Intentional Acts

by Melissa F. Miller

  She sighed.

  He handed her another cup of herbal tea. “Here, drink this.”

  She shot him a black look but sipped the hot tisane. “I’m glad you guys got here when you did.”

  “Yeah, me, too. It’s been a while since I’ve had to save your butt.”

  “A while? Try ever. Including tonight. I knocked him out, before you and Hank got here, remember? And I came to before he did. I had everything under control … ish.”

  He grinned and joined her on the couch. “Scooch over. So, what should we do to pass the time until morning?” he asked, dropping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her snug against his side to the cat’s extreme displeasure.

  “Are you serious about staying up all night?”

  “Yes.”

  She eyed him. “We could play Scrabble. Sorta?”

  “Sorta Scrabble?”

  “You know how Hank took Wheaton’s papers when he left?”

  “Yes.”

  “I might have made copies.”

  “You don’t say. Might you also have stashed them in the gun safe?”

  She looked at him wide-eyed for a moment, then she realized. “You put your guns back, didn’t you?”

  “I did. And I found these.” He leaned forward and lifted their wedding album from the coffee table. He’d smoothed out the crumpled sheets and placed them under the heavy book in an effort to flatten them.

  “If you get the scrabble board and a pen, we can finish decoding them.”

  “You cracked it?”

  “Yep.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  She laughed at his disbelief. Then she winced. Laughing, it turned out, gave her a searing pain in her temple.

  “Why didn’t you tell Hank?”

  “Mainly because I was unconscious.”

  “Okay, fair point.”

  She reached for his hand. “But, also, because I meant what I said. My client made a promise to Essiah Wheaton that his identity wouldn’t be revealed. She broke that promise because of something the NCTC did. His blood is on their hands. And I want to know what was so important.”

  “To satisfy your curiosity?”

  “Sure.” She turned to face him. “And to see if his widow has grounds to sue the government.”

  He dropped her hand like it was a dirty diaper. “Sasha, you can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I work for the government, remember?”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  He exhaled through his nose. “I was ordered to kill him.”

  “Who? Essiah Wheaton?”

  “Yes.”

  She gasped.

  “You know I didn’t, but that was my assignment. How long do you think it would take for that to come out if you sued the NCTC?”

  A flash of heat rushed through her body, and she felt herself flush. “Are you telling me I can’t do what’s in my client’s best interest—or Sheila Anne Johnson’s?” Her voice shook with anger.

  “No, I’m asking you to consider what’s in my—our—best interest.”

  She stared down at her hands.

  After several long moments passed in silence, he stood and cleared his throat.

  “I’m going to go get the Scrabble board. You’re right. We might as well work out the code.”

  “Fine,” she said dully.

  She leaned her head back against the pillows and closed her eyes.

  40

  Three days later

  Ingrid shook her head as she read over the unredacted report. Connelly and Richardson had brought the Heritage Brotherhood to its knees. With the documents Essiah Wheaton had squirreled away, the Department of Justice had enough evidence to charge Fletcher Lee Holden with an array of felonies dating back to 2004. The names and details provided in Wheaton’s cache of documents would also go a long way to shutting down a larger network of gun runners, money launderers, and assorted dirtbags.

  In addition, Marcus Seton had snapped up a cooperation deal offered by the prosecutors and agreed to testify that Holden ordered the murder of Essiah Wheaton and Chuck Price carried out the order by strangling the man. Seton was also facing charges for the attack on Connelly’s wife.

  Under ordinary circumstances, the resolution would be a big win for her and her team. She should be giving Richardson and Connelly commendations and kudos.

  But these weren’t ordinary circumstances. Complicating factors were at play. She rubbed her temple. The two men watched her without expression, waiting.

  She cleared her throat. “You’ve done good work, there’s no question.”

  “But?” Richardson prompted.

  “But we’ve got a problem. Two, actually.” She jabbed a finger in the air, aiming at Connelly’s chest. “One, you disregarded an order.”

  “You’re talking about the order to kill Wheaton?”

  “To neutralize Wheaton.”

  To his credit, he didn’t react to her semantic nonsense.

  “Ingrid—” Hank began.

  “Don’t bother. I read the background. The algorithm misidentified him. He wasn’t a member of the Heritage Brotherhood. They used his banking credentials without his knowledge. None of that matters. The instruction was to take care of him. You didn’t.”

  “But the information he compiled about the Heritage Brotherhood is what’s going to bring them down. He was one of the good guys.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she repeated.

  Richardson’s left eyebrow quirked up almost imperceptibly.

  Connelly jutted out his jaw. “Respectfully, that’s on me, ma’am. Not Agent Richardson. I disobeyed the order, not him.”

  “That’s not how this works and you know it. He’s your supervisor. It’s on both of you.” She picked up a slim folder from her desk and flipped it open. “I’ve prepared letters of censure for your files.”

  She studied them for a moment. Richardson’s nostrils flared. A muscle in Connelly’s left cheek twitched. Otherwise, they both managed to suppress their anger admirably.

  She felt vaguely dirty about what she was about to say next, but it had to be done.

  “The second problem is your wife, Agent Connelly, and her insistence on dragging the NCTC into a civil lawsuit. But I think I’ve come up with a solution.”

  “Is that so?” Richardson said neutrally. He cut his eyes toward Connelly as if to say ‘let me handle this.’

  “Yes. If Agent Connelly can persuade her to drop the complaint against the contractor and, of course, end her crusade against the NCTC, these letters will end up in my shredder and not in your personnel files.”

  She thought she saw a ghost of a smile flit across Richardson’s face.

  Connelly actually laughed. “You obviously don’t know my wife. The idea that I might hold sway over Sasha’s professional decision-making process is so wrong it’s hilarious. In fact, if I told her to drop her complaint, it would virtually guarantee she pursued it.”

  “Still, you can try to convince her.”

  “He’s not kidding. Sasha McCandless-Connelly is five feet of fury fueled by dogged stubbornness, Ingrid. If Leo tried to get her to drop that case the only thing that would happen is he’d be sleeping on the couch.”

  Leo nodded. “That’s true. But I want to be very clear. Even if I could talk her into dismissing her complaint and giving up the idea of going after the NCTC, I wouldn’t. I’m not going to interfere with her work to advance agency goals. Not now, not ever.” He gave her a cool, level look. “And if you ever ask me again, you won’t have the chance to censure me, because I’ll be gone.”

  She stared back at him. “You might want to reconsider that position.”

  He turned away from her and bobbed his head at Richardson. “I’m sorry to taint your record with this crap, Hank.”

  Richardson dismissed the apology with a short head shake. “Leo, do I look like I give a rat’s behind about a censure letter? I’ll just add it to my collection.”

  “Jo
ke all you want, but I’m obviously not cut out for this position.” He removed his department-issued weapon from his shoulder holster, popped out the magazine, and placed both on Ingrid’s desk. Then he tossed his old U.S. Marshal identification on the surface as well.

  He turned on his heel and strode out of the office.

  She waited a beat then picked up his weapon and credentials and handed them to Richardson. “I had to make the offer. The director insisted.”

  “But you knew he’d never go for it, right?”

  “I wasn’t sure, to be honest. But if he had, I’d have transferred him to another position. I don’t have room for disloyalty on my team. Go find him, tell him what a cold, miserable bitch I am, and convince him to stay. You know you need him.”

  Richardson grinned at her. “I wouldn’t say cold. More like fiery. You and Sasha are two of a kind.”

  She laughed. “Bite your tongue. For such a tiny person, she’s turned into the largest interagency pain in the ass that I’ve had to deal with in a long time. You better hurry if you want to catch him before he leaves the building.”

  She waved her hand to shoo him out of her office. He walked out laughing under his breath.

  She waited until the door closed behind him then fed the contents of the folder into her shredder.

  Leo was in the lobby when he heard footsteps approaching from behind. He turned to see Hank hurrying toward him.

  “Save your breath, Hank. It’s not negotiable. I’m not going to tell Sasha how to practice law.”

  “Hold your fire. I’m not here to talk you into anything.”

  “Oh. Okay, good.”

  Hank handed him his gun and identification card. “Here. Put these away.”

  He stared at his boss for several seconds. “Did you not hear anything I said?”

  “Seriously, holster that thing. You’re in the middle of an office building.”

  Leo shoved the weapon in his holster and slipped the ID into his wallet. “I don’t understand.”

  “Contrary to what Sasha may think, nobody—not the director, not Ingrid, and certainly not me—thinks that national security goals are best accomplished by automatons who follow orders to the letter. We’re facing mind-blowingly evil enemies, who’ve proved to be endlessly creative in their schemes. We can’t fight that with yes men. We need agents with the courage to take risks worth taking, the willingness to admit when policy or protocol is wrong, and the integrity to do the right thing when faced with a departmental blind spot. You’ve got that, in spades. You’ve also got one helluva feisty wife, but that’s not my problem, thank the good Lord.”

  Leo cracked a grin. He extended his hand. Hank shook it.

  “Thanks, man.”

  Hank waved the thanks away.

  “No, I mean it. I’m honored to work with you. But I have to run. There’s something I need to take care of.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To find my feisty wife and convince her to forgive me.”

  41

  He found her on the playground.

  She was standing behind the swing set, positioned between two swings. The twins swung back and forth in an alternating rhythm. As Finn flew up, Fiona came back. She pushed Fiona’s swing with her left hand, and Finn’s with her right.

  He stood and watched from under a shady elm tree for a moment. The kids were laughing, open-mouthed, their heads thrown back. Sasha smiled at their shrieks of joy, but even from this distance, he saw tight worry lines creasing her forehead. Lines he’d put there.

  He blew out his breath in a long, slow whoosh and headed across the rubberized surface.

  He grasped the seat of Finn’s swing and held it above his head until Finn squealed and shouted, then he released the swing and ducked underneath it. He circled around and repeated the process with Fiona, who was already chortling in anticipation. Then he came to stand beside his wife.

  “Hi.”

  Sasha cut her green eyes toward him. “Hi. You realize you’re going to be playing Underdog with them for the next eleventy-two hours, right?”

  He managed a grin. “I couldn’t think of any way I’d rather spend eleventy-two hours.”

  She smiled and returned her gaze to the swings.

  “I’m sorry I kept you in the dark. I didn’t have a choice.”

  She arched an eyebrow and twisted her lips into a skeptical bow but said nothing. She didn’t need to. It was written all over her face: You always have a choice.

  He cleared his throat and tried again. “That’s not true. I did have a choice, and I intentionally chose not to tell you I’d been ordered to kill an American civilian as part of a domestic terrorism cleanup. It would’ve been treason to share that information.”

  “I know. And it would have been a violation of the rules of professional responsibility to tell you my client was considering whether to sue the NCTC. So here we are, living with the consequences of our actions.” Her voice was flat.

  “I told Ingrid and Hank I wouldn’t pressure you about it. You have to represent your client’s interest here. I get it.”

  She turned and searched his face. “Do you? Even if it means Hank and Ingrid won’t protect you for failing to carry out an order? You could lose your job.”

  “I don’t care.”

  She shot him a disbelieving look.

  “I don’t,” he insisted. “I told them they could fire me and prosecute me, but I refuse to interfere with your work.”

  “And?”

  “And Hank returned my weapon and identification and told me they appreciate independent thinking.” He shrugged. “But it wouldn’t have mattered if he hadn’t. I meant what I said.”

  She laughed softly. “It’s like an O. Henry story.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She reached out and pushed Finn’s swing. He mirrored the action with Fiona’s. The longer the dynamic duo was occupied by swaying back and forth in the bucket swings, the longer he and his wife would have to hash things out between them.

  “I mean, DoGiveThrive has decided to settle with Sentinel Solution Systems and Asher Morgan. A drawn-out lawsuit would be a distraction from their charitable mission. And they can do a lot of good with three quarters of a million dollars. It was just too tempting for Gella to pass up.”

  “I see.”

  She went on. “And I referred Sheila Anne Johnson to Mickey Collins’ office—there are too many potential conflicts for me to represent her against the NCTC. She might have claims against Gella’s company, for one thing. And it would complicate things between you and me, for another.”

  “Are you okay with that?”

  “I trust Mickey to represent her with zeal. And I know he won’t back down when the Justice Department starts throwing its weight around.”

  “That’s doesn’t answer my question.”

  “My client’s satisfied. Sheila Anne is satisfied. It’s not about me.”

  “What about us?” He sucked in a breath and waited for her answer.

  What about us?

  The words hit her like a kidney punch. She bit her lip and glanced down.

  It seemed like a simple enough question. And, Sasha supposed, the question was simple. The answer? Not so much.

  After a long moment, she lifted her eyes to meet Connelly’s. “You’re my husband. Their father.” She gestured toward the twins. “That’s more important than any of the rest of this.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  She held his gaze. “I am. Are you?”

  He didn’t answer her question but asked one of his own. “Did you think, even for a second, that I might have killed Essiah Wheaton?”

  There was no point in lying. “Yes.”

  He blanched.

  “But only for a second,” she rushed to clarify. “I know you, Leo. You’re not an assassin.”

  He shook his head, lost in a private thought. “I could have. If the dossier had been stronger—if he’d actually been a domestic terroris
t … I swore an oath ….”

  She placed her hand on his forearm and pitched her voice low so the kids wouldn’t pick up any of their conversation. “But you didn’t. You searched your conscience, and you let it guide you. Whether you can live with the chance you might face this question again is for you to figure out. That’s about your work, it’s not about us.”

  He covered her hand with his. “But it is about us. What if, one day, I decide someone does deserve to die without the benefit of due process? Then your husband—their father—will be an assassin. What then?”

  She couldn’t answer that for him. She shook her head. “I don’t know, Connelly. It’s like we always tell the kids, actions have consequences. If you go down that path, I guess we’ll deal with the fallout when it happens.”

  It was an unsatisfying response, and she knew it. This wasn’t the equivalent to painting the dog blue or eating all your sibling’s strawberries. But his hypothetical was a question for him, not for her.

  He tipped his head back for a moment and scanned the cloudless blue sky.

  When he returned his eyes to hers, they were a steely gray.

  “I’m not sure I can live with that.”

  Her mouth curved into a small smile. “Well, there is another option. You could just quit. If your unscheduled field trip taught me anything, it’s that you’re a far better homemaker than I am.”

  He mirrored her smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I thought we already knew that. And the idea does have a lot of appeal. But ….”

  “But I doubt that being a full-time stay-at-home dad would satisfy your need to protect and serve.”

  He shrugged. “Executing American citizens doesn’t exactly satisfy that need, either.”

  She studied him. “So, don’t do it. You’ve already drawn a line in the sand, and Ingrid and Hank backed down. And, don’t forget, you did do something in the furtherance of national security. Fletcher Lee Holden and his merry band of lunatics won’t be running guns or targeting politicians anymore.”

  “Not to nitpick, but you did that.”