Rocky Mountain Valor

by Jennifer D. Bokal

  The elevator let them off in the lobby and together they walked to Ian’s SUV. The sun was high in the sky and already the temperature was climbing.

  Ian started the engine with the key fob as a red sedan pulled up next to them. The window lowered and a man in his forties leaned on the sill. He had dark hair and a thin face, but most noticeable was that both his eyes had been blackened. His bottom lip was split and a red welt bloomed on his cheek.

  “Petra?” the man said.

  “Rick? You look awful. What happened?”

  “There was a distracted driver on Interstate 23 yesterday morning,” he said. “She slammed into my car, shoving me into another lane. My car was totaled and aside from the fact that I don’t like the loaner I’m driving, I’m okay.” He paused. “Listen, I heard what happened yesterday. I’m sorry. I tried to call...”

  “I lost my phone, you know, at Joe’s.”

  “That’s awful. The news is saying that you don’t remember anything.”

  “Bits and pieces,” said Petra, “but nothing helpful.”

  “It might be shock.”

  She gave a small shrug. “I had one of my headaches,” she said.

  Jealousy, hot and acidic, flooded through Ian’s chest. Who was this guy—and who was he to Petra? It was clear that she had shared her secrets with him.

  “Petra,” Ian said. His voice had a hard bite. “We need to go.”

  “Go where?” Rick asked, like he somehow had a right to know. Ian’s hands and feet went cold. His chest constricted. What if this guy did have a right? What if he was more to Petra than a nosy friend?

  “Rick, this is Ian Wallace. He’s helping me figure out what happened with Joe. Ian, this is Richard Albright, the team doctor.”

  Team doctor? Well, maybe Rick could be helpful, after all. “Have you noticed any changes in Joe Owens lately?”

  “I really can’t discuss the players. Confidentiality and all.”

  Ian grunted. Some friend. “Anything you can tell me, that might help me clear Petra?”

  Albright turned off the ignition and withdrew the key. He held it in his hand, as if trying to guess its weight. “I saw a clip on the news. It made it look like Luis Martinez was involved with the case.”

  Ian lifted an eyebrow. According to Petra, Detective Sergeant Luis Martinez was more than involved in the case, he was the lead investigator. “Why’s that an issue?”

  “He’s friends with Joe,” said Albright.

  A cop investigating a crime where he personally knew the victim wasn’t ideal. But as a police officer, you took the calls you got. Then again, any personal relationship could taint the investigation. “How well did they know each other?”

  “By my estimation, they were good friends. Joe and Luis grew up together and even played on the same high school team. Joe got a university scholarship and was drafted into the pros. Luis went to community college and joined the police force afterward. I thought it was nice that they stayed close—it’s not always like that when folks get famous, you know.”

  Petra turned to Ian. “I remember thinking that Martinez was presumptuous when he referred to Joe by his first name. It seemed incredibly familiar. I guess it really was.”

  It was more than odd. It was wrong, so wrong that Ian’s list of suspects grew by one. “Thanks for the tip,” he said to Rick. “But we really do have some leads to run down.”

  With his hand on Petra’s elbow, Ian led her to the passenger seat of the car. Once in the driver’s seat, he pulled out his phone and opened the internet app. With the engine idling and the auto in park, he searched the Colorado Highway Patrol’s blotter. There, on the first page, was an accident involving Dr. Richard Albright and a distracted driver. Ian closed the search, slightly dissatisfied.

  “How well do you know Dr. Albright?” he asked, then ground his teeth together, angry that he cared at all.

  He slammed the gearshift into Drive and dropped his foot on the accelerator. The large auto shot forward and he eased up on the gas.

  “Really, it’s not any of your business,” said Petra.

  “So you aren’t going to answer my question?”

  She looked out the window. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “Listen, I’m helping you not because I’m a nice guy but...” He paused. “I’m helping you to honor what we used to be. So, yeah, I suppose you do owe me the truth.”

  “If you’re jealous, don’t be. Rick Albright is a nice guy, but I never mix business with pleasure.”

  “I’m not jealous.” Even Ian heard the grumble in his voice.

  Ian reminded himself that Petra had plenty of friends he’d never met. She lived in a condo he’d never seen. She slept in a bed he’d never touched. Petra had moved on. He had no choice but to accept it. He refused to embarrass himself anymore and turned on the radio.

  “In local news,” said the announcer. “Sports agent Petra Sloane has been named as a person of interest in the attempted murder of her client Joe Owens.”

  “Damn it,” he said as he hit the power button, silencing the radio. “Sorry about that.”

  “The story is everywhere,” she said. “I doubt there’s anyone in Denver who hasn’t heard—and doesn’t think I’m guilty.”

  Even if Petra was right, it was Ian’s job to prove them all wrong—and prove her innocence.

  Chapter 7

  Petra sat in the passenger seat while Ian drove. Silence was a barrier, pressing them down and keeping them apart. He hadn’t even mentioned their destination, yet Petra had guessed. They were headed to the first safe house RMJ established.

  Petra recalled the day that Ian had purchased the property. Working as legal counsel, she’d opened an LLC and attended the Realtor’s meeting for her unnamed client. Then, with keys in hand, she and Ian had met at the small home.

  They toured the property as Ian regaled her with his plans for the future.

  “This,” he said, as they stopped in what had been a back bedroom, “is where the super-computer will be housed. It’s happening, Petra. Rocky Mountain Justice is coming together. I’ll make a life for us, one that you deserve.”

  His excitement was palpable. The hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end.

  She moved to a window and looked out, trying to see the future he envisioned. It was mid-February. A blizzard had descended on the city. The snow was so thick that Petra could hardly see across the street. The window reflected the room behind her. Empty spaces. Recessed lights. Ian. Her own reflection. She watched as he touched her.

  He reached for her hair, tangling his fingers into her locks. Lifting her tresses, he kissed the back of her neck lightly—like a single snowflake falling onto the petal of a rose.

  His fingers moved from her shoulders to her arms. They held hands. His front was pressed to her back. “We ought to christen the safehouse, don’t you think?”

  She grew damp with desire. “Of course,” she purred. “We wouldn’t want our space to belong to someone else.”

  He rocked his hips against her. He was hard. She knew he would be.

  Palms splayed on the window glass, Petra braced herself. Ian lifted her skirt. She recalled the chill of her exposed thighs as his hands blazed a trail over her skin. He slid a finger inside her, igniting her passion completely.

  He traced her lips with his wet finger. She licked away the taste of her desire and he kissed her again. Ian entered her from behind, taking her hard and fast. Petra came at once, the sensation so intense it had left her weak in the knees. He shouted her name, shaking with the power of his own passion, holding on to her as he shuddered with completion. Eventually, they separated and Petra stood straight, reassembling her clothes. Her palm prints had remained on the glass...

  She returned to the present, the feeling of Ian inside her as real as the sun that now shone on h
er face. Petra flushed at the recollection.

  She gave him a sideways glance. He regarded her quickly before returning his gaze to the road.

  Her blush deepened and heat climbed up her cheeks. “I remember when we bought the house.”

  “So do I,” he said.

  Again Petra found herself trying to read his comment. There was nothing in either his words or tone that clued her in to his thoughts or feelings.

  “We had lots of dreams and plans back then,” he said as he eased the SUV next to the curb.

  “Too bad they never came true,” she said.

  “It wasn’t that bad,” said Ian. “Was it?”

  “We broke up and haven’t spoken for more than two years. I’d say it wasn’t good.”

  Ian edged into a parking space marked as reserved. “No regrets for moving on, then?”

  “Regrets,” she echoed with a short laugh. “I’ve never loved anyone in my life the way I love you.”

  “Loved?” he asked. “Or love?”

  Petra’s breath caught in her chest. She’d been such a fool to rush to Ian.

  It wasn’t simply that she was in a mess, nor that he was well equipped to help her. It was that she wanted back what she had lost—the life they’d shared. And here they were—but it was nothing like she hoped.

  His question still hung in the air, like a cartoon speech bubble with a trail of dots. Loved or love?

  “Both,” she said, finally answering. “Neither.”

  The car stilled as Ian turned off the engine. She opened the door and oven-like heat rolled off the road. At the front door, Ian pressed his thumb to what appeared to be a doorbell. But his thumbprint had activated a keypad hidden in the home’s facade. Ian entered a seven-digit code.

  The panel slid back into place and there was a soft click as the door was automatically unlocked. Ian pulled the door open.

  “After you,” he said.

  What had once been a typical entryway, tiled in cream linoleum, was now a white-paneled chamber. The door to the outside closed and locked, trapping them in a square of white.

  The secure and futuristic space left Petra slightly uneasy. An electronic female voice came from hidden speakers. “Name?”

  “Ian Wallace and approved visitor, Petra Sloane.”

  Ian’s face appeared on the wall in front of them. More than two-dozen red dots filled his likeness.

  “Vocal and facial scan complete,” said the voice.

  There was another click, and a door slid open.

  “Follow me,” said Ian.

  The entire house had been gutted and turned into a single room. More than a dozen large screens filled the wall opposite the door. They were all ablaze with pictures and light. A battle that raged in a desert somewhere. A constantly rotating view from London street cameras. A static picture of the red-walled Kremlin.

  Two rows of tables stretched across the room. Each table held more than a dozen monitors. All of them were filled with computer code. None were manned.

  “I like what you’ve done with the place,” she said. But the comment was for Ian’s benefit, not hers. Seeing the refurbished safe house filled her not with pride, but misery. From the beginning, this had been her dream, too.

  “If the 16th Street Mall offices used to be the face of Rocky Mountain Justice,” said Ian, “this safe house was the brain.”

  “I guess it is,” said Petra, as awe in what Ian had created began to take over. “I’m not sure if I’m trapped in a sci-fi movie or a military thriller, but this is all...” She paused, not sure how to finish her sentence.

  “Impressive?” asked a woman.

  Petra turned to the voice. Ian’s longtime communications specialist and Petra’s former friend, Katarina, stood in the back of the room. With all the monitors, she’d missed her onetime companion.

  Kat wore her dark hair long. The few streaks of gray that lightened her locks made her look all the more worldly and confident.

  “Kat. Look at you, you look great.”

  “Petra...” Kat moved forward and wrapped her arms around Petra’s shoulders, pulling her into a hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

  Petra returned the embrace. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Ian said that RMJ was closed.”

  “We’ve collected quite a bit of information over the years,” said Kat. “It’s going to take some time to destroy it all. I have to say, I’m surprised to see you both at the safe house.”

  “I’m helping Petra,” he said. “And I wanted to check on a few things.”

  “You’re in good hands, then, Petra—but you know that. Ian’ll help you clear up this Joe Owens mess.”

  That’s what Petra had been hoping. Yet they’d spent the morning trying to find someone else who might be responsible for the attack on Joe and had nothing.

  “Thanks,” said Petra with a wan smile. She couldn’t help but wonder what Kat had heard on the news. Or worse yet, what she believed. Was her old friend like everyone else? Did she see Petra as a killer?

  “This way,” said Ian, pointing in the direction Kat had been.

  She saw it then, a door, that led to an office. A large wooden desk sat in the middle of the cramped room. Papers in neat stacks stood along one edge of the desk and a computer filled another.

  Petra leaned against a wall and watched Ian take a seat behind the desk and power up the computer.

  “It was nice to see Kat again,” she said. “How’s everyone else at RMJ? Julia? Roman?”

  Ian tapped on the keyboard as he spoke. “Julia’s fine, I suppose. Roman’s pissed at me for closing shop.”

  “I saw that he got married.”

  Ian looked up from the computer, one eyebrow lifted. “Oh?”

  The intensity of his stare pinned Petra to the wall. She felt exposed and at the same time, truly seen. There was a tightening deep in her belly, and her palms tingled with the need to touch him.

  She swallowed. “Kat posted pictures to social media. Don’t worry, only her friends can see her page. Roman’s new wife is pretty. Do you like her?”

  “Madelyn’s great. She’s a medical student.” Ian’s gaze returned to the computer. “And pregnant.”

  “Roman, a dad? That is shocking.” She paused. “No wonder he’s mad about RMJ closing. It’s never great timing to lose a job, but it’s especially hard when there’s a baby on the way.”

  “He’s employable,” said Ian. “He’ll find something else.”

  Now it was Petra’s turn to get angry. “Is that how you really feel? I thought that RMJ was more to you than just a job. I thought it was a calling—something that you’d sacrifice everything to make succeed.” Obviously, she was talking about her, about their relationship. She didn’t want it to be so personal and spoke again. “More than that, wasn’t it you who never hired people, only brought someone new into your family?”

  “I have enough to worry about in my own life not to complicate it with someone else’s,” he said.

  Petra moved to the desk and stood directly in front of Ian. “Is it always easy for you? Being so laser focused? You never have to worry about anything else because you always have a single priority.”

  Ian shook his head. “Once I’ve made up my mind to get something done I can’t think of anything else. My goal is always with me. It keeps me awake at night, and when I do sleep, it’s in my dreams.” He hesitated. “It sounds bloody awful, but it’s the only way to hit the target we’re paid to seek. The only way to do this job.”

  Petra looked away. “It does sound bloody awful.”

  Ian opened his desk drawer, pulled out a smartphone and handed it to her. “You can use this until you have time to get a new phone.” He gave her the unlock code and added, “This is an extra for RMJ. I guess we won’t need it anymore, so take your time,”

  “Thanks
,” she said. “I need to check in with work. Do you mind?”

  “Of course not,” said Ian as he stood. “I expected as much. Besides, I need to speak with Kat and that’ll give you a moment of privacy.”

  Petra waited until Ian left the room and then sat on the edge of the desk. She wiped her wet palms on her thighs and entered her boss’s direct number. The phone rang several times before it was answered. “This is Mike Dawson.”

  “Mike,” she said. Her pulse raced and her voice was a little breathless. “It’s Petra.”

  Silence stretched out. “What do you want?”

  Well, this was not going well from the start. “I thought I should check in, see how work’s going.”

  Another silence. “I sent you an email this morning. Haven’t you seen it?”

  “I haven’t had time to get on a computer...” she began.

  Mike interrupted. “I terminated your employment. We can’t be associated with you.”

  She pressed her eyes shut. Hot tears collected on her lashes, yet they didn’t fall. “I see,” she said. There was nothing else to say, not really. “Okay.”

  “And Petra?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t call here again.”

  She hung up before Mike had a chance to end the call. Petra pressed a knuckle to her lips. Inhale. One. Two. Three. Exhale.

  Ian stood at the doorway. “Not good?” he asked.

  “I’ve been let go from the agency,” she said with a shake of her head.

  “That’s tough,” said Ian.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do now. My reputation is in tatters. Even if I somehow stay out of jail, I’ll never work as an agent again. Who would be crazy enough to hire me?”

  “You’ll figure something out.”

  Petra was too filled with venom for his platitudes. “You mean like Roman will find a new job?”

  “I’m not going to argue with you about my decision to close RMJ,” he said. “We lost a contract with the FBI. That’s a big deal.”

  “Just like there are other jobs out there, there’s other clients for Rocky Mountain Justice.”

  “No,” said Ian, “Not really.”