Operation Power Play (8 page)

“What about the daughter?” Sloan asked. “Can’t she...demand that you handle it? She should have some say. And she trusts you.”

“Should doesn’t mean will,” Rafe said wryly. “That’s half the reason we exist.”

“I’ll work it out,” Brett said.

“I figured,” Rafe said. “Tyler’s still monitoring his financials. Checking for the car, too. I’ll have him poke around for anything of interest on the county people. Something might pop.”

“You get him some help yet?”

“He says he doesn’t need it,” Rafe said. Then one corner of his mouth lifted upward. “But I think he’s just afraid Charlie will step in.”

“I can see where that would be terrifying,” Brett said.

“Yeah,” Rafe muttered.

Odd undertone in his voice, she thought. Although the thought of the CEO of something as big as Foxworth must be stepping in and “helping” you with your job would certainly scare her.

“I’ll look into the housing development,” Rafe said. “Drew Kiley might be helpful there.”

Brett nodded. Obviously the name was familiar to him. “How are they doing?”

A smile flickered across Rafe’s face. “Alyssa’s pregnant, so I’d say okay.”

“Thanks to Foxworth.”

“And you,” Rafe said.

So it wasn’t always one way, Sloan thought. He helped them, too, it seemed.

“The other big question is, why?” Rafe said.

“Yes,” Brett agreed. “Once you accept that this is intentional, you have to wonder why keeping Sloan’s family from getting that land divided is so important.”

“If it is connected to those houses, maybe they just want to keep them from building at all,” Sloan said. “Maybe they promised the buyers no one would.”

Brett studied her for a moment before saying, “You said you had a bit of an incident with Franklin at the office.”

“Yes. He’s one of those,” she said. “Arrogant, wielding what little power he has like a club. He must be horrible to work for. I ended up feeling sorry for the woman I was upset with for being so unhelpful.”

“What set him off?” Rafe asked.

“Well, he was already being horrid to the poor woman when we got there. But it got worse.” She explained about the supposedly broken copy machine. “So I pulled out my phone to take photos of it for documentation, and he reacted as if I were a spy copying nuclear secrets or something.”

Rafe looked at Brett. “Sounds like somebody who didn’t want a record made.”

Brett nodded. “Harder to claim it’s lost when there are copies.”

“What does your gut say?” Rafe asked.

“That a string of coincidences that would reach from here to the Space Needle is not just a string of coincidences.”

“Once is happenstance,” Rafe agreed.

Sloan’s breath caught. It hit her solidly then that this had turned into more than just a misplaced piece of paperwork. Because she knew that aphorism. She’d heard Jason quote it often enough.

Once is happenstance.

Twice is coincidence.

And three times is enemy action.

Chapter 13

“W
hat about me?” Sloan asked. “I can’t just sit on the sidelines while you guys do all the work.”

The two men exchanged glances. If either of them told her to just go home and wait, she wasn’t sure what she’d do.

“Just how did you react to the little tyrant’s arrogance?” Rafe asked.

She grimaced. “Not well. I might have even called him something similar to that.”

Rafe smiled. “Then keep doing it. Keep the pressure on. Don’t let them think you’ve gone away quietly. Do what you would do if we weren’t here.”

“And?” she asked, wondering what his point was.

“And while they’re dealing with you, we’ll sneak in behind them.”

“So I’m a diversion?”

“I can understand why you’d think that beneath you,” Brett said.

She waved that off. “Everybody has a job to do in a battle.”

“Yes,” Rafe said softly.

“Can you make some noise?” Brett asked.

“Of course. My aunt and uncle have a lot of friends, and there are some others in the area who might help if I asked.”

“I have a feeling there are a lot more than you might think,” Rafe said. “And Foxworth can probably rally a few. What do you have in mind?”

“Protesters in front of the offices. Speakers at public meetings—I’ll have to check the schedule. Make every hearing about this, even if it’s not on the agenda. Every speech by a county official, the higher, the better. Every public appearance, even if it’s only a ribbon cutting for a supermarket. Get the media’s attention. Get it out there beyond local. Maybe even get the Americans with Disabilities Act invoked. That would take it national.”

Brett looked as if he was stifling a grin. “Wow. I don’t envy them.”

“You have to make them listen. Especially when they’ve forgotten who they work for.”

* * *

Brett walked her to the door of the house despite the suddenly heavier rain, because it seemed like the thing to do.

“Where do you live when you’re not staying here?” he asked. He hadn’t meant to. He’d intended to stay strictly away from prying questions. Details about her personal life were none of his business.

And yet here he was, asking anyway.

“I gave up my apartment,” she said. “Uncle Chuck’s cardiac rehab is going to take a long time, and I didn’t want Aunt Connie to end up sick, as well. So I’m here for the duration.”

“That’s good of you.” He meant it. Sloan was good people. Maybe he was just off balance because he hadn’t run into any of those in a while. Yeah, that was it.

“I told you,” she said as they hurried up the walk, “they’re my family.”

He didn’t point out what he knew too well from his job, that too often family were the last ones to truly help in a crisis.

“Did you give up a job, too?” he asked as they went up the steps onto the covered porch.

“
Accountability Counts
is my job these days. Fortunately, my parents had insurance, my uncle invested it wisely, and along with Jason planning ahead, I’m okay, so I can afford it.”

He looked around as Sloan isolated her house key on the ring and put it in the lock. From up here they had a sliver of view of the bay below, framed by tall evergreens. He’d hate to leave this spot, too. Her uncle must feel awful about it. He’d only ever thought of his running regimen as necessary for his work, but maybe it was time to start thinking about it as health insurance, too.

Sloan’s aunt opened the door before Sloan even turned the key, clearly stirred up.

“Aunt Connie, what is it?” Sloan asked.

“Come in, come in,” the older woman said, gesturing to them both. “It’s pouring out there.”

Brett was used to assessing his surroundings quickly. It was second nature, done so automatically he didn’t even think about it. The inside of this home was as tidy and well kept as the outside. The furnishings were a bit flowery and ornate for his taste but nicely arranged and looked comfortable. There were photographs here and there, some he recognized of Connie and a man he assumed was her ailing husband in younger days and one collage in particular that was a progression of Sloan growing up that made him smile inwardly. Whatever losing her parents had done to her, she had blossomed under the loving care of these people, going from a scared-looking child to a confident, glowing teen to the woman she was now.

The woman who had his mind racing full tilt in directions he’d walled off long ago.

“What is it?” Sloan asked again. “Is Uncle Chuck all right?”

“Oh, yes, he’s fine. Well, he’s getting a touch of cabin fever, I’m afraid. He thought he saw someone out in back a bit ago. I looked, but there was no one there.”

“You’re sure?” Brett asked with reflexive concern.

“Oh, yes. I think he’s just grouchy that the broadcast of his basketball game was delayed by the governor’s speech. I swear, that man never stops campaigning.” That, Brett thought, explained the faint sounds coming from the back of the house. A television. “No, I got a phone call.”

“From who?”

“She didn’t say, wouldn’t say, rather, but I’m certain it was that poor woman from the county office.”

Brett had been staring, a bit unwillingly, at the photo that hung on the wall above the sofa. It was a wedding picture.
The
wedding picture, the same one he’d seen on the website. It hit him even harder here, in this setting and full-size. How did she do it? he wondered. How did she face that every day? He had stashed away every reminder, unable to even look at them. Sloan was obviously made of sterner stuff.

Or maybe it was that she still loved him, that man in the photograph. It was certainly believable given the way she was looking at him in that frozen image. And everything he’d found out about the man indicated he was worthy of such devotion.

He was glad when her aunt gestured to him to sit on the sofa, which put his back to the image. She sat in a big chair next to a basket that appeared to hold several items of clothing. Mending? he wondered. Did anybody do that anymore? Sloan stayed with her aunt, sitting on the arm of the big chair.

Better than sitting next to you.

He dragged his focus back to the conversation.

“She called you? On a Saturday?” he asked.

“That’s why it was so odd.”

“What did she say?” Sloan asked.

“She said I should know something about the first denial, the one before this wetland silliness. That it came on a personal direct order of the county administrator.”

“Mead? How did she know that?” Brett asked.

“She said she overheard a conversation. I assume it involved that vile little man she works for, poor thing. I think she appreciated what we did, and that’s why she called.”

“You’re the one who chewed him out like he’d thrown a spitball in your classroom,” Sloan said, hugging the woman.

“Well, he deserved it,” Connie said with a sniff of disdain. “She said she couldn’t say any more, or she’d get in real trouble.”

Brett’s mind was racing. Why on earth would someone like the county administrator bother with something on this level? He’d met Harcourt Mead once, and he was far too consumed with his own importance. Why would he care about keeping an elderly couple, one of them ill, from building an accessible home on their own property?

He didn’t know. What he did know was that his gut was still screaming at him, his every instinct telling him this went much deeper than it appeared.

Or much higher.

Sloan looked at him then. “This county guy, is he essentially your boss’s boss?”

“Not really. The sheriff answers directly to the people. But the county admin’s got a lot of pull with him.”

“Then you can’t go digging in that pile,” she said.

“I could,” he said. “And I would. But I’m not sure it would be wise at this point. Whatever’s going on, it might be best if they don’t know I’m involved in this. As far as your caller’s boss knows, I was only looking for a friend.”

“A friend?” Connie asked.

“He has a friend who worked there.”

Connie frowned. “The woman said something else, that that man, Mead, got someone there fired. That’s why she was afraid to say any more. She’s afraid she’d lose her job, too.”

Sloan looked at him. “Do you think it’s connected?”

“At this point, I don’t know anything,” Brett said.
About anything.

He shook off the inner voice and was almost grateful when a burly man with a fringe of gray hair appeared in the doorway. An oxygen line ran up to a cannula beneath his nose from the little tank he was towing behind him on a small dolly.

Brett stood up instinctively. He noticed Connie start to rise, but Sloan put a hand on her shoulder and started to get up herself. Saving them both the effort, he introduced himself.

“Brett Dunbar, Mr. Day,” he said, crossing to hold his hand out to the older man. He took it, but it didn’t stop him from looking Brett up and down. His grip was strong enough, and his eyes were sharp and alert.

“You’re that sheriff.”

“I work for the sheriff, yes,” he said, deciding now was not the time to explain the fine points of differentiation between the police, sheriff and deputies. Some guys got snarky about it, but he’d given up worrying about it long ago. It didn’t matter to most people. Especially when they were in a situation requiring law enforcement.

“The one Sloan likes,” her uncle added.

It wasn’t really a question, which was a good thing because he was having trouble finding breath to speak after that.

“Uncle Chuck,” Sloan exclaimed, sounding embarrassed. “I just said he was nice.”

The older man turned his head to look at his niece. “You mean you don’t like him?”

“I... Of course I do. He’s...nice,” she said again, this time sounding as if she knew exactly how awkward that had come out.

He should rescue her, Brett thought. Would have by now if he hadn’t wanted to hear what she’d say. So when her uncle shifted his gaze back to him, he smiled.

“For a cop,” he said, “that’s high praise.”

“Hmm.”

Brett had the feeling he was being assessed thoroughly and rather astutely. He’d never asked what her uncle had done before he’d had his heart attack. Perhaps he should have. And belatedly he realized he’d seen the man before. Not in person, and not as gray, but he’d been in several of the pictures and videos he’d seen of Sloan’s appearances on Capitol Hill. So he’d been there for her, he thought, glad.

“I may be an old man,” Chuck Day said, “but I still look out for her.”

“Good,” Brett said, hoping his expression was even. It was clearly a warning, and he tried not to think of what might have made the man think it was necessary.

Tried not to think about what would make it necessary for real.

He heard the change in sound from the back of the house; the game was back on.

“I should leave you to the rest of your Saturday,” he said, since he was up on his feet anyway. “And I have a dog waiting in the car.”

“That dog,” her aunt said, rising now, “is an...interesting animal.”

“Interesting isn’t the half of it,” Brett said drily.

Almost as interesting as his life had become. And that made him think about an old Chinese curse about living in interesting times. He’d considered it merely amusing before.

He wasn’t amused anymore.