Incriminating Evidence

by Rachel Grant

  But the politician had glommed on to the story of the sister so determined to prove Raptor was negligent in her brother’s death, she was willing to risk her life to force an investigation. Norm Stimson, a congressman from Maryland, seized the opportunity and pushed for closure of the compound while safety procedures were checked. After all, he’d argued, if an unarmed fool of a woman could infiltrate a live-fire training exercise, so could ISIS or al Qaida militants who wanted to know exactly what Alec Ravissant was teaching American soldiers about how to fight terrorist groups.

  She wanted Alec to know she didn’t have a death wish. He’d called her crazy this morning, and it had bothered her. A lot. “I didn’t know you had live-fire trainings and I didn’t know I was down range during such a drill.”

  “I’d wondered,” he said. “Especially after meeting you, seeing how well prepared you are for the wilderness. It didn’t mesh with the conventional wisdom—that you were determined to martyr yourself for your cause.” He frowned. “For national security reasons, we keep a pretty tight lid on the types of training we do here, which is why it isn’t commonly known we have live-fire zones.”

  “Was live fire part of Vin’s last training?”

  “No. Vin took off during a straight survival training.”

  She stiffened and reached for the car door. “Vin didn’t simply ‘take off,’ and I thought you were ready to believe that.”

  He put out a hand to stop her. “Poor choice of words. For the last year, I’ve believed that’s exactly what happened, and my brain hasn’t caught up and changed verbs yet. I’m sorry.”

  She met his gaze. He looked sincere, but what did she know of Alec Ravissant and his expressions? She settled back in her seat; the rain had lightened to a sprinkling mist, but she still didn’t want to walk in it.

  He put the car in gear, and they continued down the road. “I met your brother, you know.”

  She nodded. She knew all about Vin’s meeting with the tiger king.

  “Will you tell me about him?”

  She glanced at his handsome profile. She wanted to say no. She wanted to shut him out. To not give him a piece of Vin to hold on to, because he’d refused her all those months ago when she’d first reached out to him. Yet, he was here now, asking the questions she’d wanted all along. “You didn’t come to his funeral.”

  “I regret only three things in my life. Not attending your brother’s funeral is one of them.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “What are the other two?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then tell me why you didn’t show.”

  He tapped the steering wheel and focused on the road in a way that made her think he wasn’t going to answer. Finally he said, “The campaign had only just started. I didn’t plan to run. But then, no one expected the Maryland Senate seat to be up for grabs. Everyone figured the woman who’d filled Talon’s open seat would run again when the term expired.” He paused. “Basically, I was roped into running before I’d even decided if running for the Senate was what I wanted to do. I was stupid and listened to the advisor my father hired, and my attorney, rather than my own gut.” He paused again, this time meeting her gaze. “I should have been there to pay my respects to a fine soldier, who never should have died.”

  They turned off the perimeter road and onto the narrow dirt track that would eventually meet up with the road to her cabin. She’d rented the cabin when she first moved to Alaska because it was adjacent to the compound. That it was isolated in the middle of the most beautiful wilderness on earth had been a bonus.

  “You like it out here?” Alec asked.

  “Yes. For now.” But she’d been here for nearly ten months. The nomad in her was ready to move again.

  He pulled up in front of her carport—empty thanks to her truck being in the impound lot. “I’m working on getting your truck back for you. It will be a few days.”

  She should probably say thank you, but it was his fault she didn’t have her truck to begin with, so instead she just nodded.

  Alec gazed at her small log cabin, then glanced around. To one side, evening sun broke through the clouds and glinted on the solar panels on the roof. To the other, a faint rainbow arced across the meadow. “If you put this place on a postcard, people would think it was too picturesque to be real.”

  She smiled. The late summer wildflowers were in full bloom across the meadow, and even in the light rain, a pair of caribou had settled down in the tall grass, their large, fuzzy antlers giving away their position. Caribou were terrible at hide-and-seek.

  She grabbed her backpack from the backseat and climbed out of the car.

  “No power lines?” Alec asked, following her to the front door.

  “No. Completely off the grid. The solar panels provide limited power for Wi-Fi, my computer, things that must run on electricity, but the big stuff—refrigerator, range, furnace, water heater, washer, and dryer—those are all gas powered. Even the light fixtures are gas.”

  It had taken some getting used to—electricity as a luxury item—but she’d come to appreciate the quiet and lack of lights on appliances that broke the darkness. Before she’d moved to Alaska, even her toaster oven had had a clock and red glowing light. Now she used the camping toaster rack on the gas cooktop if she wanted crisp bread.

  Chores took longer, but the trees were too tall for a satellite dish, so she had no TV. It wasn’t like she was in a hurry to finish washing the dishes so she could sit on the couch and do nothing. Instead she listened to audiobooks from the library on her battery-powered CD player as she did chores. Her life was solitary but busy, and at least one night a week, she found herself in the Tamarack Roadhouse, because even she could have too much solitary.

  Inside her cabin, while she lit the gaslights, Alec circled the small living room, stopping in front of the mantel, where a picture of Vin and her had pride of place. He wore his Army dress uniform, with his arm draped around her shoulder. To even the casual observer it would be clear they were siblings—he had the same green eyes, obnoxious orange hair, curls, and freckles—although his military buzz meant he lacked the curls in that snapshot.

  Growing up, more than one person had tagged them Raggedy Ann and Andy—they’d both hated the comparison—but at least with a four-year age difference, they’d been far enough apart in school that it hadn’t been a big issue.

  “I’d like to read the emails he sent you,” Alec said. “The ones about Raptor.”

  She nodded. “They’re on the computer. Let me shower, then I’ll pull them up for you.”

  “I could read them while you shower. It would save time.”

  She frowned at him. Did she really want to give him access to her computer while she was in the shower? There were at least a dozen files that contained incriminating evidence—her notes and map database detailing her forays onto Raptor property searching for Vin’s cave—that he could use against her.

  But surely, if he believed her, he’d understand why she’d repeatedly violated the restraining order. And letting him read the emails would be the key to convincing him.

  She could skip the shower and go over everything with him now. But she felt rancid after hiking for an entire day, hauling him, fighting him, sleeping on a rotting wood floor, hiking to Westover’s patrol car—in handcuffs no less—then spending the day in a jail cell. Add to that getting rained on. She was chilled and damp, even though Alec had turned up the heat in the car.

  She wanted a shower so badly, she could cry.

  And she really didn’t want him to wonder why she was reluctant to leave him alone with her computer.

  She sighed and set her laptop on the coffee table. “They’re all in the mail directory called ‘Vincent.’ Do you want a drink or anything while I clean up?”

  “No. I’m fine. Take your time.”

  She nodded and left him alone with her computer, well aware that if he peeked in other files, he’d have everything he needed to send her right back to jail.


  Chapter Eight

  Alec watched her leave, fully aware she’d been reluctant to give him access to her computer. He couldn’t really blame her, but at the same time, he was curious if it was a generic discomfort or if there was something specific that put the worry lines between her brows.

  He rubbed his own forehead. The pain had faded hours ago, and the swelling around his eye was almost gone. He was stupidly eager to see her after she’d showered. With her hair no longer confined to a wilting braid, he’d at last find out if her hair was as curly as he suspected.

  He was an idiot for even wondering. He shouldn’t give a crap what she looked like, and he certainly shouldn’t give a damn about what she thought of him. But he did. And it wasn’t for any good reason. In fact, it was for the worst reason he could imagine.

  Put simply, he wanted her in a very raw, coarse, and basic sort of way.

  But there was nothing simple about wanting Isabel. His campaign manager would freak, for starters. She’d insisted he not date at all until after the election. They didn’t need the extra scrutiny. Carey was cautious and hated surprises, but she was a damn fine campaign manager, so Alec put up with her edicts.

  Isabel was Carey’s worst nightmare—she’d already derailed the campaign once when she got his opponent to demand an inspection of the safety procedures of all the trainings conducted on the compound. Now Isabel was under suspicion of having abducted Alec—which was completely his fault—and for violating the restraining order—also his fault—he had obtained to protect her from her own foolishness. When the press got the full story, unless he’d untangled Isabel’s legal problems, he’d look like an ungrateful ass. Which, if he remembered correctly, was exactly what Isabel had called him.

  She would wreak havoc with his campaign, but he wanted her anyway. A sure sign he’d been a fool to give in to his dad’s pressure to run for office. He wasn’t cut out for playing by any rules except the rules of engagement in warfare.

  He dropped onto the couch, clicked on the mail directory, and found the subfolder she’d indicated. He scrolled to the bottom of the email list, looking at the dates. Vincent Dawson had emailed his sister regularly when he was in the Army, and then more frequently after he left the service fifteen months ago. Alec opened a few emails from Vincent’s last months in the Army, finally finding one the soldier had sent when he’d visited the Alaska compound for specialized combat training sixteen months ago.

  Izzy,

  In all my years in the military, this is the most intense training I’ve ever attended. I could swear, sometimes, when we’re deep in the woods, it feels like I’m in Afghanistan. It’s hard to describe because the landscape is different, but the woods are just as freaking cold. Mountains are mountains. And I don’t know how they do it, but damn if some of the houses in the simulated village don’t smell like that shithole place. I think they pump in the smell to mess with our minds.

  Some of the newbies are so damn jumpy, as if they really believe the Taliban is in the foothills, ready to blow us away. Thank God we don’t have live rounds—a rookie shot me today when we ran an Afghan military trainee/traitor scenario. He thought I was the enemy.

  Alec Ravissant is one cool dude. Since I was dead, my team had to recover my body. Surreal, let me tell you. But after my body was safely returned to the field HQ, I got to hang with Rav in the control booth and watch my team continue to screw up.

  Everyone calls the control booth God’s Eye, because there are about a hundred monitors that show the action in the training areas. You can see everything—it’s like something out of a futuristic movie.

  Rav said I’d been doing a good job—until I got dead—and asked why I never applied for Ranger school. I told him I had a bratty little sister who would have freaked if I did. I told him how I’d been your guardian since you were fourteen, and that you’re all grown up and working on your PhD but are still a handful and I won’t stop worrying about you until I marry you off.

  I don’t know if you’ve heard of Alec Ravissant (Rav to the troops), but he’s like, legendary. He’s apparently from some snotty, rich family back east. Dude went to Harvard. He’s got like a genius IQ and was being groomed for politics. When he was twenty-one, he’d been accepted at Harvard Law, but he ditched it and joined the Army. His family tried to pull strings to keep him out of combat. His response was to apply for Ranger school. He served with the Rangers for years, deployed on lots of special ops missions. After he left the service, he bought Raptor with pocket change.

  Knowing the guy is rich, smart, and can hold his own in a firefight, I asked Rav if he was in the market for a wife. He laughed and said he had enough on his plate and couldn’t handle the troublemaker I’d described. Sorry, sis. I tried. But then he surprised me by asking if I was planning to reenlist. He said he liked the way I worked with the soldiers, and—holy shit—he offered me a job.

  I’m stunned. I’ve always figured I’d be a career enlisted man. Without college, what else am I good for? I know. I know. You’ve nagged me about the GI bill often enough—but I don’t want to go back to school. Shit. Can you see me in a classroom full of nineteen-year-olds? After two tours of duty in Iraq and three in Afghanistan, I don’t think I could handle being in a classroom again. Honestly, I don’t understand how you put up with the academic bullshit.

  I’m thinking about the offer. I like Rav and the work Raptor is doing now that he’s running the place—although I have to admit, some of the training is a bit too damn real. Everything here is done to simulate the real thing, to trick us into panic mode, so those who shut down will learn how to pull out of it. It’s scary and intense, but valuable, especially for the kids fresh out of boot camp who’ve never seen combat.

  I hope the meeting with your shithead advisor went well and your dissertation flies through all the hoops they throw at you. I can’t wait to start calling you Doc Izzy.

  Love,

  Vin

  P.S. Email me a photo of you. If I end up dead in God’s Eye again with Rav, I’ll check email and make sure he sees your picture. If I have to, I could throw myself on a dummy grenade... I’m looking out for you, Sis.

  Alec couldn’t help but smile. If Vin had flashed Isabel’s picture his way, he wondered if he’d have asked for her number. Maybe. Probably. Superficial, sure, but also, Alec remembered the pride in Sergeant Vincent Dawson’s voice as he described his little sister. Alec had been intrigued.

  Vin had told Alec how he became Isabel’s guardian. He’d been a freshman in college and Isabel a freshman in high school when their parents died in a car accident. With no other family to turn to, Isabel would have gone into foster care, but eighteen-year-old Vin dropped out of school and joined the Army so he could support her.

  It was no wonder the two had been fiercely close, and Vin was especially proud that his brilliant little sister was just a year away from obtaining her PhD in archaeology.

  Except she didn’t have a PhD. As far as Alec knew, she’d dropped out of the program when Vin died. He suspected her decision had more to do with her crusade against Raptor than a change of academic plans, which made Alec’s skin crawl with shame. He’d let Vincent Dawson down in a way that would have mattered to the soldier very much.

  He shook his head. He was supposed to be reading Vin’s emails about Raptor, looking for hints as to what had happened to him and connections to what had happened to Alec yesterday, not looking for insight into the soldier’s little sister’s psyche.

  He knew the basic timeline of Vin’s last months. Two months after sending Isabel that email, Vin received an honorable discharge from the Army and started the job for Raptor less than a week later—Alec had paid him a huge bonus for starting so quickly, because between purging the roster of employees loyal to Robert Beck and having Apex, a rival private security company, headhunting his best operatives, he’d been dangerously short-staffed at the Alaska compound.

  Vin’s first emails after moving to the compound were as expected
. He shared his sister’s love of the outdoors and described Tamarack and the surrounding taiga forest in detail only another avid hiker would appreciate.

  The fourth email—sent about a month after Vin moved to the compound—held the first hint that things weren’t perfect in his new northern home.

  Izzy,

  Sorry I haven’t emailed in a while. I was down with a nasty bug. I’m fine now—nearly 100%—or I wouldn’t tell you about this at all, because I know how you worry.

  The bug was bad, knocked me on my ass for a few days. I don’t know if I’ve ever been so sick. I was out in the woods, hiking on my day off, when it hit me. Explosive pain in my head. Nausea. I passed out—I think I was only out for a few seconds, but it scared the shit out of me. I thought I was going to die.

  I finally got the strength to get up and walk. It took me three hours, but I made it back to the compound. Went straight to the infirmary. They ran a gazillion tests—checking for stroke or anything else that can explain it—but came up with nothing. Doc thinks it was a virus. He’s warned me not to go hiking alone anymore.

  I wish you’d come visit. You’d love the hikes, and I could use the company. No one here is into hiking, and I just reach a point where I’ll go crazy inside the compound. I need to get out. The simulated settings are just too much like a war zone for me I guess. The noise, the smell, the intensity.

  I need to hike to escape it.

  I know what you’re thinking—PTSD. I’m dealing with it, I promise. Rav made it a condition of employment—all vets see a shrink who drives up from Fairbanks twice a month whether we show signs of PTSD or not. Some of the guys resent the hell out of it. Others give lip service to hating it, but I think are secretly glad it’s required. I’m probably one of those, but don’t tell anyone.

  Also, the shrink is kinda hot. It’s a shame she’s all loaded down with no-dating-patients ethics.