High-Risk Investigation

by Jane M. Choate

  Like many young soldiers, he saw the world in terms of black and white. Black was evil and needed to be eradicated from the face of the earth. White was pure and just. Some men wore black hats; some wore white. He saw himself as one of the white hats.

  Experience had shifted his viewpoint until he sometimes wasn’t at all certain of what was black and what was white. War had a tendency of painting events and people in shades of gray.

  He’d struggled to understand the real difference between good and evil, beyond the assumptions of the naive boy he’d been. Recognizing those differences while serving his country had made him who he was today, a man colored by his experiences, many good, a few not so good.

  The idea that someone in the military had used his or her position to facilitate the theft of weapons sent anger spiraling through him.

  “This changes everything.” His gaze locked with hers. “This isn’t just about union murders any longer. Someone wants to start a war. You’re out of this. As of now.”

  No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a barrage of fire hit the warehouse. Rage burned through Nicco even as he forced his racing thoughts to slow. He needed to think, not react. His and Scout’s lives depended on how he handled the next few minutes.

  He pushed her down. “Keep low.”

  “Any lower and I’d be a snake’s belly,” she muttered.

  Another woman might have given way to cries of fear, but not Scout. She kept her head.

  “We’re going to get out of this.”

  “Never doubted it. What’s the plan?”

  He wished he had one. “Thinking on it.”

  “Think fast.”

  “We need to split up. I’ll distract them while you go out the window.”

  “Not happening.”

  “We don’t have time to argue.” He’d calculated the rounds of fire, the spacing between them, the distance from their origin. “There’re at least four tangos. That makes four guns to one.”

  “Give me your clutch piece. I’m licensed to carry.” He looked at her doubtfully.

  “Don’t sell me short, Ranger.”

  “You’re full of surprises.” He withdrew the Sig Sauer strapped to his ankle. “You any good?”

  “I hold my own.” The breath she drew sounded shaky, but her hands were steady as she checked the clip.

  “Okay. Can you keep them occupied while I work my way behind them? If I can pick off one or two, it’ll even things up.”

  “Watch me.”

  Nicco wanted to believe she was as good as she said she was. He had to. “Let’s do it.”

  * * *

  Per her shooting instructor, Scout held the weapon in a two-handed grip that gave her the most control. At Nicco’s signal, she let loose a steady stream of fire out one of the broken windows, hoping that the shots would give Nicco the most protection while at the same time distracting the gunmen.

  Just before he left, he winked, the jaunty gesture doing much to bolster her spirits. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him make his move, keeping low to the ground.

  A thud. The sound of a shot finding its target. One down, she mentally ticked off. Three to go. She checked her clip. She’d have to reload after another two rounds.

  A shout pierced the air, causing her to flinch. She refused to let it rattle her. She had a job to do. Nicco’s life was at stake as well as her own.

  She fired off her last two shots, then replaced the clip, fumbling as she did so. The delay cost her valuable seconds. More rapid-paced fire. She listened intently, trying to distinguish between Nicco’s gun and that of other weapons. A grunt reverberated, then the slap of flesh against flesh. It had gotten down to hand-to-hand combat now.

  What did she do? With her gun freshly loaded, she could continue firing off rounds, but would that help Nicco? She held her weapon at the ready and headed in the direction of the fight.

  FIFTEEN

  Nicco finished securing the remaining assailant with zip ties. Three men were down, the fourth had escaped. He called first 911, then Sal, and listened as Sal told him about weapons stolen from an Army arsenal last year. “You think these are the stolen weapons?” Nicco asked.

  “It makes sense. I’m going to make a few calls, see if we can get the Army to send someone to check it out.” Sal clicked off.

  Scout joined Nicco just as he was finishing up the conversation. “What? You saved all the fun for yourself?” she asked and handed his Sig Sauer back to him. He replaced it in the ankle holster.

  What a woman.

  “You handled yourself like a pro,” he said. “Why don’t you carry a gun of your own if you have the license?”

  “After my parents were killed, I promised myself I would never be a victim again. I worked out, trained at a dojo, and took shooting lessons. But when it came down to carrying a weapon...I couldn’t. I kept remembering the sound of the shots, the smell of cordite.”

  Something stirred in his chest when she squared her shoulders. Scout was a fighter. Most people would have run when confronted with machine-gun-toting bad guys. Not Scout.

  Sirens screeched in the distance, and two police cars slid to a stop outside the warehouse. Wagner climbed out of an unmarked car and walked toward them.

  “You two attract trouble like my grandma’s blueberry pies attract flies.” The detective shook his head, whether in admiration or resignation, it was hard to tell. “How’d you come upon this?”

  Nicco took the detective through the steps that had brought them to the warehouse when he noticed that Scout was sagging.

  His arm across her shoulders, he walked her to where he’d parked the truck. Her legs had started to shake, along with the rest of her, and he helped her inside.

  “Will you be all right here for a few minutes?” he asked. “I need to finish up with Wagner.”

  “Sure. I just need to sit down before my legs give out.”

  “You were terrific back there.”

  * * *

  Warmth suffused her. She wanted to discount it as the result of the adrenaline-charged events of the last hour, but she couldn’t deny her pleasure at his words. He walked a short distance away, and she saw him making some calls.

  “Okay,” Scout said when Nicco returned. “What’s happening?”

  “Sal said that weapons were stolen from an Army arsenal last year. He thinks we may have stumbled on them.” Before she could process that, he asked, “What do you know about militias?”

  “You mean, outside of George Washington’s militia in the Revolutionary War?”

  A rich chuckle. “Yeah.”

  “Not much.” Her brow wrinkled as she struggled to understand what militias had to do with Crane’s murder.

  And then she got it. “Transportation. The militia needs transportation to move the weapons. Enter Crane and the union.”

  “Bingo.”

  “You said the weapons were stolen last year. This had to have been in the works for at least that long.”

  “I had another talk with Sal, who referred me to a contact in the Army Criminal Investigation Command. The guy said that the Army’s been trying to find these weapons for the last year, but whoever was behind the theft kept moving them. He speculated that the People’s Militia was getting bids from all over the world before trying to sell them, after the militia takes what they want, of course. They’ll be shipped wherever there’s a war going on or wherever someone wants to start a war.”

  “How do you know it was the People’s Militia who stole the weapons?”

  “One of our operatives looked into the group last year.” Nicco hesitated. “The militia killed his little brother. He’s been tracking them ever since, trying to get a handle on them.”

  She shuddered at the idea of thousands of weapons being in the wrong hands. She’d covered enough shootings to und
erstand, at least a little, the misery that such a large number of weapons would inflict. The death toll would be astronomical.

  “If those weapons had reached the black market, there’s nothing that would stop the violence.” Nicco’s voice was grim, a reminder that he’d witnessed massacres. When his cell rang, he picked up the call, listened. “Thanks, brother.” He turned back to Scout.

  “That was Sal. He called a contact in the DOD. MPs have been assigned to guard the weapons until they can be transferred to a secure location.”

  Wagner got back to them then. “Looks like you’ve been busy,” he said to Nicco. “I just got a call from my boss’s boss. Says we’re to stand down and let the boys in green take over.”

  “Sorry about that, but the Army’s got a big stake in this.”

  “You don’t have to convince me.” Wagner shifted his gaze between Nicco and Scout. “I know you folks have got to be beat. Go home. If there are questions, we can take care of them later.”

  Nicco took her home, where she changed into soft cotton sweats. Though the temperature hovered in the high 80s, she was cold and welcomed the cup of tea he made for her. When her hands trembled so badly that she couldn’t hold the cup, he took it from her.

  “It’ll be all right,” he murmured and lowered his head.

  The kiss was infinitely sweet, and she felt herself melting into it. She returned it with a quiet fervor she’d never felt with Bradley. For a second, she wondered if she were simply responding to the stress of an emotionally-charged day, but realized that her feelings for Nicco were the real thing.

  That was something she’d have to think long and hard about.

  * * *

  Nicco worked it out in his mind. He’d put it to Scout logically, rationally, sanely. He’d keep his totally illogical, irrational and insane fear for her out of it.

  She was a smart woman. She’d see that he was right. He hoped. After they’d returned to her place and she’d cleaned up, she’d been her usual confident self, but he’d detected the hint of vulnerability beneath the fierce pride and independence.

  Worry was fruitless, but it didn’t stop him from worrying over her. She’d gotten under his skin and was quickly finding her way deeper inside. He could fall into the sweetness of her touch, the smoky depths of her eyes, and lose himself there.

  That was a problem for another day. For now, he needed to keep his focus sharp. That meant concentrating on the job, in addition to making her realize that the mission she’d set for herself—finding her parents’ killer—had turned into something bigger and far more dangerous than she’d anticipated.

  Scout was savvy and smart, but she was also stubborn, believing she could handle anything that came her way.

  Whoever had killed Crane and was behind the theft of the weapons was totally ruthless. If Scout had come up against him, she would have pitted herself against a man without remorse or conscience.

  Nicco was brought up short by his thoughts. Why had he automatically assumed that it was a man behind the corruption and murder? He’d witnessed enough in his time in Afghanistan to know that women could be equally deadly. Perhaps even more so than men because society still liked to believe that women were the weaker sex.

  There was nothing weak about Scout. She was one of the strongest individuals—male or female—he knew. But she wasn’t invincible. No one was.

  He had the opportunity to bring up the subject when he arrived early the following morning to take his shift.

  The scent of frying bacon and...was it real maple syrup?...reached him. Bacon and waffles. He quickened his step.

  Tolliver met him at the door.

  “How is she?” Nicco asked.

  “All right. Considering.”

  Nicco didn’t have to ask, Considering what? Crane’s murder and a warehouse full of stolen weapons, plus being fired at by automatic weapons, took considering to a whole new level.

  “Stay,” Nicco said when the man would have taken off. “Maybe you can help me convince her to back off and let the professionals handle this.”

  Tolliver shot Nicco a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look, but nodded. Together, they walked through the small front room to the kitchen.

  Nicco sniffed appreciatively. “Something smells good.”

  Scout looked up from where she was tending a cast iron skillet filled with strips of thickly cut bacon.

  His stomach responded predictably with a growl. “Sorry about that.”

  She waved off his apology. “Good. You’re hungry.”

  “Starved.”

  Scout folded her arms and offered a simple blessing over the food. Her praying no longer made him uncomfortable.

  They shared the breakfast of bacon, waffles rich with real maple syrup, and orange juice. She snagged a strip of bacon from his plate, sending him a mischievous smile as she did so.

  The move struck him as somehow oddly intimate, as well as the act of eating breakfast together, elbow to elbow at the small kitchen table. Tolliver could well have been on another planet.

  “What’s our next move?”

  The eagerness in her voice reminded Nicco that he had some fast talking to do if he wanted to convince her to back off from the investigation. He pushed away his plate and tipped his chair back so that it rested on two legs. To say what he had to say, he needed to put distance, however small, between him and Scout. “The last couple of days have been pretty intense. I was thinking you might want to take a breather.”

  Disappointment gathered in her eyes. “You mean step back.”

  “Yeah. I guess I do.”

  She likewise pushed her plate away, stood, her movements brisk. “We’ve been through this already.”

  “You could stay with Olivia and Sal. Olivia would love the company.”

  “So the little woman stays at home while the big, strong Ranger goes out to slay her dragons.”

  “That’s not how I meant it.”

  She planted hands on her hips, chin lifted. He recognized her tough-girl look. Too bad the sprinkling of freckles on her nose ruined the effect.

  “Isn’t it? You want to stash me somewhere safe, somewhere I won’t get in your way.”

  He slammed his chair forward, the sound reverberating through the kitchen. “I want to keep you safe. Keep you alive.” He sent a look of appeal to Tolliver, who made a show of cutting his waffle into small bites.

  “I have to do this, Nicco. I can’t stop. Not now. Not when I’m so close. And I am close. I can feel it.”

  “If something happened to you...”

  “It won’t. Not with you at my side.”

  Her faith in him humbled him. Awed him. Terrified him.

  “Don’t make me choose between you and what I have to do.” She touched his arm. “I’ll obey orders. Do whatever you say. But don’t ask me to back away from this. I can’t.”

  He had a feeling that things were going to come to a head in a short time. It was up to him to keep Scout safe. If he failed at that, nothing else mattered.

  * * *

  Scout had said what she had to. And now she waited.

  Nicco held her gaze with his own. “Whoever’s behind this murdered Crane. Just like he murdered your...” He stopped.

  “My parents. Don’t you see why I can’t back away? I’m sorry about Crane. He was a sleaze, but he didn’t deserve what happened to him. He deserves justice. Just like my parents.”

  “I don’t want the same happening to you.” He reached across the table to take her hands in his. “You matter. A lot.”

  Her heart softened at that, but she wasn’t backing down. If Nicco thought she would, then he didn’t know her. Maybe it was time they had this out. Right here. Right now.

  “I’m not running. Not now. Not ever. That’s not who I am.” Her eyes begged him to accept that. To accept her.

&n
bsp; “Don’t you get it? These people are playing for keeps.”

  “Don’t you get it?” She threw his words back at him. “I’m in too deep to pull out. Whoever is behind this is running scared. That gives me the advantage.” Her voice hardened. “I’ll gut it out on my own if I have to.” She waited a beat. “But I’d rather have you with me.”

  Scout waited for his agreement, but it didn’t come. She withdrew her hands from his. She knew that Nicco was trying to protect her and at the same time deal with the unpalatable reality that someone in the military was using his or her position to facilitate the sale of thousands of stolen weapons. He was torn. She got that, but she couldn’t allow him to dictate to her.

  He got to his feet.

  She stood toe-to-toe with him. Unwilling to back off. Unable to back down. “I know you’re worried, but that can’t make a difference. I’m in this for the long haul.”

  “I’m trying to save your life. That means you sit the rest of this out.”

  Angry heat crawled all over her at the order. “And I’m trying to find out who murdered my parents.” Her sigh came heavily. “We’ve been through this before. I know you want to protect me, but I can’t stop. Not now. Not when I’m so close to the truth. If you care about me, you won’t try to stop me.”

  Breath hissed between his teeth. “If I care about you... I’m trying to make sure that I never cause another woman’s death.”

  Her heart bled at the anguish in his tone. No words she could say would convince him that he hadn’t caused Ruth’s death. Only the Lord could do that. At the same time, she had to stand up for herself or she risked losing the essence of who she was.

  “I’m sorry about Ruth. I truly am. But I’m not her.” Scout pointed to herself. “This is who I am. If it’s not to your liking, maybe you should take a step back.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  The storm clouds gathering in his eyes warned her to back off, but she couldn’t. Not about this.

  “The better question is, is it what you want?” Tears glistened in her eyes. She balled her fists to wipe them away. “I think we need a break. Another agent can take over my protection detail when Tolliver goes off duty. If you want to fix what you just broke, you’ll find me at the paper. If not, well, I’ll have your answer.”