Sloan laughed. He seemed so bemused by his own observation, as if he was joking yet half believed it, she couldn’t help herself. The one Sloan likes... Her uncle’s words echoed in her head. Yes. Yes, she did like him. A lot. Too much. He was a cop, a man who put his life at risk on a regular basis, and that was not a place she was willing to go again.
Chapter 18
Brett noticed she hadn’t asked about the part of that sign back there that said weapons were also prohibited.
“Hopefully,” she said, as they kept after the dog, “since we’re saving them a search, they’ll forgive him.”
“And us.”
“Doesn’t your badge usually keep you out of trouble?”
“Less often than it gets me in.”
She gave him an odd look, almost troubled. As if the kind of trouble a cop could get into bothered her.
He caught glimpses of the lake as they went. It was quiet, peaceful and soothing. He should have made it out here before this, he thought. He’d been to the coast a few times after he’d first moved here, during storm season when the weather and the wildness matched his mood, but after he’d settled in, work had taken over.
Cutter, still several yards ahead of them, was clearly set on the trail to the falls. The dog didn’t even bother to look back at them.
“We’re headed back toward the highway,” he said after another few moments.
“Yes,” Sloan answered. “There’s a tunnel. You should be able to see it right...about...now.”
The narrow arched tunnel, formed by an intricately stacked swath of stones, passed just a few feet beneath the highway. Cutter was already, unhesitatingly, out the other side before they reached it.
The trail was well maintained and fairly level, and as the trees got thicker, some draped with moss, others with alien-looking exposed roots, it went from cool to chilly. But soon the thick canopy of trees showed a benefit: although it was still raining, and there were muddy spots along the trail, only a few of the drops made it all the way to the forest floor. Which was helpful, since he wasn’t exactly dressed for this outing. He was glad that after he’d moved here, he’d given up dress shoes for something a little more rugged, with lug soles, but his suit coat and pants weren’t very helpful in the chill.
Cutter never wavered, even when another trail would split off to one side. Brett wouldn’t have minded, had the circumstances been different, taking it slower, appreciating the cool, mossy quiet. But Cutter was a dog on a mission, and he didn’t want to lose sight of him. Given the wildlife that abounded, he was regretting not having put the dog on a leash. But he seemed uninterested—even the deer that darted away at his approach earned barely a glance.
“I’ve never seen a dog totally ignore other animals like that,” she said.
“He’s pretty focused,” Brett agreed.
“Are you sure he isn’t a runaway military canine or police dog or something?”
“The thought has occurred, since he acts like he’s been trained. They’re not really sure, since they don’t know where he came from.”
She wasn’t, he noticed, even breathing hard, despite the fast pace they had to maintain to keep the dog in view. He wondered what she did to stay in shape. Because she was certainly that.
And the less he thought about her shape, the better, he told himself.
They reached the creek that Brett supposed was the source of the waterfall. A sturdy bridge that looked fairly new made for a quick crossing. Cutter didn’t hesitate there either. The trail then curved and they came to an older bridge with rough-hewn wood railings and one big log split in half and laid flat-side up for the path itself. The sides were much more open, and Brett frowned until he realized Cutter was paying it no more attention than anything else. Definitely a dog on a mission.
Not far past the second bridge, the trail split.
“That’s the loop,” Sloan said. “It circles back and comes out here.”
He nodded, keeping his eyes on Cutter, who had taken the left fork without pausing. They followed. It soon got rather steep, and Brett noticed the uptick in his heart rate and breathing.
“Four flights’ worth,” she said as they started the steps.
He let her take the lead as it became too narrow for them to walk side by side. He caught glimpses of the waterfall a couple of times as the trail curved around the side of the ravine. Nice, he thought. He’d like to come here under other circumstances.
With Sloan?
He slapped that idea down as soon as it hit. Focus, he ordered himself.
They came to the steps she’d told him about before and started up. Cutter was running now and quickly got out of sight. Before he could speak, Sloan had picked up the pace, trotting up the steps ahead of him. And damn him if he didn’t enjoy the view; she was obviously in great shape.
And there he was again, his mind skittering off into places it had no business going.
She stopped suddenly just before the top. He nearly ran into her and grabbed her to steady them both. And denied to himself that he could have just as easily grabbed the railing.
Did he imagine there was a split second before she spoke, an instant where she sucked in her breath at his touch?
She sucked in her breath because she just ran up about four flights of stairs, idiot.
“He’s here. Or someone is. You should go first.”
He agreed. If it was Rick, which seemed highly likely, better he see a friend than a stranger just now. There was only one problem. For him to go first, he was going to have to get past Sloan. And on this narrow trail there was only one way to do that. Squeeze past her.
He opened his mouth to tell her to take a few more steps into the viewing area, where it was wider. The words never came.
“Brett?” she whispered.
“Yeah. Right.”
He started to ease past her. Felt the warmth of her, heat, really, in this chill. Wanted nothing more than to stop where he was and feel more. To lean into her, to feel the length of her.
She looked up at him, and he realized with a jolt that only the confusion in her eyes was keeping him from kissing her. He’d thought about kissing other women. But it had been more of an idle musing on what it would be like to really want to again.
Now he knew.
Rick. He needed to get to him. Now.
He made himself leave her. He barely gave the tall, picturesque waterfall a glance as he reached the viewing area, a fairly wide spot with a high railing. Rick wasn’t over there, at least, contemplating the long drop. He was sitting on a downed log several feet back from the edge. Cutter seemed to realize in this case he should stay back. But he was sitting between Rick and the edge, Brett noticed. Somehow he doubted that was accidental.
Rick was dressed in a heavy jacket, a thick knit hat and hiking boots much better suited to this trail than his own clothes. A pair of gloves were beside him on the log. So he’d prepared, to some extent. But his shoulders were slumped, his head down, as if he hadn’t even noticed the dog, as if not even the beauty around him could lighten his mental state. He looked as if he’d aged ten years since Brett had last seen him. His hair beneath the cap looked lank, lifeless. He looked thinner. And Brett was suddenly very glad they’d come.
“Rick,” he said quietly.
The man jerked around, clearly startled. His brow furrowed. “Brett? What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.”
Rick blinked. “You came all the way here and hiked that trail looking for me?”
“Been worried, buddy.”
For a moment the man looked puzzled. Then realization dawned in his troubled eyes. “You know.”
“Yeah.” He left it at that, hoping Rick would just feel the need to talk. He didn’t want to have to coax it out of him. And after a moment of hesitatio
n it came.
“I didn’t do it. I’d never steal. What good would a couple hundred bucks do me anyway?”
“A couple hundred bucks from where?”
“The cash box in the office.”
“Didn’t even know there was one.”
“They keep it there because sometimes people come in with cash to pay for copies, permits and things, and we need change.”
“And somebody stole from it?”
“Not me!”
“I know, Rick. I’d sooner believe you could fly off this mountain.”
Rick’s eyes widened, and there was no mistaking the relief in them. Brett had seen it before, that expression, that look as if he’d gotten a reprieve. Sometimes just being believed was enough to turn the tide.
“Let’s get out of here. You need to get warm, and so do I.”
“I—”
“Come on. You’ve already been out here long enough. Let’s figure out what we’re going to do about all this.”
That was what it took, that lifeline, that pronouncement that he wasn’t alone. Rick closed his eyes for a moment, his relief palpable now.
“I am cold,” he admitted, opening his eyes once more. “I’ve been just driving around for a couple of days. Sleeping in the car. Then I came here yesterday.” He looked around. “Caro and I came here the day before she left for college. It’s one of her favorite places. I was...trying to decide how to tell her.”
“She’ll just be glad you’re all right. She’s been worried, too.”
Rick looked startled. “She knows?”
“Only that you dropped off the map. You’re officially missing.”
Rick lowered his gaze to the ground again.
“You’ve got people who care, Rick. You should have called me.”
“I thought about it.”
“Next time don’t think. Do it.”
Rick let out a long breath, then nodded. Cutter sensed the change. He got up, crossed to Rick, who looked at him warily.
“When did you get a dog?”
“Didn’t. Dogsitting,” he said.
“Oh. I—” He broke off as Cutter nudged his hand, then stepped closer and rested his chin on the man’s leg. Slowly, as if underwater, Rick moved that hand. His fingers touched fur, and Cutter leaned into him. Looking utterly bemused, Rick stroked the dog, staring down at him. Brett could almost feel the pressure easing. That dog had...something.
“Meet Cutter.”
He sensed Sloan approaching, guessed she’d realized things were under control now. He couldn’t tell if it was his presence or the dog’s—well, actually, he figured it was probably the dog—but Rick was steadier now.
“And this is Sloan Burke.” Rick gave her a surprised and wary glance. It was the wariness that made him add, “She had a run-in with your boss recently.”
Rick grimaced. “Charming, isn’t he?”
“Not the word I’d use, no,” Sloan said. “I’m very sorry you had to work for him.”
Rick stood up at last, giving Cutter a last pat on the head, still looking a bit perplexed.
“I guess that’s the bright side,” Brett said. “You don’t have to work for somebody stupid enough to think you were the one who stole the petty cash anymore.”
“I don’t think anybody stole it,” Rick said. “I don’t think it was that at all. I think he’s just ticked I went into his files.”
Brett frowned. “What?”
“He threatened to fire me then, that day I was looking for that application for you, when he found me in his office. But he didn’t have grounds. I was only doing my job.”
Sloan had gone very still.
“You think he faked the theft and accused you, because of that? To get rid of you?”
“I just know he spends most of his life annoyed about something or other, but I’ve never seen him mad like that day.”
“Out of proportion to the situation?” Brett asked.
“Way out,” Rick said. “It was just a misplaced file. It happens, although we have—had—a pretty good track record. But this one was practically hidden in his office, which he guards like a grizzly. No one’s allowed in there if he’s not there.”
Brett’s frown deepened. His gut had told him there was a connection, and he’d clearly been right.
“So it was his own fault?” Sloan asked. When Rick looked at her curiously, she gave him a small rueful smile. “I’m afraid I’m the one that got you into this mess.”
Rick blinked. Brett quickly stepped in. “It wasn’t your fault either.”
“You did it for me.”
Rick glanced from Sloan to him. “Oh.” He looked at them both again and repeated, with a little more emphasis, “Oh. That’s nice.”
There was a whole lot of assumption in his words and tone. A denial leaped to Brett’s lips, but he told himself this wasn’t the time or place—that there never would be the right time or place—and held it back.
“I didn’t tell him it was you who asked,” Rick added. “If he was that mad, I didn’t want to get you into my trouble.”
Brett smiled, moved by the idea of his friend trying to protect him. And thankful that he had, so Franklin still didn’t know who he was or that he was connected to Sloan. “We’ll find the truth, Rick. I promise you that. Whatever or whoever’s behind all this, we’ll find out.”
He meant it. He thought of Rafe’s summation, of all the seemingly unrelated facets. If they were really all connected, if they were all one long tangled string of cause and effect, then there was one more question.
Just how far did that string go?
Chapter 19
Sloan’s mind was racing so fast in so many different directions she had to force herself to pay close attention to the road ahead. All the things she’d learned from that short but heartfelt conversation she’d heard were caroming around in her head like a billiard ball run wild.
Was it really all connected? Had Brett’s question on her behalf caused all this? Had Rick Alvarado been fired for simply finding some paperwork? Did that mean it had been intentionally hidden? Why? Was the water leak truly intentional, to provide another reason to deny their application? Was this all some political bombshell, ready to explode, or was that just her past experience coloring her view?
And again, and again, why? Possibilities battered at her until she wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
No, there was one thing she was sure of.
She really liked Brett Dunbar. The way he’d handled Rick, the way he’d talked to him, shown such unhesitating faith in and loyalty to his friend, the promise of justice, that the truth would come out, endeared him to her. Those things were important to her, more than ever after her fight to vindicate Jason. Because they were the things Jason had fought for, died for. He had died because there weren’t enough men like that at the top anymore. For a while she had doubted there were any at all.
But there was one here and now.
At the moment he was in the car ahead of her. When they had reached the trailhead again, this time with Rick, it was late afternoon. They’d paused by Rick’s car, and Brett had turned to look at her. She’d realized he didn’t want to leave Rick on his own just yet. Wisely, she thought.
“I’ll follow you,” she had said, and had headed for her own car before he could tell her to just leave—he’d handle it from here. She wasn’t about to be cut out of this now, not when it appeared this really was all tied together. She’d suggested Cutter would be more comfortable in the back of her SUV, and when the dog followed her willingly, she was glad. More insurance that they weren’t done yet. Brett had watched them go, and if he’d guessed her thoughts, it hadn’t shown. But then, he had a pretty good poker face. She supposed he had to, as a detective.
She
had watched as they pulled out. Brett was driving, while Rick rubbed his hands in front of the car’s air vents. Brett had apparently turned on the heater. Since Rick had been better dressed for the chillier temperature up at the falls, Brett must have been even colder. But again he hadn’t shown it if he was. And he certainly hadn’t felt the least bit cold when he’d squeezed past her up on the trail. Nor had she when he’d gotten that close. And her body had fired up like a jet afterburner when he’d touched her.
And judging from the way Rick had looked at them both, it had shown.
“Damn!”
The curse burst from her aloud, echoing inside the vehicle, snapping her back to the present. Cutter woofed from the back.
“Sorry, dog,” she muttered. “I don’t usually do that.”
And that told her how crazy things were getting. This was insane. That was all there was to it. She was not going to do anything stupid here. Maybe Aunt Connie was right, and it was time for her to think about meeting someone, maybe dating. Maybe that was what her newly reawakened senses were telling her. That it was time to move on.
But not Brett Dunbar, her brain was screaming. He’s a cop! He goes into danger all the time, just like Jason did. Stop it!
She focused on the car ahead, wondering what was going on inside. Wondered if at some point Brett would explain the details of how she was the one who’d started all this, however inadvertently.
Yeah, because it’s all about you, right?
She chuckled aloud at herself. Cutter woofed again, oddly sounding happier this time. Or perhaps not oddly; clearly the dog was perceptive enough to understand the lighter tone.
“You did good, Cutter,” she called out to him. “You knew he was there, didn’t you?”
The short sharp bark that came then sounded for all the world like a “Yep.”
She laughed, feeling much better now. There truly was something about that dog.
* * *
“Sorry it was so long,” Brett said as he got into the car. Cutter woofed softly from the back in greeting. “You should have come in. It’s getting cold.”
Operation Power Play Page 13
