Breach of Honor

by Janice Cantore

  The pup stared at him, finally, without a trace of fear in his eyes. Clint leaned against the door to read the article. The picture on the front page was of a smiling Leah hugging her father. Clint felt a jolt at the sight of her. Besides the shorter hair, even in the small newspaper photo she looked so different from the beaten woman who had told him to stay away from her and keep out of her life. He skimmed the story, a recap of what he knew all too well.

  The joy he felt for Leah flushed away the disappointment over the raid. This was answered prayer. Leah had been railroaded. In the months after the conviction, when Clint thought about her sitting in prison, he’d felt guilty for telling her to trust the system. Now, however, his advice was borne out. There had been a painful hiccup, but the system came through—albeit helped out by a lot of prayer.

  Leah was a free woman. He knew she planned to come home and searched the article for some hint about her next step but found none. Clint had wanted to visit her in prison, but she’d asked him not to. He’d respected her wishes and truly felt a great loss that he’d not been there in court. Should he call her? He could call Randy; maybe that’s what he’d do. He’d gotten to know her so well over the months through their correspondence, excitement rose in his chest at the thought of hearing her voice.

  He unlocked his front door and went inside. Holding the pup in one hand and the phone in the other, he hit Randy’s name. The call went immediately to voice mail.

  “They are probably really busy,” he said to the pup, swallowing the disappointment he felt. In the article on the front page, Leah gave no comment except to say that she was thankful and appreciative of all the people who had stood behind her.

  But there was an interview in the article with someone who had no problem giving comments. Harden Draper, Brad’s father, complained that a grave injustice had been done. In his mind Leah was a cold-blooded killer and she would always be. Clint knew there was no moving forward for the Drapers. He felt sorry for them. Would that impact Leah’s plans? He hoped to see her come home, but would that be possible? She was a cop who killed her cop husband because he tried to kill her. Could she really come home and pick up where she left off?

  Clint didn’t know the answer to that question, any more than he knew what on earth he was going to do with a puppy.

  CHAPTER 36

  Southern Oregon in November is often cold, rainy, snowy, and gray. This November Leah got two out of four. Bone-chilling cold and gray, depressing skies. She drove south down Highway 62 through Prospect toward Trail. She’d not been down this road in probably four years, and the knot in her stomach grew tighter the closer she got to home. It was the long way home, for sure. If she’d shot down Highway 5 from Salem, she’d have pulled into her father’s driveway by now. But she was coming from Bend, Oregon, where Gretchen was based. The defense team had held a celebration for her at their office and surprised her with the used car she now drove.

  The reason for the party was twofold: to celebrate her release, but also to delay her trip home so she could outsmart all the news media. She’d barely made it out of the courtroom after the not-guilty verdict.

  As she neared Lost Creek Lake, Leah slowed, hands suddenly clammy and sweaty on the steering wheel. Though she’d been over this a million times, fear rolled through her in a wave. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe I shouldn’t go home.

  Doubt joined the fear and hit her like the fists of ten professional boxers. Other than her father and maybe Clint, no one would be happy to see her, no one wanted her home. She knew that after reading the paper and letters to the editor.

  She pulled over, heart racing, thinking of her father and Clint. Would her coming home just make their lives more complicated? Selfishness reared its ugly head. More than anything she wanted to see Clint. She wanted to be face-to-face with the man whose letters had been a refreshment, a window to life in freedom, though not a lifesaver—God had done that. Leah could admit now to herself that she’d fallen a little in love with Clint through his letters, and she was ready to see him, hear him, and find out if there was any chance he felt the same way.

  Traffic sped by. Leah rested her head on the steering wheel and went to the only help she could count on—she prayed. The irony did not escape her; the last time she was home, she’d screamed that prayers didn’t work. The verse that came to her was her life verse, from the book of Joshua, chapter 1, verse 9. “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.”

  The day she’d climbed, shackled, onto the bus that would take her to Coffee Creek Correctional Facility, she didn’t believe she’d ever to return to southern Oregon. If and when she was ever free, she’d wanted to run as far away in the opposite direction as she could. Her life had ended there, that day on the bus. She could not conceive of any future in the place where she’d been born and raised.

  But a change in her heart and soul brought on a change in her mind. Before the second trial had even begun, she’d known she needed to come home. There were so many unanswered questions about Brad and exactly what had been going on four years ago. Leah needed answers. That was one reason she became a cop in the first place: she was insatiably curious and hated loose ends. Besides that, she was different now. When she looked in the mirror, she no longer saw that dependent woman, the woman who needed Brad to validate her. She had other reasons to live her life now.

  Her heart rate slowed to normal, and while the fears didn’t go away, they faded enough to where she could pull back onto the highway and continue her journey. Before long she crossed the bridge over Lost Creek Lake. The familiar vista brought memories flooding back.

  Brad’s boat on the lake, the hours spent fishing, water-skiing, racing from end to end, laughing, the wind in her hair, his arm gently resting on her shoulder. Cooking their catch on an open fire. Enjoying the awesome, rugged beauty of the Oregon outdoors.

  She wished she could stop the memories with the good ones. But it didn’t work that way. The bad ones were there as well, and they bubbled up like acid, scouring the good ones away and burning her heart all over again.

  This was when the if onlys started. If only she’d said something after the first punch. If only she’d taken the advice to leave, advice she’d given so many other women during the course of her career. If only she’d confided in someone, anyone, about what life with Brad was really like. If only she hadn’t confronted him that night. If only she’d grabbed his phone instead of his gun.

  It was a constant battle for Leah. Regrets were as useless as ice cubes in a snowstorm. And it tired her out to keep fighting them. As she turned off the highway toward home, she knew she had to ignore the regrets. There was nothing at all she could do but move forward. The past was lost forever; she had the years ahead to look to and live the best life possible.

  She stopped at the base of her father’s driveway and took a deep breath as a Bible verse from the book of Joel came to mind. Leah knew it well. She clung to it as if her life depended on it: “I will restore to you the years that the swarming locust has eaten, the hopper, the destroyer, and the cutter, my great army, which I sent among you. You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied, and praise the name of the Lord your God.”

  Leah continued up the familiar gravel driveway. For the five hours on the road she’d not shed a tear. But as her father’s modest manufactured home came into view and she saw the legion of yellow ribbons tied everywhere, flitting in the cool breeze, and the huge banner that read Welcome Home, Leah, she couldn’t have stopped the tears if she tried.

  The number of cars told her this would be a party.

  Am I ready for that?

  Too late. The front door opened, and her dad stepped out, and right behind him was Clint Tanner. Leah thought her heart would stop. She flushed with pleasure; he was more handsome than she remembered. Strength fleeing, she quickly wiped her eyes with her palms. Could she really get out of the car and face him?
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br />   There was no choice—they were coming for her. If she didn’t get out, they would get her out. Swallowing, she opened the door. As she stepped outside the car, her father grabbed her in a tight embrace and the tears started anew.

  Then Clint was in front of her, and before she could think, he pulled her close in a hug. “So good to see you home,” he whispered in her ear, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine, the sound of his voice musical.

  “It’s good to be home,” she whispered back, relishing his strength and the scent of his aftershave. It was a moment alive with electricity, connection, bonding, and Leah felt no small sense of loss when it had to end and she was pulled away into a house filled with well-wishers and supporters.

  Her father led her through the house, where everyone wanted to greet her and say hello. She was conscious of Clint following, but in the small double-wide, with the large crowd of people, she lost him. Then there was food to eat, a toast from her father, and soon she was swimming in well-wishes.

  When she caught a glimpse of Clint again, he was talking to someone. She saw blonde hair and stepped forward to get a look at the profile. Jenna Blakely, Gretchen’s PI. They seemed very well acquainted. Something in Leah twisted, like the shank the day she was stabbed.

  They’ve been working together all these months, she realized. They’ve probably become friends, good friends.

  She turned away and gulped some punch. It was schoolgirl silly to think Clint had feelings for her. He was an anchor to reality for her, not the other way around. Time to toughen up, she thought. Clint and Jenna were a good match, better than Clint and someone who was now an ex-con.

  She felt like a deflated balloon, tired and all wrung out. What was here for her after all?

  CHAPTER 37

  Leah Radcliff winning a new trial had battered the city for months, and Clint knew that her exoneration would likely rock the city more. However, after the not-guilty verdict he was in no way prepared for just how hard the rocking would be. The verdict knocked Table Rock off of its very foundation. The decision turned the city and the PD upside down. Wilcox and Patterson had both applied for early retirement. Lieutenant Racer was fired. Interim chief TJ Haun spent more time at city hall than the PD as the council tried to strategize. The city was in full damage control mode. The question everyone was asking was not if Leah would sue, but for how much.

  The verdict had also affected his new task force. After the raid at Larkspur Farms, organization and deployment of TRuST was put on hold indefinitely, frustrating Clint to no end. Because of the resignations, the firings, and the nervousness in city hall, the powers that be wanted to adopt a wait-and-see attitude.

  The two Russians were freed on bail, and while ICE had placed a detainer on them, Oregon was a sanctuary state and the detainer was ignored. When they failed to show up for their arraignment and bench warrants were issued, he doubted they’d ever see them again. So instead of making plans to take down a multistate smuggling operation, Clint was back on day patrol as supervisor and free to watch the ripples of Leah’s exoneration roll through the city like a large-scale tsunami.

  As he dressed for his shift, Clint thought back to the welcome home party three days ago. It was one of the best days of his life, finally seeing Leah after months of just reading her letters and imagining what it would be like to have her back in his life. She looked thinner, somewhat more wary, but she was home and he hoped their relationship would progress. He felt that through the correspondence he knew her well, well enough to have developed strong feelings for her. The next step was face-to-face. One question did hang in his thoughts: How did she feel about him?

  He wished he’d had more time to talk to her that night, but there were so many well-wishers. Admittedly, he’d felt like a teenager facing his first crush—awkward. And she was tired. He could understand that; after all, a lot had happened in a few days. Clint could be patient and wait. He didn’t want her off-balance. He wanted her on a firm foundation when they finally had a face-to-face and he told her how he felt.

  He did wonder if she’d try to get her job back. She’d never said in any of her letters. It wouldn’t be easy. He remembered the weeks after the indictment. Things went sideways fast. Within the department, sides had formed. There were Leah believers and Brad believers. Tempers ran high at the PD. Flaws and all, Draper was a cop, a high-profile one, and he was dead. No one could understand him being abusive. Leah was a cop too, but why didn’t she say anything if he was hitting her?

  Being a cop was a double-edged sword. Most cops Clint knew hated to ask for help—especially from other cops. Needing help meant weakness, and most cops would not admit weakness. They were, after all, trained not to show weakness, to always be in control.

  Would Leah face hazing like Vicki had if she returned? He hoped not. He hoped the people he worked with realized that an organization like the Hangmen was the polar opposite of law enforcement—it was criminal.

  Cops were family; they watched each other’s backs. The idea that you could count on your brother in uniform was comforting in a world growing increasingly anti-police. Unfortunately, there were always rogue cops. Wilcox, Racer, and Patterson proved that. And sometimes, like in any family, there was dysfunctionality. Clint saw that here with the hero worship of Brad Draper and the refusal to believe he was flawed.

  Now, with several years of hindsight, among the rank and file at the PD there was an odd split. The guys still there who’d been tight with Draper grumbled, “He was a true hero, and she shot him in his underwear. She should still be in prison.” And some new officers who had not even been here when Brad was were putting him on a pedestal built from secondhand stories and exaggerations. But there were enough officers who’d been scandalized by the existence of the Hangmen and the number of rules and laws broken to get the first conviction to counteract that sentiment. It was anyone’s guess how many guys would boldly take Radcliff’s side.

  Clint fastened his keepers and closed his locker. As a believer, he knew things would work out for Leah, but he just didn’t know how . . . or how long it would take.

  “Sergeant Tanner?”

  Clint stiffened. He hadn’t heard the locker room door open and was surprised to look up and see two men in suits, men he didn’t know, regarding him.

  “Who are you?”

  They both held up IDs. FBI agents Falcon and Cross.

  “Do you have a minute to talk to us about your arrest of a few days ago?” Agent Cross asked. He was a younger man, with smooth dark skin and an unreadable expression. Falcon was older, white, with dark hair and a pockmarked face. Both men carried themselves like military veterans.

  Surprised this visit wasn’t about Leah, he said, “Sure, let me log on, and then we can go into the patrol office.” Clint advised dispatch that he was on duty but out in the office for a bit.

  “We would like to know if there is anything else you can tell us about the Russian nationals you arrested,” Cross said as Clint closed the office door.

  “Not really. It’s all in my report.”

  “You speak Russian?” Falcon asked.

  “Not well. I understand a lot more than I can speak. Never could get the accent right.”

  “Where’d you learn?”

  “Kyrgyzstan. I lived there for five years when I was a teen. My parents were . . . uh, are missionaries.” The two men exchanged glances, and for a second, Clint felt as if he were on the hot seat. “What’s going on? I do something wrong?”

  Falcon opened a folder that he held in his hand and pulled out a photo. “Have you ever seen this man?”

  Clint took the photo. It was a grainy surveillance photo of a large, bearded man wearing workman type clothing, reminding Clint of a uniform for a moving company in the valley. He studied the photo for a moment. The man was familiar but generic. Hundreds of men wore beards in the valley—he could be any one of them.

  He looked up to find both agents watching him. “I can’t say I know who this is, no
.”

  “The raid you attempted on the farmhouse—it didn’t go well, did it?” Cross asked.

  “No.” Clint tensed. “It didn’t. Somehow they were tipped off. Will you please tell me what this is all about?”

  “This man is Colin Hess. He’s a fugitive from justice, on our most wanted list. Ten years ago, he was an enforcer for the Russian Mafia. He murdered an undercover FBI agent, then fled.” Falcon put the photo back in his folder and continued. “He disappeared without a trace, and we believed he was smuggled out of the country. We were wrong.”

  Clint frowned. “And now you’re here looking for him? In Oregon?”

  Falcon nodded. “The trail in Jersey went cold immediately after Hess disappeared. Since then nothing—no credit card, no Social Security number. Your team processed a lot of fingerprints from the raid last week. Hess’s were all over the place.”

  “Whoa.” Clint tried to wrap his mind around this, wondering if that was why the Russians he’d arrested were in such a hurry to get to the phone.

  “Hess has obviously been here for a while. You must have someone in your department who is a pipeline to him, someone who has been protecting him all these years.” Cross stepped close. “We never believed he could disappear without help, so someone is helping him.”

  “Does he have connections here in the valley?” Clint asked.

  “None that we’ve found—yet. Hess shot our agent in the back of his head, then left a note for us, bragging that he’d never be caught. He’s a vicious criminal.” There was anger in Cross’s eyes. And accusation.

  Clint held his gaze. “It’s not me. I thought we ended a prolific smuggling operation a few days ago. I’m angry about being sold out. If there is a leak here, I’ll find it.”

  After a few seconds, Cross looked away.

  “Are the men I arrested connected to the Russian Mafia?” Clint asked.