A More Perfect Union

by Carsen Taite

  They stared at each other for what seemed like forever until Zoey broke the silence. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” Her face flushed and she rushed the words. “I shouldn’t have come back here with you.”

  Rook filled in the blank she’d left unsaid. They shouldn’t have kissed. She’d brought Zoey back here, partly because they needed to talk about the letter Mitchell had left, and partly because she had been worried about Zoey’s physical state after witnessing the scene at Mitchell’s house, but there was a completely separate part of her that had hoped they might fall back into the easy intimacy they’d shared before Julia called to tell her about Mitchell’s suicide.

  She’d been wrong to hope. Zoey’s anger was natural, and it was pretty clear she didn’t need Rook to hold her hand, but they still needed to talk about Mitchell’s letter, to debrief about exactly what Zoey had said to Mitchell yesterday that had prompted him to kill himself and leave his final words for a woman who’d only met him once.

  But Rook didn’t want to do any of that. She just wanted to hold Zoey and tell her everything was going to be all right. Not the way she comforted clients in trouble, but like a lover, soothing away the trouble of her partner. But Zoey would never fill that role, and she wasn’t even sure why she wanted her to.

  * * *

  Zoey fumbled to put the key in the lock and then waved at George as she walked inside her dark and empty house. On the drive over she wondered what he thought of her, spending so much time with his employer and in her personal space. Did he often drive women home from Rook’s townhouse, late in the evening or was she an exception to the rule? Rook had insisted that he drive her home and she’d been too tired to argue. Now that she was here, stepping over boxes, she wished she’d checked into a hotel for the night.

  The first thing she did was change clothes. Even though she hadn’t touched Mitchell’s body, she felt as though she reeked from the scene of his demise. She shuddered at the memory of his body on the ground, bits of brain splattered across the floor. Who commits such a gruesome act when they know their family will find them? He’d either been desperate, apathetic, or both.

  She walked into the kitchen and rummaged through boxes, looking for a glass and the one nice bottle of whiskey she kept around for special occasions. It didn’t measure up to anything Rook had in her fancy liquor cabinet, but then again she was merely a public servant, not a high-powered fixer paid big bucks to ensure outcomes.

  Okay, that was a little unfair. Rook had had opportunities she hadn’t and made choices that had never been available to her. Who was she to say that her life might have taken a very different path if she hadn’t relied on her connection to the service to get her out of Imperial, Texas, and the chains that bound her there.

  As if on cue, her phone rang. She pounced on it, but it wasn’t Rook. “Good evening, General Sharp. I was just about to call you,” she lied, projecting assurance into her voice.

  “Figured you would’ve called me a helluva lot earlier, Major.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. I—”

  “I don’t want to hear it tonight. Report to General Bloomfield’s office at oh seven hundred, sharp.”

  He clicked off the line before she could respond, and she was both relieved and frustrated at the call. Now she had all night to come up with a reason for not calling him from Mitchell’s house—something besides “Rook Daniels told me not to,” because that would go over like a ton of rocks.

  Resigned to a sleepless night, she dug through boxes until she found a juice glass, one of a mismatched set she’d collected over the years, and a bottle of eighteen-year-old Balvenie her last CO had purchased directly from the distillery on a family trip to Scotland. He’d given it to her on the occasion of her promotion to major and she’d rationed it over time. She poured the amber gold into a glass, doubling her usual dose. Was Rook enjoying a similar indulgence right about now, like the one they’d had before their kiss?

  The kiss. As she sipped her Scotch, she relived every detail of their touch, from the soft, yet forceful press of Rook’s lips against hers to the way she teased with her tongue. She’d wanted more and had been prepared to ignore the cautionary voice in her head warning against getting involved with Rook, but the call from Julia had waylaid her plans. Considering how the evening wound up, the interruption was a godsend, but in the moment, she’d felt robbed, and now she was missing the connection.

  The realization struck her. She’d lived her life with so little real connection to anyone else that the instant pull to Rook surprised her. Yet from the very moment she’d seen her at the airport, Zoey had been drawn to her. Cool, confident, effortlessly charming, Rook had won her from the start.

  What had changed? Rook was still the same person who’d thoughtfully arranged a personal tour of the monuments along with a private picnic in a beautiful park. Nothing about that night had seemed designed to impress, only to please. And tonight, even after her burst of anger at finding out Zoey had spoken with Mitchell without telling her, Rook had come around to comfort her after the shock of seeing her name mentioned in Mitchell’s suicide note.

  Maybe she was the jerk, not Rook. Maybe her lack of connection wasn’t a factor of time and place, but because she didn’t want to get too involved in the messiness of being a part of other people’s lives. If that was the case, Rook was better off without her. But the real question was, was she better off without Rook?

  All signs pointed to no.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next morning, Zoey found Lieutenant Louden lurking outside her office. “They’re waiting for you in General Bloomfield’s office.”

  Zoey held back a curse. She’d arrived an hour early, hoping to have a few minutes to make a list of bullet points about what she’d seen at Mitchell’s place before she had to face what was certain to be a dressing down. “How pissed off are they?”

  “Hard to tell. I heard loud voices, but I couldn’t make out if it was both of them or just one. Care to share what happened?”

  Zoey briefly considered whether the details of Mitchell’s death were something she should keep private, but decided Louden, in his capacity as Sharp’s assistant, would see every report that was filed anyway. “I guess you know by now, Colonel Mitchell committed suicide.” Louden nodded and she continued. “He came by to see me day before yesterday. He was pissed off and he tried to get me to agree to leave him out of our investigation.”

  “Ballsy.”

  “I guess,” Zoey said, although she thought desperate was a better descriptor. “He left a note for me in his study where he…you know…Anyway, it was very cryptic and I’m not sure what to make of it.”

  Louden nodded. “I’m sure you’ll sort it out. Do you have the note? I bet the general is going to want to see it.”

  “I left it at the scene.” She started to say with the men in suits and Rook’s team but then realized how that would sound to two generals who were used to running their own operations. The full extent of how much trouble she was in settled squarely on her shoulders. Not wanting Louden to witness her meltdown, she said, “I hate to say this, but do you mind showing me the way to Bloomfield’s office? I swear I’ll learn my way around at some point, but it’s only my first week and there’s been a lot going on.”

  The walk to Bloomfield’s office took about ten minutes—enough time for Zoey to sort through the events of the last two days. The volume of activity—the initial review of the case file, the trip to the White House, the interviews both here and at McNair, and her confrontation with Mitchell and his suicide—had been overwhelming even before she added the push and pull with Rook. She wondered what Rook was doing right now. Was she getting an earful from Julia about the status of the investigation? Had sharing the story of her brother’s death exposed emotions she’d preferred to have left buried? Did Rook regret their kiss or did the memory still linger, despite the brewing conflicts between them?

  “Come in,” Bloomfield barked when Louden rapped on his o
ffice door. With a look of sympathy, Louden peeled off and left her to enter the lion’s den on her own.

  Zoey drew in a breath and shoved all other thoughts to the corners of her mind where they belonged. “Good morning, General.”

  “Not as good as it could be,” he said. “Major, is there some reason you decided to traipse all over Colonel Mitchell’s house without contacting anyone in your chain of command?”

  Zoey stood in front of his desk and glanced around the room to see if she could get a boost from Sharp, but he was seated across the room with his arms folded over his chest and a blank expression. She had no desire to tell either of these men that she’d arrived at the scene with Rook, but she had to find a way to explain how she’d found out about the shooting and why she’d ceded authority to Rook once they’d arrived at Mitchell’s house.

  “I was told we were to work directly with the White House on anything related to this investigation.” She cast about for a tactful way to say what was on her mind. “Respectfully, sir, we should keep you out of this as much as possible to avoid even the appearance of impropriety.”

  “Are you telling me Mitchell is wrapped up in this stupid situation out of McNair?”

  “I have a feeling even answering that is a minefield you don’t want me to cross.”

  Bloomfield turned to Sharp. “You were right about this one. She doesn’t hesitate to speak her mind.”

  Zoey couldn’t quite tell from his tone whether he considered that a good thing, but she was beginning not to care. If they didn’t want her in this position, the solution was easy—send her back to Fort Bragg where she could work on arm wrestling her CO into assigning her another deployment. Of course that would probably mean her promotion would be stalled indefinitely. And they’d have to assign someone else to work with Rook Daniels or leave Dixon in charge. She was confident Rook would hate that, but would Rook miss her if she were reassigned?

  Ugh. What was she thinking? She’d never considered her career in terms of another person. One kiss and she was losing all sense of practicality. But it had been one very hot, addictive kiss.

  Zoey shook off the memory of Rook’s lips on hers and focused on the generals who held her future in their hands. “Respectfully, sirs, you put me in this position because I speak my mind. I’m as good as any other soldier when it comes to following orders, but when it comes to righting a wrong, I can’t help but speak out, and if that’s a problem, I’m not the right person for the job.”

  Bloomfield’s laugh was a loud roar. He punched Sharp in the arm and pointed at Zoey. “Oh, you’re the right person for the job. When this mess is all cleared up, I want there to be no doubt that every stone was turned to make sure I wasn’t involved in any wrongdoing. My son never should have gotten involved in this mess, but I’ll be damned if that boy is going to muck up my career when he can’t even handle his own, no matter how many opportunities are handed to him.” He raised his hands in the air. “That’s all I have to say on the subject. Go with General Sharp and talk about the rest out of my presence. Fair enough?”

  “Yes, sir.” Zoey saluted him and followed Sharp from the room. Despite the early hour, she spotted plenty of people in the halls and wondered how many of them had been called in to deal with a crisis of their own. Sharp walked briskly, without talking until they were back at his office. They passed Louden. Did he ever go home? He shot her an encouraging smile, and she filed it away for comfort as Sharp closed his office door behind them.

  “I heard Rook Daniels was at the scene,” he said without preamble. “Is that how you knew about Mitchell eating his gun?”

  “Yes, sir.” No sense lying since he probably already knew the answer. “She and I were going over interview notes when she got the call.” Partly true since they’d intended to do just that. She prayed he didn’t ask for more details, certain she wouldn’t be able to conceal her whirling mix of emotions where Rook was concerned.

  “Who called?”

  Again, she hesitated and felt silly for it. “Julia Scott from the White House.”

  “Tell me what you saw at Mitchell’s.”

  Zoey thought fast, but couldn’t come up with an excuse not to tell him what he likely already knew. She relayed the details in a sharp and concise manner. Mitchell’s wife and kids escorted from the house. No signs of foul play. Mitchell shot with his own gun.

  “Did he leave a note?”

  And just like that, her matter-of-fact recollection stalled. There was no practical reason not to tell him about the note, but it felt like a betrayal somehow. Mitchell had told her to trust no one, but he’d meant the people directly involved with the case. Right? Telling herself she just wanted to find out more details before mentioning the note, she settled on a half-truth. “The agents on scene were still investigating when we left. I’ve requested a full report of their findings.”

  “Agents? What agency? Were the DC Police there?”

  “I don’t know and no.” She dreaded saying the next part. “I assumed the agents at the scene were either FBI or Secret Service, but I don’t know for sure. It was pretty clear they’d been notified by the White House.” She stopped talking since all she had to offer were suppositions, and at this point Sharp was shaking his head.

  “I’m not telling you how to run this thing, but this is not a situation like Nine Tech. Innocent people aren’t getting ripped off. Some soldiers couldn’t be bothered to keep a lid on their libidos and they embarrassed the service. Not only that, but their stupidity could cost a good man from achieving a post that could benefit the mission of this administration and the Joint Chiefs. I think you know what needs to be done, so I’m leaving it to you to take care of things and get this wrapped up pronto. Are we clear?”

  They were as far from clear as they could possibly be, but Zoey knew she’d exhausted the tolerance of her commander and there was only one correct answer. “Yes, sir.”

  Louden stopped her on the way out of Sharp’s office. “Everything okay?”

  She looked back at Sharp’s door. “It will be. Did you ever get hold of Colonel Mitchell’s personnel file?”

  He shook his head. “No. It’s still showing restricted, and I’m pretty sure that’s not going to change anytime soon.”

  “Of course.” She should’ve known there would be a hold on the file until the circumstances regarding his death were officially certified. “Thanks for checking.” She started to walk away, but a thought popped into her head. “Do you happen to know if Colonel Mitchell was a Ranger?”

  Louden raised his eyebrows and she quickly added, “Strange question, I know. It’s just…” She faltered for a moment, not wanting to share the contents of the note with him when she hadn’t yet told Sharp. “I’d heard somewhere that he was and I may have had a friend who served with him.” Lame response, but it was all she could come up with on the fly.

  “I have no idea,” Louden said. “I didn’t know him, but maybe you could ask General Bloomfield’s son. He was enrolled in one of Mitchell’s classes at McNair.”

  Zoey filed that information away as she made her way back to her office. The reference to the US Army Ranger’s motto in Mitchell’s letter—Rangers lead the way—had been scratching at the edge of her mind since she’d read the words. It was such an odd way to sign off any kind of letter, let alone a final missive, and she wondered if Mitchell had been trying to send her some sort of message with those last words.

  She did plan to talk to Donny Bloomfield again, but she didn’t want to ask him questions about Mitchell’s suicide with Dixon sitting next to her. Sharp had said Dixon was assigned to help her find her way around, but that she was in charge. After her whirlwind start, she knew her way around well enough. It might be time to ditch Dixon and do the interviews with just Rook.

  No, not a good idea. She needed to figure out the meaning of Mitchell’s message on her own. She rummaged in her desk for a pen and paper to make some notes and she uncovered a business card. Major John “Jack” Riley, In
telligence. She remembered his words from her first day, which seemed so long ago. This place can be a little crazy to get used to when you’ve been out in the world. Understatement of the universe.

  Zoey stared at the phone and considered her options. Her first instinct was to call Rook and talk to her about what they should do next, but she couldn’t decide if she was letting desire eclipse duty. Rook didn’t trust the military, and Sharp had made it abundantly clear he didn’t trust Rook. Zoey glanced again at Jack’s card and, before she could change her mind, picked up the phone and dialed.

  * * *

  Rook started at the sound of a door opening, and it took her a moment to figure out she was in her office and she’d been fast asleep with her head on her desk.

  “You look like hell,” Lacy said as she shut the door behind her.

  “What time is it? And please tell me that’s coffee in your hand.”

  “It’s eight a.m. and this is indeed coffee. I’ll give it to you if you tell me why you worked here all night.”

  “I didn’t work all night,” Rook said, reaching for the mug. “I just got here very early.”

  “Are you doing solo work on the side?”

  Rook had the good sense to look sheepish. She’d worked hard to foster a team approach on the cases that came into the firm, but aside from calling them out to Mitchell’s house last night, she hadn’t shared much on this one. “I guess it’s time to have a meeting.”

  “Already on it. Drink your coffee and take a shower. They’ll be in the conference room in thirty minutes.” Lacy shut the door behind her when she left, and Rook reached for the coffee. It would have to do double duty today because she was exhausted. She’d spent the balance of the night after Zoey left sorting through everything she knew about the McNair case, including the preliminary findings from Mitchell’s house, but so far she hadn’t been able to make sense of Mitchell’s death. It was time to brainstorm, and there was no better group to do it with than her team.