Allison turned on the flashlight again and moved away from the window. Sloan stilled, and a charged silence split the air between them.
Not understanding the change in energy, she looked at the angry scowl on his face.
“What’s wrong?”
He reached out, grabbed the flashlight from her hand, and directed the beam at her arm. His sudden nearness took her by surprise. “What in the hell happened to you?”
She followed his gaze to her bare right arm. The flashlight’s beam made her scars visible, distorting them as they snaked across her flesh in vicious, ugly lines. After two years, she continued to experience bouts of pain, but rarely gave the scars a second thought. Looking at them now, through Sloan’s eyes, she saw how grotesque they were.
She rubbed her hand down her arm and then dropped it. She wouldn’t hide or be ashamed. She couldn’t—not when Reggie had given his life. “I was shot.” She’d been wounded. Reggie was dead.
“A large caliber weapon,” Sloan said. It wasn’t a question.
She nodded.
“It’s amazing you didn’t lose your arm.”
“I almost did. It’s still not a hundred percent. But the surgeries are finally over.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“I’m shocked you don’t already know. Aren’t you privileged to access Northstar’s personnel history?”
“I am. But your file is surprisingly thin.” He pulled out a chair from the table and sat, then gestured to the empty seat across from him. “How did it happen?”
She hesitated. The habit of sparring with Sloan kicked in, and she searched for a cutting remark that would keep them on the battlefield. However, one look at his shadowed face, and the sincerity in his question, encouraged her to share the incident that had changed her life. She sank into the chair, feeling a level of candor she’d never experienced before.
“About three years ago, I was a rookie with the Ada County Sheriff department. My partner and I got a call for a robbery in progress. Both suspects were armed, as you guessed, with large caliber handguns. One of them had armor-piercing rounds.” She laid the flashlight on the table and followed the beam with her eyes. The scene played out in her mind as though it had happened only yesterday.
Two suspects ran out of the convenience store just as their patrol car rolled into the parking lot. Instead of fleeing as expected, the men—boys really—began shooting at the cruiser.
A stupid thing to do, Allison thought at the time. First rule in the Robbers-R-Us Handbook: Police shoot back.
Reggie Sharp, a five-year veteran, had been driving. After slamming the cruiser into Park, he withdrew the shotgun from between the seats and got out. Allison opened the passenger door as she un-holstered her sidearm. The smell of rain hung heavy in the summer night as she ducked behind the open door. The way the car was parked put her directly in the line of fire.
Reggie shouted for her to move around to the rear of the car. She kept her weapon trained on the suspects as she crouched and started to scoot backward.
Then one of the suspects fired.
The bullet shattered the passenger door window, showering her with glass. Instead of continuing to move out of the way, she froze and covered her face. A rookie mistake. Reggie yelled and she took aim to return fire, but never got the shot off. The suspect’s next bullet tore into her right shoulder. The impact dropped her to the asphalt.
Pain came in excruciating waves. Terrified, believing she was dying, she tried to move but couldn’t. There were three more shots, and she tried to keep her eyes open, but the pain was too much.
When she awoke, sirens were erupting from every direction, accompanied by screams and shouts. Strobes of red and blue lights pierced the dark night. Someone—Reggie? She never knew for sure—had moved her because she was no longer lying in the shattered window glass.
She’d turned her head to shout for help and saw Reggie, her partner of only two weeks, on the ground next to her—a bloody hole above his right eye. His eyes stared without blinking.
She tried to reach out, offer aid, but the agony of lifting her arm had plunged her cruelly into oblivion.
She related the incident to Sloan in a clear, matter-of-fact manner, like giving a police report, filling in details of when she hadn’t been conscious, but was told later what happened. She spoke without emotion. No tears. Nothing. There was nothing left to give except the facts.
Mere words could never convey how for days after her first surgery, she wanted her arm removed. It was something—anything to atone for the loss of her partner. Words could never describe the valiant look on Reggie’s widow’s face as she placed a single rose on his coffin. Then, taking her little daughter’s hand, she walked, straight-backed, away from the sea of uniforms saluting their fallen comrade.
Allison should have been in that coffin. It took a long time to accept her fate. Because she’d survived, she had an obligation. She must live out her life—not for her, but for Reggie.
She didn’t share any of this with Sloan, yet as she finished, she had a feeling there was no need. Somehow, he seemed to understand that the pain she carried ran much deeper than her visible scars.
When she stopped speaking, silence filled the kitchen; the occasional pop and crackle from the fireplace and ticking from the battery-run wall clock the only sounds.
“You could have stayed with the department,” Sloan said after a moment. “I’m sure there were other positions you were qualified for.”
“I suppose I could have.” Not really.
“Mitch said you wanted to be an agent.”
“Before I was accepted to the academy, I had the opportunity to become an agent with Northstar. I never wanted to be anything other than a police officer. After the shooting, Byron O’Neal called again and said he had a lab position open if I wanted it. It wasn’t the job I was offered at first, but I couldn’t pass up a second opportunity to work with such an elite group.” She shrugged. “Even though my injury prevents me from doing field work, I’m glad I accepted.” She didn’t add that it kept her from facing her guilt.
“Despite the fact it took you so far from home?”
“It was hard at first, but the change was good. I needed distance from things that reminded me of the shooting. I needed perspective.”
“Maybe Northstar’s timing wasn’t right the first time. We’re fortunate to have you now.”
His compliment took her by surprise.
“Don’t look so shocked.” He gave her a wounded look. “You’ll hurt my feelings.”
“I didn’t think you had any feelings. Until tonight.” His smile sent a warm tingle through her.
“You always speak your mind, don’t you?”
“Guilty as charged.” She smiled back, enjoying his company more than she would have thought possible.
“Well then, it’s my turn for some honesty.”
“Oh?”
He aimed the flashlight at the tattoo just below his left collarbone. “Picked up a souvenir myself about a year and a half ago.”
“A tattoo of Northstar’s compass?”
“Look closer.” He pointed to a scar that looked suspiciously like a bullet wound.
“Is that—?”
He nodded. “I have firsthand experience that the body and spirit do bounce back, so don’t sell yourself short.”
He placed the flashlight on the table and stood, then he walked around the table and took her hand. With a gentle tug, he helped her to her feet. Softly, his fingertips skimmed over her shoulder, feeling each of the scars—as though reading Braille.
“You are an amazing woman, Allison Richards.” He lifted her chin to look at him. “If I have to be stranded in a blizzard in the middle of nowhere, I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather be with.”
His voice caressed her, seeped into her bones. Warmed her until she burned with a raging desire. Rational thought melted away under his intense look. She made one last effort not to succumb to the firest
orm. “I’m sure I’m the only person you know who lives in the middle of nowhere.”
He threw back his head with an unrestrained laugh. “Touché.” He released her and it was all she could do not to sway into him.
He backed away and cool air brushed her skin. What had she done wrong? Hadn’t he been about to kiss her? Maybe he was repulsed by her scars, in spite of what he said. To mask her confusion, she grabbed the flashlight off the table and angled the beam toward the floor so he couldn’t see her face.
“It’s getting cold.” She felt far from cold, but she wasn’t about to let him know the effect he had on her. “We should put another log on the fire before going to bed.”
“Is that an invitation to join you in your sleeping bag?” His eyebrows lifted suggestively.
Allison shone the light in his face, making him squint.
“No,” she replied as emphatically as her dry mouth would let her. Just then, she heard Mitchell move around in his sleeping bag, and was glad she hadn’t given into the urge to throw herself into Sloan’s arms.
Chapter Nine
“Wake up, Aunt Allison.”
A cold hand shook Allison on the shoulder and she rolled onto her back.
“The portable radio says there isn’t any school today.”
She pushed the sleeping bag away from her face and peered at her nephew through sand-laden eyes. Hadn’t she fallen asleep only a few minutes ago? What was Mitchell doing up so early?
“Come on. Get up. We can make a snow-fort today.”
She pulled her arm free and looked at her watch. “What time is it?”
“Six-thirty.” Mitchell gave her a grin.
She groaned. “Why do you get up so early when there’s no school, but when you do have school, I have to drag you out of bed?”
“I dunno. I figured it was okay to get up since Sloan’s awake.”
Sloan.
She sat up. How could she have forgotten about him? Especially since she’d been dodging him in her dreams all night.
“Hey, sleeping beauty, the bathroom’s yours.” Sloan walked into the living room, his damp hair smoothed down instead of the messy style he seemed to favor. Like last night, he wore only his jeans. His naked torso was even more impressive in daylight, the tattoo-covered scar just below his collarbone looking like a badge of honor. “You took a cold shower?” The air of familiarity sent a tingle to jump-start Allison’s heart.
“Was that a problem?”
“No. It’s just that…I didn’t expect… Never mind.” She dragged her gaze from his chest. She hoped a cold shower would drown the fire burning inside her.
****
Sloan watched Allison rush out of the room as if the shower waiting for her was warm instead of cold. He walked to the fireplace to put on another log. The power hadn’t returned and the house definitely felt colder. Seeing his coworker in a form-fitting tank top and hip-hugging sweat pants took some of the chill out of the air. Her usual lab coat was so unflattering. Remembering how she looked yesterday—what she revealed after removing those coveralls. Not to mention what almost happened last night. He’d come very close to—
“What kind of cereal do you want?” Mitch’s question interrupted Sloan’s wayward thoughts. Just in time. He was skating on thin ice to even consider Allison anything more than a coworker, and that was not going to help the investigation. Or his libido.
“What do you have?” Sloan asked his pint-sized conscience while reaching for his shirt and putting it on.
Mitch walked around the center island with three boxes in his arms. “We usually only have healthy stuff, because Dad says Mom’s a granola bar. I don’t know what that means. It sounds like she’s made of oatmeal or something. Anyway, he said while they were on the cruise, I could have some good cereal.” Mitch looked over the top of the boxes to read. “We have cornflakes, honey-nut oat rounds and Frooty-Os.”
“Well, I’m a Frooty-Os kinda of guy, how about you?”
Mitch grinned. “Me, too.” He hurried back into the kitchen.
Sloan finished dressing and then followed Mitch through the kitchen to the back porch.
Mitch took a container of milk from the cooler where they had stored the contents of the refrigerator overnight.
“Is it still cold?” Sloan glanced over the kid’s shoulder.
Mitch felt the sides and nodded. “But we’d better put the cooler outside so the food won’t spoil. We should probably empty the freezer into the other coolers, too.”
“Your aunt mentioned we might need to do that. Do you want some help?”
“Naw. I can do it.”
Sloan admired Mitch’s self-reliance. He supposed kids learned to do a lot on their own when living in a remote location like Thunder Valley. Personally, he still felt a bit isolated, even with a sexy brunette and a redheaded minor for company. He hoped they could be on the way to sunny California sometime today. Once he was back on the job, he’d be able to resist temptation.
Last night he’d found himself on a very slippery slope. There was a moment he’d been ready to throw decency to the wind. Bury his conscience in a snowbank while he took pleasure in Allison’s warmth. Fortunately, he came to his senses and climbed into his sleeping bag alone. Sleep had been a long time coming.
Today, he had a fresh start, and would keep his hands to himself. Allison was a coworker and technically, they were on the clock.
Which reminded him…
He walked over to the phone and lifted the receiver. The dial tone buzzed sweetly in his ear.
“I’m going to report in,” he said to Mitch, although he didn’t know why the boy would care. Mitch was busy loading all the food into a large cooler.
He dialed Northstar’s number and asked for O’Neal.
He endured the director’s displeasure as he told their boss about the delay caused by the storm and power outage. Sloan understood O’Neal’s frustration but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He explained that Allison would finish the trace program once the power was back on. They’d be on the way to L.A. as soon as they could leave the house.
“I don’t care about the trace,” O’Neal exploded. “You get her to California as soon as you can. Tom’s identified the hacker.”
“Who is it?” There was a long pause that chilled Sloan’s blood.
“Allison.” O’Neal paused as though he couldn’t believe it himself. “Allison is the hacker.”
Sloan’s knees locked in stunned silence. Was this some kind of joke? Had Tom been counting too many pocket protectors? No. This was no laughing matter. O’Neal was up to his neck fending off disgruntled clients, pending lawsuits, and media hounds. Still, there was no way Allison could be the person causing this much chaos.
“Sloan, are you there?” O’Neal’s voice prodded him. “Did you hear me?”
“I’m here. I just don’t believe what you said. Why does Tom think—” Sloan looked over at Mitch, not wanting to finish his sentence.
“There was another breach last night. Tom swears it has Allison’s signature all over it.”
“That’s not possible. The power was out,” Sloan objected. “I was with her. All night,” he added in a forced whisper. “What time did all this happen?”
“Tom got the alert around eleven our time.”
“Hold on.” Sloan covered the phone with his hand and turned to Mitch. “What time did the power go out last night?”
Mitch’s forehead scrunched. “I think around eight o’clock.” He shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
Sloan did a quick calculation on the time zone differences and spoke to O’Neal. “The alert would have happened around nine p.m. here. We lost power around eight. So it couldn’t have been Allison.”
“I don’t understand the technical jargon.” O’Neal growled under his breath. “But apparently the signal bounced from Idaho to L.A., before hitting our office. Delays were built into the broadcast. Tom says those delays are just like a code Allison created for another ca
se about five months ago.”
Sloan didn’t want to believe it. However, he had to concede that O’Neal wouldn’t make the claim lightly, or without proof. Still, if Allison was involved, how did she manage to do it while he was in the same room? Something was definitely out of kilter. He wanted to clear up this mystery as much as O’Neal, but not by blaming Allison. “How do you want me to proceed?”
“I don’t want you to let on that we know she’s the hacker. Let her think we’re still trying to catch the guy. If she won’t leave the nephew, bring him to L.A., too. I want to see her endgame. I want to know why she did this. If she’s working with someone, I want to know who.”
“Understood.” Sloan would do as asked, but he didn’t like it. Regardless of the evidence O’Neal presented, it seemed completely out of character for Allison to sabotage Northstar.
“Is everything okay?” Mitch looked over as Sloan hung up the phone.
No, everything was not okay. But he couldn’t tell an innocent nine-year-old that his aunt was suspected of breaking the law and ruining her employer.
All that talk last night about Bushido—honor, truth, and loyalty—was it just nonsense for his benefit? He hadn’t thought so at the time. What about the shooting? She didn’t come right out and say it, but he knew her injury had something to do with her own personal code of conduct.
Sloan still hadn’t answered Mitch’s question and found the silence troubling. He didn’t want to lie. Kids noticed that sort of thing. He remembered the lies his father had told him, thinking Sloan was too young to figure it out. Except Sloan had spotted the lies, just as Mitch would.
He gave the boy a reassuring smile. “Some of the news isn’t good, but we appear to have some more leads.”
“Maybe the roads will be plowed today and you can get out of here.” Mitch gave him an encouraging smile.
“I certainly hope so.” Sloan walked over to Mitch. “Here, let me give you a hand.”
Together they finished moving the contents of the freezer into coolers and hauled them to the back porch. They walked back into the kitchen just as Allison appeared.
Breaking the Honor Code Page 10