by Debra Webb
She couldn’t tear her eyes away from that slim gray envelope. “Why don’t you do what’s necessary with the information?”
He shook his head. “This is for family. I’m just the messenger.”
Frankie sucked in a breath. He couldn’t mean what those words implied. She’d learned that her mother’s testimony had come into play during her father’s trial, though Frankie had never understood why it hadn’t helped. Sophia refused to discuss the matter, which left Frankie with more questions than answers at every turn.
“From where I’m sitting I’d say you got that stubbornness and tenacity from your dad,” John said, urging her on in his quiet way.
Frankie covered the envelope with her hand, pulling it closer to her side of the table. Either she hadn’t been as discreet as she should have been or John had the depth of access that went with the cloak-and-dagger routine. She thought of the inquiries she’d made after her father’s funeral. All of them had turned into frustrating dead ends. Hope surged through her that this key would unlock the secrets about General Leone’s final missions overseas.
She peered into the envelope before tucking it into her pocket. Taking it didn’t mean she had to do anything about it. She studied John’s inscrutable face. “How can I reach you?”
“You can’t.” His gaze moved systematically around the coffee shop. “My being here, even for a few hours, puts you in jeopardy. This has to be our only communication.”
She gave a short nod as her mind reeled. This man was the first person who showed any sign of agreeing with her about her father’s innocence.
John pulled out his wallet and tossed a ten-dollar bill onto the table. “You don’t have to go and you don’t have to be in a hurry,” he said. “In fact, I recommend you take some time and think it through. What’s inside the box isn’t going anywhere.”
She knew she had to go. She couldn’t ignore this opportunity. A flight to Arizona was nothing in the bigger picture. Her family had imploded under the treason accusation. Knowing her father had died disgraced and alone, Frankie still felt an ache in her heart. If there was any information that would cast a light of truth into those dark final days and clear his name, she meant to find it. “I’ll go.” As soon as she could arrange a few days off work.
Getting to Tucson was the easy part of the equation. There was no way to tell what would come next until she’d seen the contents of the box for herself. After the last lead dried up a few months ago, she’d been less aggressive in her private inquiry, resigned that she might never learn who’d set up her dad. Cautiously pushing hope aside, she considered that this meeting and the trip to open a safe-deposit box could be nothing more than an elaborate ruse or distraction, though she didn’t know who would gain by such a tactic.
“What you discover could make things worse,” John warned.
“Thanks,” she whispered, stunned by the dramatic shift her morning had taken. The key in its envelope felt like a stick of old dynamite in her pocket, shaky, volatile and ready to blow her life apart without any notice. “Unless you have more insight, I guess I’ll figure that out when I get there.”
“Whatever you decide, be careful.” He slid to the edge of the booth. “The people who took down your dad have a long reach and violent habits.”
She resisted the urge to try to enlist his help. He’d clearly done all he was going to do. “I can take care of myself.” She’d trained hard to earn her place as a cultural liaison with the navy SEALs. Her well-honed skills and habit of excellence hadn’t been affected by the back injury that wrecked her military career.
“I hope so.” He stood up. “Your dad always wanted the best for you.”
Frankie believed that was true. She watched her father’s mysterious friend leave, disappointed when he walked out of view. She’d hoped to catch him getting into a car. Staring into the tea cooling in her cup, she weighed the pros and cons of each possible next step. Did the cons even matter? Every decision in life came with a price; every option held some risk.
Her gaze shifted to the window and the bustling activity on the street outside. She had a new career as a crime analyst. She enjoyed it. Her life was stable and she gained satisfaction in the work and being involved with the community. And she knew herself well enough to know that part of her fulfillment came from finding justice for victims.
The whole truth wouldn’t bring her father back, but it could open the door for justice and potentially restore his reputation. He’d served honorably and deserved to be remembered for the way he’d protected national interests, as well as the soldiers under his command.
She pulled out her phone and researched flight options. By the time she got back to the office, she had her explanation ready and a realistic idea of the days off she would need to run down this lead.
Tucson, Arizona
Friday, April 8, 8:40 a.m.
FRANKIE CHECKED OUT of her hotel room and left the cool lobby for the warm sunshine of the Arizona springtime. Her boss had waved away her vague explanation of a family crisis and granted her time off through the end of next week. It helped that Frankie could do much of her work long-distance if necessary. She’d gotten on a plane last night. Waiting for morning had proved one of the hardest things she’d done in a while.
Hailing a cab, she gave the driver the bank address as her mind raced yet another lap around the same tired circuit that had plagued her since she left the diner yesterday. Every time she reviewed what she’d learned since her father’s death, the timing of the charges and the sequence of events, she bumped smack into her mother’s uncharacteristic behavior and apathy. Her mom was hiding something; Frankie just couldn’t guess what or why. Hopefully, whatever her father had stashed in this safe-deposit box would take her a step closer to the truth.
Sophia, as a military analyst for the CIA, had the clearance access and professional connections to support the general’s defense. At the very least, she should’ve given Frankie a better explanation for how things had spiraled out of control. Her injury and recovery weren’t a reliable excuse any longer. Neither was the nonsense about Frankie’s career being negatively impacted by her father’s misdeeds.
He was innocent. Whatever had happened during those last few months in Afghanistan, Frankie knew her father hadn’t betrayed his oath to his country, and she meant to prove it.
It was a relief when the cab stopped and she had to think about paying the fare. Taking her suitcase and the backpack serving as her laptop bag and purse, she headed inside the bank, then paused to look around. She didn’t know why her dad had chosen this facility. They’d never lived on the nearby post, though she was sure both her parents had been here at one time or another, since Fort Huachuca was home to the Army Intelligence Center.
Frankie offered a polite smile as she showed her key and requested access to the safe-deposit box. Her palms were damp as she followed the teller toward the vault, the wheels of her suitcase rattling over the marble floor. When both keys had been inserted into the respective locks, the teller pulled out the slim drawer and walked toward a small alcove.
“Just draw the curtain back when you’re done,” she said. “And we’ll replace the box for you.”
“Got it. Thanks,” Frankie said as the woman walked away.
She stared at the closed safe-deposit box on the table, her feet rooted in place. Now she had second thoughts. Her dad had left her something here, something he hadn’t trusted to her mom’s care. The truth of her father’s downfall could very well be inside. Frankie had come this far; she had to see it through. One step, then another, and she rested her trembling fingers on the cool metal box. John’s warning echoed in her head. She believed with every beat of her heart that her father had been a scapegoat. Whoever had gone to those lengths to avoid the consequences obviously didn’t want to be exposed.
If she looked inside, there would be no go
ing back, no way to undo whatever she learned. Holding back or walking away—those weren’t valid options, either. Not for Frankie.
“Don’t have to like it, just have to do it.” She whispered one of the favorite motivators from her SEAL training as she opened the box. She didn’t have to act on it; she just had to know.
An envelope marked Top Secret was no surprise, though surely the evidence against her father should rate a higher clearance level. Under the envelope she found a flash drive, half a map and two passports. Slipping the drive into her pocket, she discovered both passports had her mother’s picture beside different names and birth dates.
Assuming John had gathered the evidence in this box on her father’s behalf, Frankie wondered how he’d gotten the passports away from her mom. Seduction or burglary? A small voice in her head suggested this field trip was a setup, and Frankie’s temper flared in bitter denial. John was a wild card, definitely, but she would not leap to any conclusions until she’d exhausted every lead.
Frankie tamped down her frustration. The attention an outburst would bring was the last thing she needed here. She tucked the fake passports into her backpack and kept going.
A smaller envelope held her father’s dog tags, and her heart stuttered in her chest. She looped the cool metal chain around her fingers. When she was little, her dad had often let her wear his tags when she played dress up with his boots and uniforms. If she’d had any doubts about John’s claims, the dog tags dispelled them. With care, she poured the tags and chain back into the envelope and added it to her backpack. Only one item remained, a small jewelry box covered in worn black velvet.
Her fingers curled back into her palm. That box didn’t belong here. Her father had kept it on top of his dresser in the bedroom. The ring inside came out only for official functions.
Frankie popped open the lid, praying she was wrong, that this was something else. It wasn’t. She bit her lip, staring down at her father’s class ring from West Point. Snapping the box shut, she pressed it close to her heart, as if somehow that would make everything that had gone wrong right again.
This ring was central to her image of her dad, of the honor, dedication and commitment he’d given to every endeavor. She opened the box again, smoothing her finger over the heavy gold band. All her life she’d watched him, captivated by the stories he told as he polished it for special occasions. She’d caught him once just holding it, dazed, when he returned from a deployment. Her mother had told her later that one of his classmates had died.
When had he stored it here and why? Frankie couldn’t think of a single answer to either question. “I’ll figure it out, Dad. I promise,” she murmured, sliding the ring box into a zippered inner pocket of the backpack.
Finally, she unwound the red string tying the large envelope closed and shook out the papers inside. After-action reports were on top. She skimmed each page, noting the details that weren’t blacked out. The dates and locations matched what she already knew of General Leone’s final months in Afghanistan.
She forgot everything else when she found the transcript of her mother’s statement about his activities in Afghanistan. Icy dread tickled the nape of Frankie’s neck and she steeled herself against the involuntary shiver. Sophia Leone had created a report that didn’t support her husband at all. She’d tossed him under the proverbial bus.
What the hell? Her parents had always been a team. From Frankie’s first memory they’d been affectionate and happy, devoted to each other. They’d embraced life, taught her everything she valued about being in love and being loving. They’d exemplified respect, support and drive as they went after their individual and mutual goals together.
How could Sophia turn on him?
Frankie blinked back a red haze of fury as she read the cold, sterile statements that tied her father to criminal actions. Fumed over the implications that he’d sabotaged missions for personal gain. The report did nothing to corroborate General Leone’s account of critical operations. Good grief, in light of this statement, no other verdict than guilty had been possible.
Frankie pulled out the band holding her hair in a bun and worked her fingers over her scalp. At least she understood why her mother had refused to discuss any of this. Frankie wound her hair back up into place as she read the terrible statement again.
Two dates stood out to her, dates when she knew her father had been at the Bagram Airfield, when her mother stated he’d been in Kabul. She checked her watch, wishing she had time to boot up her computer and check the flash drive here. Now that she had a lead, she was eager to chase it down. With any luck the drive would have more details she could assess and pull into a cohesive case against her mother. No wonder her dad had killed himself. Someone had set him up so well with the treason charge that even his wife had turned on him.
“And I was useless,” Frankie whispered to herself. During his trial she’d been stuck in a hospital bed while surgeons debated the best treatment for her spine injury.
She fisted the papers in her hands as something inside her shattered. John had warned her and he’d been right. Appalling as this was, the answers gave her a target. Sophia owed her more than another weak evasion. Frankie had asked her mother point-blank about the allegations and charges against her dad, and the answer had been to trust the legal process and keep believing in him.
Frankie had obediently complied and the process had failed her father. Along with a helpful boost from her mother, apparently. Even after the verdict, her mom had insisted things would work out, that her father wasn’t done fighting. Now it was obvious those assurances had merely been more lies and platitudes to cover Sophia’s part in the witch hunt.
Why? Who gained? Her mother had put the life insurance and other assets into a trust for Frankie, and turned her attention to a new private security business out in Seattle, Washington.
After stuffing the papers back into the envelope, Frankie secured the tie, suddenly uncertain. Was it safer to leave the evidence here or take it with her?
John had given her one key. Typically, safe-deposit boxes were issued with two. He’d told her that his visit, brief and cryptic as it was, put her at risk. She hadn’t done anything to hide her travel plans, so if someone were watching, whoever it was could easily conclude she’d been here. She decided to take everything and create a new hiding place.
John must have gathered the legal and personal items on her dad’s orders. Frank would’ve known his daughter would never buy in to the treason charges. He wanted her to clear his name—Frankie felt it like a flame deep in her heart. If he believed in her to do that, why kill himself?
Confused and hurt, she couldn’t quite see the next step beyond leaving Arizona. Her gut instinct was to fly out to Seattle and confront her mother. Just the thought had Frankie braced for a battle. Showing up in a fit of anger wouldn’t help. Her mom was far too composed, too deft at sliding around the truth for a direct attack.
There was no way Frankie could do this until she calmed down, planned it out. She needed to go through the flash drive and it would be smart to get a second opinion on the documents, just in case John was playing her.
She thought about the dog tags and the West Point ring as she rubbed her knuckles across the scars and tight muscles at her back. If that was the case, she had to give him points for knowing his target.
“Think, Frankie.” There were always options. Her military training had changed her way of thinking. As a SEAL she’d embraced the clever and creative strategies required for a small force to succeed when outnumbered by a larger, better equipped opponent.
She smiled as she made her decision. It was time to visit another friend of her father’s. A friend, unlike John, she could be sure of, based on her personal experience. After the safe-deposit box went back into the vault, she booked herself on the next available flight to Chicago.
Victoria Colby-Camp could h
elp her.
Chapter Three
Chicago, 5:30 p.m.
Frankie had fond memories of visiting with “Aunt Victoria,” though it was an honorary title. Somewhere in a box she had yet to unpack in Savannah, there was a framed photo of her with Victoria at a Fourth of July barbecue. When news of her father’s suicide flooded the media, Victoria had been one of the few people who’d sent her a sympathy card.
The evidence of her mother’s betrayal burned through her system as Frankie sat in Victoria’s reception area. She wanted advice on how to proceed. Sophia couldn’t be allowed to get away with this.
Frankie shifted in the chair. It was a nice enough piece of furniture, for someone who hadn’t spent too many hours on airplanes recently. She needed to take a break to stretch and let her back recover, but she had no time to waste. All the physical therapy in the world couldn’t change the simple fact that she wouldn’t rest easy until this was over.
The receptionist stationed outside Victoria’s office directed Frankie to the coffee service, and she had barely declined when Victoria opened her office door. Frankie smiled. The woman still looked as regal as she remembered. Though her dark hair was now streaked with gray, Victoria remained beautiful.
“Frankie, what a pleasure to see you again.” She crossed the room and gave her a warm hug. “It’s been far too long. How are you feeling?”
“Fit as ever, though the navy docs didn’t clear me for active duty.”
“That’s frustrating,” Victoria said, guiding her into the office and closing the door behind them. “Have a seat and tell me how things are going. I hear you joined the Savannah Police Department.”
Frankie smiled. “As an analyst,” she replied, though she was sure Victoria knew that, as well. It would’ve been more surprising if Victoria hadn’t checked into her background. “It’s good work and I enjoy it.”
