he needed to paste down.

  The first few that Sarah had received echoed Pastor Brown’s rhetoric, whore of Babylon type with all caps and lots of exclamation points. But the latest contributions threatened Sarah with rape and eventual decapitation. They broadened the target too. To all members of the sheriff’s department, local cops and marshals in the county. The whole damn law enforcement community.

  I quit around noon, hungry and thinking I should run into Greenglen to pick up groceries. My phone rang. The ID said Bradway. Marty? Emily’s partner?

  “Kirkland.”

  “Hi Win. It’s Marty and I’d like to invite you and Sarah over for dinner tonight. A thank-you for you both.”

  “Um…Emily’s still my shrink. Is that okay?”

  There was a long silence. “Em’s spiraled into a deep depression. I called her therapist—”

  “Emily’s got a therapist?”

  “Of course. Anyway, she said a kind kick in the ass might bring Em back. I thought you guys might be able to provide…”

  “A kick in the pants?”

  “A gentle one. She knows all the book stuff and is really good at guiding people through the rough times. But she refuses to acknowledge symptoms in herself. I’m the one she wakes with her nightmares. Swears the next morning she doesn’t remember anything. She’s got me scared, Win. I can only help her so much.”

  I expelled a long breath. “I owe Emily my life. I’d do anything for her. But I’m not sure this would help any. Besides, Sarah has a say in this.”

  “I already talked to her and she said if you okayed it, she’d be glad to come. Please, Win.”

  Sarah. I’d envisioned an “unwind” kind of evening in front of the fire with some good music. “What time?”

  “Six?”

  “See you then. I sure hope you know what you’re doing, Marty.”

  * * *

  I took Des for a long walk before Sarah got home. Des picked up on my anxiety and took it out on small animals who happened out. I was worried about the letters. Those sent to the Brownes and to Sarah had been written by the same hand. Or in this case, pasted by the same hand, a classic example of the poison pen who didn’t use a pen. Though I detected a strong tone of anti-gay sentiment, I thought this was more. Was I just projecting my fears? That my relationship with Sarah threatened her just because we existed as a couple? I knew I had to wait for more data from Nathan. Waiting wasn’t my favorite game.

  I worried about Emily too. What the hell could we accomplish over dinner? If she was suffering from PTSD, she had to recognize it. Acknowledge it. My case had been severe enough I couldn’t ignore it. At the rate I’d been going, I would’ve been dead in a couple of months. If she wasn’t suffering debilitating pain, she probably thought she could get through it on her own. “Physician heal thyself.” I could hear her saying it. Shit.

  Sarah walked in the door looking tired. After she deposited her outerwear and cop gear, she walked into my arms. Tucked her head into my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her closer. “Long day?”

  “Yeah.”

  She pushed away from me. “Let me shower. Maybe that’ll perk me up.”

  Sarah walked back into the living room fifteen minutes later. In a flannel robe and hair slicked back. She looked delicious. She plopped down next to me and put her feet on the coffee table. I loved looking at her feet. Narrow, with a high arch and long toes. Graceful like the rest of her body. I put my arm around her.

  “This is the way I wanted to spend the evening. You and me in front of the fire, listening to the new Cris Williamson double album and…”

  Sarah reached up and kissed me. Then settled into my arm.

  “Then why did you say yes to Marty?”

  “Because we owe so much to Em,” she said. “We wouldn’t be sitting here now, together and happy, if it weren’t for her. I don’t think we’d be as strong together if she hadn’t counseled us from the start. Surely we can give up one lovely evening to help.”

  “We still have an hour before we have to get ready. How about I put on some slow music and we dance? We haven’t danced in a while. I love it feeling you so close. Both of us moving to the same rhythm.”

  “That happens in this house almost every night, even without music.” She grinned up at me. “Will this feeling of desire disappear by the time we have our next anniversary?”

  “Not if I can help it. I’ve never been with one woman this long. I’m still as fascinated with you as the first kiss. More so.
I love touching you. Being touched by you. With Azar—”

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Let me finish, Sarah, it’s not baggage. With Azar, we lived day-to-day. Planned for the future but with no guarantees the future would include either of us. You and I have promised our lives together, entwined. That’s enough to keep me interested as long as I have breath.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Sarah

  We pulled into their driveway about ten minutes late, not too bad considering. Win had picked up a nice zinfandel and I clutched it as we slipped and slid up the front walk. “I thought they’d have this shoveled by now.”

  “Emily’s still not back at work,” Win said. “The exercise would do her good. I mean if she’s…Ah, hell.” Win started windmilling and landed on snow to the side with a thump. She started giggling. “Shit, I’m out of shape. Used to be able to climb mountains. Now look at me.”

  The front door opened and Em leaned out. “Are you okay?”

  I held out a hand and pulled Win to her feet. “You’ve had a week to get this under control. Get with the program, Emily.”

  “Come on in before all the heat is outside.” She opened the door wider and we made it up the stairs like two ancient crones.

  Inside, Win bent over to take off her boots and when she straightened up, her eyebrows shot up. “Shit. You look awful.”

  “Thanks, Win. Wish I could say the same of you,” Emily said without a trace of a smile.

  “Aren’t you sleeping?”

  Emily turned away and pointed to the coatrack.

  “Good job, Win,” I whispered.

  “Sorry,” Win whispered back. “But she surprised me. I wonder when she last had a good night’s sleep?”

  We padded into the kitchen and I gave the wine to Marty.

  “Where’s Emily?” Win asked.

  Marty turned from the stove and shoved her hair back with her arm. “Her study. If we’re really fortunate, she’ll come out and grace us with her company.”

  “My fault—” Win began.

  Marty teared up. “It doesn’t make any difference what you say, her reaction’s going to be the same. Distant and frigid and angry.”

  “Well, this is going to be a fun night.” Win leaned against the counter. “Shall I open the wine?”

  “Chill. We know we’re here to help,” I said. “What can we do to help get dinner on the table?”

  I could see Marty pull herself together and she gave us our marching orders. In another ten minutes, the food was on the table and we were seated.

  “We might as well go ahead and eat,” Marty said. “I haven’t been cooking all day to let this go to waste.” She passed the bread.

  “How long has she been like this?” Win asked.

  “It started right after Laura’s meltdown, but it seems to be getting worse and I don’t know what to do for her anymore.”

  “You’re a therapist too, aren’t you?”

  Marty passed the salad. “I’m feeling pretty much like a failure right now. She just won’t talk about it at all. I’m too close to her to do any good therapeutically.”

  Win pushed her chair back. “I’ll get her. She may never talk to me again, but this is silly.”

  I sat open-mouthed. Marty slumped in her chair and I thought she was close to tears again.

  “Was Win this bad?” she asked.

  “She shut me out after we kissed the first time, but that was about the relationship. What I’m trying to say is I didn’t see her much when she was going through the worst of it.” I broke off a piece of bread. “What I can tell you is that with Em’s guidance, she’s much more open than I am. We talk about what she went through and when anything happens now, we talk. She talks and I’m still working on it.”

  Marty gave me a tired smile. We heard angry voices from down the hall. Then silence. A door opened and Em came in and sat down, looking properly subdued.

  Win followed and looked slightly smug.

  “My apologies,” Em said.

  Marty sighed and began dishing up the lasagna, while Emily caught up with the other dishes being passed around. Conversation lagged while we ate, though Win and I gave it a valiant effort. We settled in front of the fire with coffee and I wondered how soon we could gracefully leave.

  “I am sorry, Win,” Em said. “I’ve been at loose ends lately.”

  “End of your rope is more like it,” Win said. “But you owe Marty the apology. She’s had to put up with your denial and all the other shit.”

  Em stared at Win open-eyed.

  “Isn’t that what you’d tell me?”

  Em nodded mutely.

  Marty’s glance had been going back and forth, then settled on Em. Her face softened at Em’s nod.

  “Meet me at the dojang tomorrow and we’ll work on feeling paralyzed in a stress situation,” Win said.

  “How do you know?” Em asked.

  “Because I had to have it trained out of me.”

  * * *

  “How the hell did you get Em to come to the table?” I asked on the way home. “What did you say to her?”

  “Between her and me. Let’s just say I guilted her into moving again.”

  “You think she’ll meet you tomorrow?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  I knew I wasn’t going to get anymore information from Win, so I stopped asking. I just hoped Win had shaken her up enough that she’d get help.

  “When’s your next day off?” Win asked.

  “Tomorrow. You have special plans? Something other than snowshoeing or cross-country skiing?”

  “You mean something fun instead of something good for us?”

  “I enjoy it once I get started. It’s just the starting that’s hard.”

  “That’s because you don’t get enough exercise during your shifts,” Win said, placing her hand on my thigh. “What happens if you have to run a footrace to catch some suspect? You’ll be huffing and puffing after the first block.”

  “You just wait until we get home and I’ll show you my endurance. But don’t start something now because it’s gotten colder and driving isn’t easy. I want to make it home, not end up in a ditch.”

  She removed her hand and stared out the side window. “You get any more intel on the letters?”

  “Where did that come from? Or are you distracting me from thinking about what happens when we get home?” I turned to look at her.

  “Look at the road, Sarah. It’s in lousy condition. Keeping this bucket on the road is hard right now. One bullet to a front tire and we’re going somewhere we don’t want to go.”

  I felt my hands tighten on the wheel. We were back to Win’s worries. “We’re investigating.”

  “Don’t shut me out of this, Sarah. My gut’s telling me this is serious. Stay vigilant.”

  “Hypervigilant?”

  “Don’t use my weakness against me.” Win switched her gaze from the window to me.

  I nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

  “You meant to shut me up. It ain’t gonna work, sweetheart. I want you to take the threats seriously. I’ll stay on your ass until you do.”

  I grinned. “Promise?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Win

  The next morning, we lay in bed. Talking, touching occasionally. Clearing the air.

  “I need you to demonstrate you’re taking this seriously, Sarah.”

  “I’ll keep you in the loop,” she said, moving her hand through my hair. “To be honest, I really don’t want you involved. Not after Laura.”

  “I am involved. With you and with Laura. She was having a rough enough time before this.”

  “Is this somebody else trying to get back at you?” Sarah’s hand was tight on my arm.

  “Is that what you’ve been thinking?”

  “Answer me, Win.”

  “No. I have no enemies left standing.”

  “Then why Laura? How did they know she was MCIA?”

  I tra
ced her jaw with my finger. “It was in the paper. Except for our coming-out interview, I haven’t been in the paper. I told Zoe to just say I was a marine who’d served in Afghanistan.”

  “A marine colonel who’s served all over the world.” Sarah pulled me to her. “You’ve been through so much.”

  “You haven’t?”

  “We both have. Okay, we’ll work the case together.”

  “But?”

  “Just don’t put yourself in danger.” Sarah stroked my face. “When you stepped out in front of General Lester’s truck, my heart stopped. I don’t ever want to be scared like that again.”

  “Ditto to you. You shouldn’t have even been on that mission.” I felt desire welling. Looked in Sarah’s eyes and saw a mirror. “I know I can’t protect you twenty-four-seven. That doesn’t stop me from wanting to. I know you feel the same way. But if we work together, maybe we won’t have to be so scared all the time.”

  Sarah pulled me down to her. “I love you. It terrifies me to think I could lose you, that I’d have to live the rest of my life without you. You take such risks—”

  “The biggest risk in my life is loving you. Now shut up and let me give you pleasure.”

  We lay still entwined when Sarah’s phone rang.

  “Ignore it. You’ve got a whole department to respond. This is your day off.”

  She tried. But when it rang a second time, she fumbled it off the nightstand. “Yes.” She nodded a couple of times. “Okay, okay. Give me half an hour.”

  I sighed. I gave up on our day together. It better be a fucking emergency of gigantic proportion.

  Sarah put the phone back and scowled. “I’ll tell you what’s going on while I’m getting dressed.” She pushed off the covers and rolled out of bed.

  * * *

  “Officer down” has a different meaning to cops than the military. We don’t mourn our fallen troops any less, but we know combat is deadly. Not that cops don’t. They do. Going to work means strapping on a weapon. But the expectation is that they’ll come home at the end of shift to their families and community. To coaching baseball or basketball. Being a Big Brother or Sister. To cookouts or church-sponsored spaghetti dinners. To bingo at the Grange Hall. Go home to kids, wives, husbands, lovers.