Honor

by Janet Dailey

  He heard her stuff the papers back into the hutch and the sound of a cardboard box being dragged out. It landed with a thump.

  “Here it is,” she said. She kept the box flaps parted and looked down into it. “There’s the SKC logo right on the cover. Should I open it? Does it matter if I get my fingerprints on it?”

  “Hard to say. Mike Warren isn’t going to return it right away.”

  She looked at him quizzically. “How do you know that?”

  “Because this is a stalking case and that’s a company computer and he has to check it. I think the police know how to do a little hacking.”

  “But not at your level,” she said.

  “Well, no,” he conceded.

  They exchanged a glance. She got to her feet and lifted up the box. “Let’s fire it up and see what you can find out.”

  Linc used paper to lift the laptop up at a diagonal, keeping it in the box and looking underneath. “There’s the cord.” He stopped.

  “Um, I think Christine keeps rubber gloves under the kitchen sink.”

  He went to look and returned with a pair of hot pink, nubbly-fingered dishwashing gloves. “Better than nothing.” He drew them on one by one, stretching the rubber thinly over his large hands. “Actually, they’re not too bad. Not really my color, though.”

  “How come you’re so careful about not getting your prints on things?”

  He smiled as he flipped the laptop open. It was a solid machine, sheathed in matte black metal. “Sometimes it’s not a good idea. They’re not on record or anything. I’d like to keep it that way.”

  Linc pushed a button and it started up. He took out the gizmo on his keychain and hummed as it did its thing, watching the changing screen.

  “Lot of firewalls,” he commented. “Nothing special, though.” His tone was casual but his mind had switched into high gear. A giant military supplier wouldn’t let a laptop just walk out the door.

  Icons began to pop onto the screen. Documents with titles enlarged themselves as he stacked them like index cards, alphabetically.

  “Looks routine so far. Purchase orders, spec sheets, production runs.”

  “Is it classified?”

  “Not seeing the big black stamp.”

  “What about Christine’s work e-mails?”

  “Stored on SKC servers.” He sometimes forgot that Kenzie didn’t spend her workdays staring into a screen like everyone else. “But she did save some, I just caught a glimpse of that file. Hang on—I want to look at these.”

  He meant the alphabetized documents.

  Kenzie waited while he flipped through them. “And ... R. S. T. U. V. And ... X. Y. Z. That’s all.”

  “Wait a minute. Go back to X. Put that one on top.”

  Linc tapped.

  Kenzie studied the document, not reading it but looking at the title. “X-Ultra. That’s what Randy was talking about. I didn’t know SKC owned the brand.”

  She went to get her purse, searching for the brochures she’d forgotten to give to Mike Warren, opening two before she said, “Bingo. New product. There’s the logo.”

  Linc glanced at it and enlarged the document even more. “It’s not on here. This is just text and half of a schematic. Care to enlighten me?”

  She seemed as baffled as he was. “Frank Branigan was wearing X-Ultra body armor when he was shot. Randy said it failed.”

  Interesting. And noted as an open circle on an important intersection of his mental grid. “Why?”

  “She didn’t know. Some of the other medics in country confirmed other instances in the last few months. X-Ultra is a new product.” Kenzie stopped talking for a minute. “I think Frank was wearing it in a photo he posted. I thought there was something different about it.”

  “You’ll have to show it to me. Not on this computer.”

  She gave a brief nod. “Randy said the armor apparently does work sometimes. Just not all the time. Which means—”

  “Bad design. Shoddy testing. A couple of extra dead soldiers here and there. But who’s counting?” he asked grimly.

  Kenzie took a step back from the laptop. The room was growing darker and they hadn’t turned on any lights. It glowed, emitting a faint hum.

  “She wanted me to help her find out why.”

  “And why you and not someone else?”

  “Because she thought I knew Frank better than I did.” Kenzie looked up at him with troubled green eyes. “And it seems that Donna sort of recommended me, if that’s the right word. I got the feeling no one knows the whole story, but Randy seemed sure of what she was saying. She’s keeping her head down, though.”

  “So should you.” He turned the laptop on its side, looking at the bottom.

  “Mind if I ask what you’re looking for?”

  “Location transmitter.” He investigated the plastic feet. “Not in these, but there could be one inside the case. I’m going to make sure.”

  Turning the laptop right side up again, he tapped into a program stored on the gizmo and started a bug scan. “Nothing,” he said a few minutes later. “SKC must really trust Christine. Or else they’re just lazy about security.”

  Kenzie began to pace, then stopped when she came to the window, peering out through the gap between the side edge of the curtain and the frame. She turned to look at Linc. “Just checking. It’s getting to be a habit.”

  “Good. We still don’t know what he looks like.”

  They exchanged a long look. “Christine does,” she said after a while.

  “Don’t be too sure of that,” Linc pointed out. “She may never remember who hit her or anything else about the accident.”

  “What if she knew him before it happened? Christine and I were super close, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t have a few secrets.”

  She was finally thinking in shades of gray. Linc suppressed a smile. It didn’t come naturally to her.

  “That was always a possibility, and he could work at SKC. But keep in mind that the X-Ultra problem isn’t necessarily linked to what happened to her.”

  “I wonder if Frank contacted her on that.”

  “He wasn’t a whistleblower, he was a soldier—lived by it, died by it. Sounds like only a few medics were aware of problems with the armor.”

  “I don’t think it’s a coincidence,” she said with a trace of heat.

  “One way or another, we have to have proof.”

  He clicked out of the files and shut the laptop down, removing the gizmo from the USB port and reattaching it to his key ring. “You can carry it to the car. I’d have to keep the gloves on, and I don’t want to be conspicuous.”

  He began to peel them off.

  “Are you going to keep it?” she asked.

  “For now.”

  “But what about—”

  “The lieutenant can wait. It’ll take me several days to copy and analyze everything on it—files, drives, hidden stuff.”

  “Is that legal?”

  He went into the kitchen to put the gloves back.

  “SKC doesn’t know where it is and Mike Warren doesn’t have to know,” Linc said when he came back.

  “What if he asks me about it?”

  “Stall. Say you couldn’t find it. He can’t confirm that. The Corellis have a lot of other things to worry about, and he’s not going to ask them to retrieve it.”

  “So he asked us. On behalf of Melvin Brody, who is not a nice guy,” she warned him.

  “Warren is making nice. He has to go to SKC to question her coworkers—that’s routine. Returning this thing would give him a reason to be there.”

  “Just so long as it gets returned, Linc.” Kenzie hoisted the box.

  He only shrugged.

  “Tell me one thing. Are you going to hack into SKC servers with this?”

  “It’s an option.”

  “You could go to jail for that.”

  He smiled. “They would have to catch me.”

  “And that would never happen,” she said with a dash
of scorn.

  “I don’t make too many mistakes, Kenzie.”

  “Sometimes I wish you would,” she sighed. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “Where are you headed?”

  “Back to Hamill’s,” she answered curtly. “I have to talk to Norm and Carol. Then I’m going to grab Beebee and go for a long walk.”

  “Is that smart?”

  “I can’t stay cooped up. I’m going nuts as it is. He’s good protection. Don’t forget that I trained him.”

  “Right. You mentioned it.” He looked around the empty apartment. “Are we done here?”

  “I hope so,” Kenzie said, heading for the door with the box cradled in her arms.

  CHAPTER 9

  A week later ...

  Linc heard a vehicle pull into the parking lot of the motel and waited for the sound of a car door opening and closing.

  Nothing.

  Mildly curious—and bored with wading through the technical files on the SKC laptop—he got up for a stretch and moved to the side of the window to look out without being seen himself.

  A sport ute. Vaguely familiar.

  He was surprised to see Mike Warren finally get out and head for the motel office.

  No call, no contact. Why was he here?

  He picked up the phone by the unmade bed when it rang.

  “Hello,” said the woman at the front desk. “There’s someone here to see you. Mike Warren.”

  “I’ll be right down.” Linc didn’t feel like inviting the lieutenant in or cleaning up. He looked at himself in the mirror and frowned. He had a habit of running a hand into his hair when he was concentrating hard, which made it spike. Right now he resembled a pissed-off cockatoo.

  Linc couldn’t find a comb. No time to shave.

  The room was too warm and he hadn’t added anything to the jeans he’d thrown on first thing. He was bare-chested and barefooted. He grabbed yesterday’s polo shirt and yanked it over his head, then located his sneakers.

  Good enough. The process of making himself presentable was irritating. Even though he’d been forcing himself to keep reading the endless files, he still didn’t like being interrupted.

  Warren turned as Linc came into the lobby area. “There you are,” he said pleasantly.

  No apology for showing up unannounced. Linc didn’t extend a hand for a shake. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing much. Just wanted to talk.”

  The woman behind the desk got busy with whatever it was she’d been doing.

  Linc nodded toward the door. “We can go somewhere.”

  “Lead the way.”

  Out in the parking lot, the lieutenant stopped by his SUV.

  “Let’s take my car,” Linc said. No way was he going to get into an unmarked. He had no idea why Mike Warren had showed up out of the blue, but it wasn’t a social call.

  “No problem.”

  Something about the lieutenant’s manner was different. He couldn’t put his finger on it.

  “Mind if I ask why you’re staying here?” he asked.

  “It’s cheap. And it’s reasonably close to Kenzie’s apartment.”

  Warren nodded. “Quieter than it used to be. We raided this place a couple of times last year. Still keeping an eye on it.”

  Gary Baum had been truthful.

  “And you happened to see my car, so you just stopped by,” Linc said.

  “Not quite. I’ll explain.”

  Linc unlocked the car and they both got in, making small talk as he drove to a park by a river, one that he’d scoped out several days ago. Not too many people and it had exercise structures and a running track—he’d hit it a few times to blow off steam and get some exercise.

  The frustration of the task he’d assigned himself had been getting to him. So far, the SKC laptop didn’t seem to hold any secrets, and the clogged hard drive was excruciatingly slow.

  He glanced into the rearview mirror, not seeing anything that bothered him. There had been nothing from the stalker since the roses.

  “How’s Kenzie?” the lieutenant asked.

  “Fine. She spends a lot of time with Christine,” Linc replied.

  “I understand from Mrs. Corelli that she’s improving.”

  “So I hear.” Kenzie had kept him posted on that.

  He pulled into a parking space and indicated a bench under a willow tree.

  It was right by the river, per training that had long ago turned into reflex. Electronic eavesdropping would be tough for anyone listening in, though not impossible.

  The lieutenant matched him stride for stride as they walked to the bench.

  “Nice day,” he said affably.

  “Yeah,” Linc replied, irked by the other man’s seeming assumption that he had nothing to do. But then, he couldn’t explain to Warren that he had been dissecting the SKC laptop and was getting nowhere.

  They sat down and watched the river flow for an idle minute.

  “Guess you’re wondering why I wanted to see you,” the lieutenant said.

  “A little, yeah.” Linc didn’t bother to ask how Warren had gotten his address.

  “I realized last time we talked that I didn’t know your last name.”

  “That would be because I never mentioned it.”

  The other man chuckled. “Right. And I didn’t want to ask the Corellis. So, I, uh, ran your plates.”

  That was why he’d walked them to the hospital parking lot.

  “I was curious. No offense, but in this type of case you cover all your bases.”

  Linc knew what was coming. He folded his arms over his chest, listening more to the birds in the willow tree than to the lieutenant.

  “I got the basic screen. Full name, address, date of birth. You’re an organ donor. After that, nada. Level Five block. Access to subject information restricted.”

  Linc sighed.

  “That’s federal, isn’t it?” The lieutenant looked over at him. “But not the FBI. Those guys comb their hair. You with the agency? The army?”

  “Want me to lie?”

  “No, of course not.” Mike Warren seemed awfully pleased with himself. “I did get your last name. Nice to meet a real Bannon.”

  Linc braced himself, prepared to field irrelevant questions about his brother RJ and the Montgomery case, but the lieutenant seemed inclined to stop while he was ahead.

  “Look, I know your connection to Kenzie is personal. But that doesn’t mean you have nothing to contribute. Going forward, if you can help, it would be just between you and me. Totally off the record.”

  Linc knew what Mike Warren was getting at. Different databases, different protocols. Not a lot of sharing. The lieutenant was way out of his league, but he had the guts to ask. Linc respected that.

  “Happy to,” he replied. “But there are limits.”

  “I understand.” Mike Warren got up and looked toward Linc’s car. “Okay. I have to get back to the station. I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

  “Sorting socks.”

  The lieutenant grinned. “My apologies for the interruption.”

  “Christine ... look at me,” Kenzie said gently.

  The dark-haired girl rolled her head on the pillow. She concentrated on focusing, mostly on Kenzie’s face.

  “Hey,” Kenzie said with a smile. Christine responded with a soft sound. “Do you want to see more pictures?”

  A nod.

  It seemed to Kenzie that they were making progress—it had been six days. They were halfway through the photos Christine’s mother had had printed from one of the CDs. Looking at them seemed to make Christine happy. But she tired easily and sometimes cried.

  Mrs. Corelli held up another. It was the photo of the two young women out for a day on the water, paddling toward whoever was taking the picture.

  “What do you see?” Kenzie asked.

  Christine studied the picture, her lips moving without a sound. Her eyes brightened as she suddenly answered. “You. Me.”

&nbs
p; Mrs. Corelli’s eyes widened over the top of the photo. “Very good. That’s right.”

  Kenzie wanted to shout, pump her first in the air. Real words—the first Christine had spoken since they’d started.

  Dr. Asher had told them not to expect much at the beginning. But he’d been all for it. In less than a week, Christine had improved enough in other ways to leave the ICU soon and transfer to a neurological rehab center.

  Recovery from brain trauma was a complex process that involved the help of many. Basics first.

  With the help of a physical therapist, Christine had managed to get out of bed and find her balance. Then she’d taken a couple of wobbly steps before sitting back down, exhausted but triumphant.

  Kenzie had watched, desperately wanting to help, not knowing enough to do it right until her next try on the following day. Slowing down to Christine’s pace made Kenzie stumble sometimes. Mrs. Corelli was a lot better at it.

  The number of steps increased each day. The therapist explained that walking was critical to avoid muscular contracture. They’d taken turns massaging her legs before those first steps.

  Fine motor control was aided by allowing her to feed herself when the nutritional IV was removed from her arm. They improvised and they figured things out. Small chunks of cheese beat pudding when it came to getting a grip. Liquids—milk, juice—really did find their own level. Spoons flipped like acrobats and landed on the floor. But Christine was getting the hang of it, little by little.

  The mental exercise of image and word recognition was by no means the easiest of all.

  Mrs. Corelli was still holding the photo so her daughter could see it. Kenzie looked at Christine, who’d sat up straighter, leaning forward.

  “Canoe,” she said suddenly. The word came out a little garbled.

  “Yes.” Kenzie fought to keep from bawling. “That is definitely a canoe. And you and me. On the river a year ago. We can go again.”

  Mrs. Corelli put down the photo and took her daughter’s hand. “You are amazing, do you know that?”

  Christine yawned, her eyes half-closed. Her mother and Kenzie had to smile. A few seconds later, the nurse came in, glancing at the chart and making a note on it.

  “Hello, everybody. How are we doing today?”