Operation Power Play

by Justine Davis

  “Yes.”

  “So,” she said when he’d finished, “we know he was here, just down the street at The Mug, that Tuesday at twelve thirty-two. But that’s the last he’s been seen or heard from?”

  “That we know of.”

  “The daughter said she gave you permission to break into the house if you had to. And vehemently only you.”

  “She knows me. Trusts me.”

  “Then I guess we’re off to do a little B and E. One car?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve got something else to do in the north end after.”

  “All right.”

  “I’ll go sign out.”

  “Sign me out, too. And on the way to the parking lot, you can explain.”

  “Explain what?” he asked warily.

  “Why all of a sudden you have dog hair all over you every day.”

  Chapter 15

  “Detective Dunbar, good to see you!”

  The hearty, jovial voice of Harcourt Mead boomed out across the room. Brett sighed inwardly. He was in no mood. The search at Rick’s house yesterday had turned up nothing. No notes left, no sign of anything disturbed, nothing but the normal day-to-day things like a magazine here, a book there and the TV remote left on the arm of a chair. He knew nothing more than he’d known before about where Rick had gone. Caro might have to come home after all. She was the only one who might be able to tell them if there was anything unusual or missing.

  And now he had to deal with this guy. Normally he would do whatever he had to, make up a meeting, fake a hot case, anything to avoid the man. Especially this time of day, when he was about to grab some lunch. But Mead was the reason he’d instead made a point of taking the case file he’d just completed straight to the sergeant, which meant walking past the lieutenant’s office.

  He’d met him only once, but the man bragged often enough about his knack for remembering faces and names. County administrator was an appointed position, but he acted like a campaigning politician anyway. Just by the way he acted, Brett was sure the man had designs on elected office someday.

  He was also the man who, according to the harried woman in the county office, had personally denied the Days’ first application, even though it was not in his direct purview.

  “I was just talking to your boss here about that big drug arrest the task force made this morning. Well done!”

  The office had been buzzing about it. The lieutenant also oversaw the county’s contingent assigned to the statewide narcotics task force, and one of their own had played a key part in today’s closing down of a string of meth labs across the western part of the state. It was big news. And where there was big news, politicians tended to gather. The governor had already taken up more TV time, along with the law enforcement leaders whose departments were involved. The actual detectives who broke the case all shunned the spotlight. Too often they had to work undercover, so aside from one officer assigned to public information, they avoided the kind of limelight men like the governor—and Harcourt Mead—seemed to crave.

  “Yes,” Brett said when it became clear some sort of response from him was expected. “Those guys do good work.”

  “Since our sheriff is tied up in the capitol, I’m heading outside to speak to the local press right now, make sure our people get full credit.”

  Figured he wouldn’t wait until the sheriff was back from the just-completed statewide press gaggle. He’d want his own face in front, at least locally, and wouldn’t want to wait ninety minutes just to share the spotlight.

  “Local media’s already here?” Brett asked.

  “Assembling on the front steps of the campus,” he said, referring to the complex that housed the county offices, the sheriff’s office and the county jail. “They’ll want that hometown touch, you know.”

  I’ll be going out the back, then.

  “In fact,” Mead went on, “I was trying to convince Lieutenant Carter to come out with me, but she has an unavoidable appointment.”

  Smart woman.

  He glanced at the lieutenant, whose expression was unreadable. If she had an opinion about the guy inserting himself into a story he had no part in, it didn’t show. Given the man’s close ties with the governor himself—and his tendency to exploit those ties—hers was probably the wisest course.

  “Sir?” A harried-looking young man appeared at Mead’s elbow. Unlike Mead, he wore a visitor’s badge. Brett wondered if the man refused to wear one, because of course everyone knew who he was.

  “What is it, Perkins?” He didn’t bother to introduce the newcomer.

  “It’s that woman again.”

  Mead frowned. “What woman?”

  “The one who was outside your office yesterday, protesting. She’s out in front trying to get the media to talk to her.”

  Brett’s breath stopped. Sloan.

  She had done what she’d promised, and she’d started immediately. In two days she’d already shown up at a hearing about a proposed new commercial district and a speech given by a port commissioner, and she’d rallied at least thirty people on short notice to protest outside the very office where Harcourt Mead fancied himself a czar. Her next target would be the upcoming county commissioner’s meeting. That would really chap Mead’s hide.

  “That bitch,” Mead muttered under his breath, so low that Brett doubted the lieutenant, still at her desk, could have heard it. And so viciously it sent a chill through him.

  His gut instincts, lulled by a couple of hours full of paperwork, roared to life. He had no proof of anything—logic told him not to assume connections where there probably weren’t any—but there were facts he couldn’t deny. This man had personally interfered in something he technically had no authority over. The man Brett had asked to look into that something had been fired, apparently on his order. And that man was now missing.

  And now Sloan was causing problems for him. Suddenly this diversion tactic didn’t seem like such a good idea.

  “Trouble?” he asked, keeping his voice level even as his mind raced.

  “Just some fool who thinks she can fight city hall,” Mead answered. It sounded dismissive, but something glinted in the man’s eyes that made him even more uneasy.

  “Want me to give you a hand clearing her out?” Mead looked startled at the offer. “Might look better than calling for uniforms.”

  Mead eyed him more closely then, taking in his dress shirt and suit. Brett half expected the guy to ask him to put on a tie, but after a moment he put that wide smile back on his face.

  “That is an excellent point, Detective.”

  Lieutenant Carter was frowning. He gave her a sideways glance. She was no doubt wondering what had possessed him, he who would normally have avoided this like a black-tie dinner. But thankfully, she said nothing, probably eager just to get this clown out of her office.

  When they arrived at the front of the complex, he took in the situation quickly. There was indeed a small cluster of media, cameras, recorders, some of the smaller local outlets using smartphones for both.

  And there she was.

  His eyes widened at the sight of her. He’d never seen this Sloan before. The videos online, shot from across a hearing room, hadn’t come close to this. Her hair was upswept in a tidy knot, and he could see every delicate line of her face. Instead of her usual jeans and sweater, she was wearing a trim tailored suit in a shade of dark green that made her eyes look even more vivid. The skirt was slim, the jacket nipped in at the waist. Legs, he thought almost numbly. She had on a pair of heels that were almost the color of her skin, and her long legs were curved and... She was... She looked...

  He couldn’t think of a word that wouldn’t get him in trouble. Most of them seemed to involve tasting, like luscious, delicious. But this was also the woman who’d gone to Washington, DC, and m
ade a difference. She looked the part, sharp, smart, strong, and he felt a bit of the awe that had made the taciturn, hard-to-impress Rafe Crawford salute her.

  She was still speaking, and as she did, she touched a gold pin on one lapel of her jacket.

  “...belongs to my aunt. She gave it to me to wear in her stead because she couldn’t be here, because my uncle is too ill, too weak to be left alone. She cannot fight anymore, so I’m here to fight for her. Just as any of you would do for your parents, I’m sure.”

  She was good, he thought. Really good. She had them listening to something completely different than what they were here for.

  “That’s her,” Mead hissed in his ear. “Stop her.”

  There was little he liked less than facing down the media, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had to get her out of there. And if it got him in good with Mead, that could only help.

  He strode forward through the gathered group. He took Sloan’s elbow, taking advantage of her surprise at seeing him. He hoped the media would interpret it as simple, not specific, surprise.

  “Excuse us. Mr. Mead has seen to it the lady now has an appointment with someone to address her grievance,” he said without looking at the crowd. Then, lowering his voice to a whisper only she could hear, he said, “Go with it. Make Mead really like me.”

  He felt her second’s hesitation, wondered if she was doubting him. Given who she’d been up against in the past, he couldn’t blame her. But after that brief moment she went without protest, smiling as if she’d believed what he’d said.

  He glanced back. Harcourt Mead was nodding at him approvingly. And then the media cluster closed in, and out came the big smile once more.

  “Yes, that’s what I’m here for, to take care of the people of my county,” he boomed out.

  Brett was thankful his back was to the man as the cameras were raised once more.

  * * *

  “You think he’ll tell you anything?”

  Brett glanced at her. “I don’t know. But I think he’s more likely to now than he would have been before.”

  “Point taken,” she said, sounding weary.

  They were sitting in her car, a small black SUV parked down the street and out of sight of the county offices. The first thing she’d done when she’d opened the door was kick off the heels. Even her feet were beautiful, he thought with an inward sigh. Small, slender, with high arches, they seemed to draw his eyes up to delicate ankles and those legs...

  Determinedly, he kept his mouth shut. He hadn’t been this physically aware of a woman in a very long time, and he not only didn’t know how to deal anymore, he didn’t know if he liked it at all. He’d had that part of his life nicely and safely nailed away and had assumed it would stay that way. The occasional indulgence with a willing partner, a short-term hookup, was the most he ever wanted.

  And Sloan Burke was so very much not the type for that. No, this was a woman who came with strings. The kind of strings he wasn’t ever going to risk again. So he’d damned well better keep his eyes and his thoughts under control.

  “How’s Cutter?”

  The question—and non sequitur—came abruptly.

  “I... He’s fine. I assume. He’s at home. Of course.” Well, now, there was a cogent sentence.

  “I’ve missed him the last couple of mornings.”

  She’d noticed. He’d finally mapped out that other route for running. He’d half expected the dog to refuse the change, but he’d gone along with apparent unconcern. In a way it reassured him that he indeed was only a dog.

  But it did nothing to change the fact that the entire distance, he was thinking of where he wasn’t going instead of where he was.

  “I was hoping everything was all right—you weren’t hurt or something,” she said when he didn’t speak. She was studying her hands as they rested on the lower arc of the steering wheel.

  “No. I’m fine. He’s fine. I’m going to head out to Foxworth with him as soon as I get home.”

  That made her look up at him. “Did they find something?”

  “No. I’m just wondering if they turned up anything on Franklin and Mead yet, so I thought I’d stop by. Give Cutter a chance to see Rafe, too.”

  “I should go, too, then,” she said.

  No. For my sake, no.

  Obviously she was free of the problems he was having, of keeping himself at arm’s length. And that alone should have been helping him maintain that distance. Clearly she wasn’t interested, even if he was fool enough to pursue it.

  “I’ll drive,” she said, “since we’re already in my car. I’ll bring you back to get yours.”

  “I can manage that without you having to come all the way back here,” he said, not even realizing until he said it that he’d just agreed to her coming. But she did have a point, he told himself. And it would save him from having to tell her anything he learned later.

  More important, it would save him from having that battle with himself over it.

  Chapter 16

  “Your girl is causing quite a ruckus.”

  Brett grimaced but decided it better to address the substance of what Rafe had said rather than the possessive terminology. The fact that he liked the sound of it made him even more determined not to react. It was a close thing, given she was in the bathroom inside changing out of that sexy suit into other clothes she’d had in her car, and he was having enough trouble keeping that out of his mind already. He was thankful she hadn’t asked to do it at his place. He doubted he would be able to keep those imaginings out of his head anytime he went in to shower or shave. In fact, he was glad she hadn’t even gone inside. He wasn’t sure he could take images of her there haunting him.

  “She’s stirring things up,” he agreed as he tossed the tennis ball again, keeping his voice as level as he could manage and his eyes on Cutter as the dog raced across the Foxworth meadow.

  He’d just have Sloan drop him off at home, he thought. Or better—and safer—yet, he’d ask Rafe for a ride. Then he’d call for a deputy going off duty to run him back into the office in the morning so he could pick up his car.

  He should have grabbed running gear at the house; then he could have just run home. Hey, it was fewer than fifteen miles. So what if it would be dark by then, and he’d be running on unlit narrow roads with no shoulder. What could go wrong? At least he’d be so tired he could sleep, maybe not even remember the dreams in the morning.

  “Your friend’s daughter make that missing-person report?” Rafe asked.

  “Yes.” That quickly got his mind straight. “It’s official now. She’s obviously pretty upset and very worried.”

  Cutter raced back, dropped the ball at his feet. He wondered briefly if the dog wasn’t giving it to Rafe because he had a ripe sucker already in his paws.

  “And you’re worried about her,” Rafe said.

  He threw the yellow ball again. Cutter raced after it again. “She took a nosedive when her mother died six years ago. She pulled herself out of it, and she’s doing great in school, got a scholarship from a local tech company, but...”

  “Is that what she’s studying?”

  “Computer science, yeah. She’s always had a knack.”

  Rafe lifted a brow at him. “She’s good?”

  “Seems like it to me. But I’m just your basic end user, so anything deeper than that seems impressive to me. Your Tyler is scary, for instance.”

  Rafe’s mouth quirked. “He is that.”

  Brett took the ball Cutter brought back at a dead run once more. “We run five miles every freaking day, I spent half of Sunday doing this with him, and he’s still got this much juice. Has anybody ever outlasted this guy?”

  “Not that I know of,” Rafe said. “Although I think Luke Kiley wore him out a bit.”

 
Brett grimaced as he threw yet again. “Great. So it takes the energy of a six-year-old boy to keep up.”

  Cutter halted in front of them. Brett was reaching for the ball, mentally calculating how much more of this his own shoulder could take, when the dog suddenly dropped it. His head turned, ears up, toward the building. And then he trotted off toward the door. There was no automatic opener on this side, so he looked back over his shoulder at them and barked.

  “I guess we’re done,” Brett said.

  As he spoke, he heard an alert tone. Rafe pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked at an incoming text.

  “Tyler,” he said. “He’s got something.”

  Brett looked at Cutter. So that was it. How the hell had the dog known?

  “It’s either magic or he heard the alert from inside,” Rafe said with a wry grin as he pulled the door open. “Take your pick.”

  Brett chuckled, shaking his head. He stopped when he spotted Sloan sitting on the sofa close to the fireplace. She was now dressed in jeans—the same delightfully snug ones he’d seen before?—and a soft-looking sweater the same color her suit had been. He was sure there was some fancier name for the deep green color, but all he knew was what it did to her eyes.

  He had to remind himself to breathe as he sat down a careful distance from her.

  Rafe went to the laptop and opened the teleconferencing program. He sent it to the monitor, and the screen and cam on the wall came on. Tyler Hewitt’s face filled the frame. Rafe briefly introduced Sloan, then got down to business.

  “What have you got, Ty?”

  The young man wasted no time. “I got a hit on Alvarado’s car.”

  Brett sat up straighter. He’d thought it would be something about Franklin or Mead.

  “Where?” Rafe asked.

  “Somebody reported it to the rangers in Olympic National Park this morning. Parked at the—” he glanced down at something “—Storm King visitors center, near Lake Crescent. Looks like it’s been there overnight, at least.”