Operation Power Play

by Justine Davis

  “On the other hand,” Brett said, “I don’t want to make problems for the ferry crew. We need their help too often.”

  “And this isn’t official.”

  “There’s that,” he agreed.

  “We could take a casual walk. Cutter would be okay if we locked the car, wouldn’t he?”

  He looked at her, and something in his eyes made her feel that heat begin again. “Lovers would, wouldn’t they?”

  That quickly, he decided. He was out of the car and around to her side in an instant. It was a bit of a squeeze because a large work truck was beside them, but she didn’t mind. It meant she had to get closer.

  He reassured Cutter and locked the doors. They went up the steps to the passenger cabin. And at Sloan’s suggestion, they went outside. She told herself it was because she always enjoyed the approach to the distinctive Seattle skyline, not because the wind of their passage would make it so chilly that they would need to cling to each other for warmth. That was just a side benefit.

  “Did you see him?” she asked when, as the announcement of their approach to the dock came over the loudspeakers, they headed back to the car deck.

  “I think he stayed put. Knew we had to come back.”

  She sighed. “Maybe Foxworth will have something by the time we get there.”

  “If it’s there to have, they’ll probably find it.”

  She thought about the odd relationship as they reached the Seattle dock. Brett was a cop to the bone, and yet he obviously appreciated that there were times when that was a hindrance as much as a help. Times when the kind of freedom Foxworth had was better.

  “I think that I’d rather have Foxworth with that capability than some of the government types I’ve met,” she said as she felt the gentle thump as the big ferry slid into the slip.

  He gave her a look as the ferry workers went about readying things for off-loading. The familiar roar of motorcycle engines, firing in anticipation of the gate lifting, echoed around them.

  “I’m sure I would,” he said.

  She lapsed into silence as they exited the ferry and Brett negotiated the city streets. He’d taken advantage of the lead they had by getting off the ferry second only to the ambulance and the bike riders. A short distance later—he obviously knew his way around the city—she couldn’t tell whether their follower was still with them.

  “He’s there,” he said, as if he’d read her mind. “He’s not bad. So let’s see—a hotel in town or head toward the mountains, maybe a casino...”

  “You could just pull into the federal building,” she said as she saw the sign in front of the Jackson Building, “and really rattle his cage.”

  Brett grinned at her. Whatever else might come of their time together, she’d seen more and more of that grin, and that pleased her. “I like the way you think. That would cause a bit of a jolt, I’m sure.”

  “But we’re not sure we want to jolt him yet?”

  “No. But I do want to get rid of him,” Brett said. “Now.”

  A few blocks later, just past a large building, he turned into an underground parking structure. She’d been more focused on the man behind them, with occasional forays into petting Cutter simply because it soothed her, and didn’t realize that to the right was a hotel until she saw the entrance, surprisingly grand for being underground. A good idea in rainy Seattle, she thought.

  Brett pulled into an open parking space not far from the glass expanse of the front doors.

  “Stay quiet, buddy. It won’t be long,” he said to Cutter, reaching back to scratch behind his right ear. The dog settled down in the backseat as if he’d understood perfectly.

  They got out, and he walked to the back of the car and opened the trunk.

  “Grab your bag. And give me the suitcase.”

  Sloan opened her mouth to speak, then stopped and did as he’d said. This was his world, and she either trusted him or she didn’t. She did.

  She slung the tote bag she’d packed over one shoulder as he lifted out her small suitcase and closed the trunk. But he didn’t move. He leaned against the car, watching the opening where they’d pulled in and the street out in front. For the gold car, she supposed. A couple of minutes passed with no sign of it.

  But then Brett straightened. “He’s on foot,” he whispered.

  She nodded, managed not to look.

  “Remember your voice will echo in here at regular volume,” he said, still whispering. She nodded again.

  “Okay, we’re on, sweetheart,” he said, his voice even a bit louder than normal. The endearment rattled her a little until she realized he was setting the tone for the act. That they were just a couple here for a romantic getaway. That she found herself wishing it were true was her problem.

  “I can’t wait,” she said sunnily.

  “Neither can I,” he said with sudden intensity.

  He put his arm around her and they walked toward the hotel, acting as wrapped up in each other as they could. It wasn’t difficult. On the edge of her vision Sloan saw a balding man in a tan jacket standing in the shadows just inside the entrance. She hadn’t noticed much about him when he was in the car, but obviously Brett had.

  She leaned into him. His arm tightened around her. “This was a brilliant idea, honey,” she said with as delighted a laugh as she could manage. She thought she sensed a slight hitch in his step before he steadied it. She could almost feel the man in the shadows watching them.

  “This is only the beginning,” he said as they stepped into the light flooding out from inside the lobby. Her pulse took that little leap again, and she found herself wishing the words were true with a fierceness that shocked her.

  And then he leaned down and kissed her.

  For a moment, just for a moment, Sloan let it happen as if it were real. Not that she had much choice, not when the feel of his mouth on hers again sent that heat racing through her and made her knees a little wobbly. His tongue flicked over her lips and she opened for him. A delightful shiver, hot and cold, went through her and she sagged against him as her knees gave out completely.

  It seemed an eternity and yet too soon when he broke the kiss.

  “Damn,” he muttered.

  “That should have been a convincing act,” she whispered, her voice sounded a bit shaky even to her own ears.

  “Who was acting?” Brett whispered back.

  He led her inside, nodding at the doorman but keeping his eyes on her all the way, just like any lovesick guy. With his head turned toward her, he could also watch the man from the gold car.

  Once inside, his demeanor changed, abruptly enough that it gave her a bit of a chill. She shoved it aside. This was business, his kind of business, and no time for out-of-control emotions. “This way,” he said, and headed to the right. He took wide, ornate staircase up one floor two steps at a time.

  “You know this place,” she said.

  “Friend of mine runs security, and I’ve been to a couple of seminars here. In this room,” he added, pushing open the door to a medium-sized room set up with rows of chairs and a lectern. Along the side of the room were wide windows.

  He crossed to them nearly at a run. She followed, realizing the windows looked out on the street below. She got there just in time to see the bald man walking southbound on the sidewalk, his cell phone to his ear.

  It took her a moment to spot the gold car—or at least its twin.

  “There?” she asked. “Across the street in the next block?”

  “We’ll see,” he said, never taking his eyes off the man.

  When he got into the gold car and left, they knew the ruse had, at least for the moment, worked.

  “Now what?” Sloan asked.

  Brett gave her a sideways look, grimacing as he did so. “Not what I’d like,” he said. He reached
out, brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek and let out a compressed breath. It was enough to soothe her doubts, her unease, and vanquish the chill she’d felt at his quick change.

  But not quite enough to banish the wish that this imaginary romantic getaway could have been real.

  “Brett,” she began.

  “We’d better go. There’s a dog in the car.”

  “Of course.”

  She wasn’t sure if she should feel relieved or disappointed that he’d cut off whatever ridiculous thing she’d probably been going to say. She told herself she should be glad. Whatever was going on needed to be resolved before anything else could be addressed. If there really was anything else, and it wasn’t just some crazy short-term emotional explosion between two people who had simply been alone too long.

  And she was spending way too much time twisting and turning this around. Every word didn’t have to have some deeper meaning; every action wasn’t a declaration. She seemed to have forgotten everything she’d ever learned from Jason about how men think and was projecting her own confused emotions on to the situation.

  A half-hour drive north and a short wait, and they were on a different ferry route heading back. Midcrossing Brett’s phone rang. The conversation was brief, and he confirmed to the caller they were on their way, so she guessed it was Rafe.

  By the time they pulled up at the Foxworth building, she had her emotions well in check. And she smiled again at Cutter’s delighted greeting to Rafe as the dark-haired man met them at the door.

  “Thank you,” she said to him. “Brett tells me my uncle likes the guy you sent to help.”

  Rafe nodded. “Thought he might. Tim is a former military field medic.”

  Sloan blinked. “What?”

  “He was injured, pretty badly, but he’s come back. He’s well trained, and he’s armed just in case.”

  “So he works for Foxworth?”

  Rafe shook his head. “This is his kind of payback. Foxworth helped him find the family of a guy in his unit who didn’t come home. One he’d tried to save and couldn’t. There were some last words that needed to be passed on in person.”

  For a moment she simply stared. Then she said softly, “You know, I think I quite like you Foxworth people.”

  Rafe smiled, and it transformed his usual grim expression. “Back at you,” he said. “Besides, all I had to do was mention your name and he couldn’t jump fast enough.”

  Sloan was saved from responding to that when Cutter suddenly spun and headed for the door. He rose up and batted the door button with a paw, then wiggled through before the door had even swung open all the way.

  Rafe’s mouth quirked, and he pulled out his phone. For a moment nothing happened, but then an alert tone sounded. “Knew it,” he said with a shake of his head.

  “Are you sure that’s really a dog?” Brett asked.

  “Not at all,” Rafe said. “I’m just glad he’s on our side.”

  They followed Cutter inside. Rafe walked to the computer and hit two keys. Tyler Hewitt’s face appeared on the wall monitor.

  “Hey,” the young man said. “Mrs. Burke,” he added specifically, respectfully.

  “Sloan, please,” she said, a little surprised at his tone, given they’d met, albeit virtually, before.

  “I’d say he’s done some homework on you,” Rafe said, his tone rather dry. “Tyler tends to like people who go up against the ‘big bad.’”

  “And more so if they win?” Brett suggested as he rejoined them.

  “Yep,” Tyler said cheerfully. “So, that car you asked about. Or rather, the trust. It owns several properties and vehicles. I’m sending a list.”

  “Good,” Brett said. “Thanks.”

  “Sure. And something else...” Tyler hesitated.

  “Go on,” Rafe said.

  “I found another link, down deep. It’s crazy, but I think it may be the one that pulls all this together. What happened to Sloan’s folks and Brett’s friend and why Mead’s involved.”

  “What link?” Rafe asked.

  “The guy whose company built those houses up the hill? He had a big investor who helped him get started way back in the day, some thirty years ago. It was buried in some investment fund, but this guy was the main holder, so it was mostly his money. And that fund is the one connected to the trust that owns Mead’s house.”

  “And who is this guy?” Brett asked.

  “He sold out a few years ago. Apparently to run for office.”

  The image on the screen split, and a moment later a photograph appeared on the other half.

  Brett sucked in an audible breath. “Damn.”

  “Indeed,” Rafe agreed.

  Sloan couldn’t speak at all. She felt as if she’d been standing on a curb waiting to step down onto the street when suddenly a bottomless chasm opened up inches from her feet. She didn’t know where it had come from or what it meant. But she knew that face.

  Governor Bradford Ogilvie smiled munificently down upon them.

  “This,” Brett said grimly, “just got really thick.”

  Chapter 31

  “I don’t understand.” Sloan sounded beyond puzzled. “How and why on earth would Ogilvie be involved?”

  “Maybe he’s not,” Rafe said. “Other than having the misfortune of being connected to Mead.”

  Brett said nothing, but his mind was racing, turning over possibilities, discarding some, accepting others and batting down a persistent one that was so out there he couldn’t even take it seriously.

  “Maybe,” Rafe said, “he’s just a generous guy who likes to help his friends.”

  Sloan made a harsh scoffing sound. “Generous is the last thing Ogilvie is. Unless you can do something for him.”

  “Personal experience?” Rafe asked.

  “Let’s just say what I could do for him wasn’t on my list of prices I was willing to pay.”

  Brett’s racing thoughts came to an abrupt halt. “What?”

  “So,” Rafe said, “he’s one of those.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Brett said, keeping his voice flat with an effort. “He offered to help you if you’d...what, sleep with him?”

  “Nothing that formal,” she said, staring at the photo. “Just a quick servicing in his office would do.”

  Brett shifted his gaze to the picture, afraid if he kept looking at her and thinking about what she’d gone through, he’d lose it completely. “You bastard,” he said under his breath.

  And suddenly that preposterous idea didn’t seem so outlandish anymore.

  “Interesting,” Rafe said. “I’ve seen that same look on Quinn’s face.”

  Brett looked at the other man. “Have you?”

  “We call it his take-no-prisoners look.”

  Brett let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He knew what Rafe meant. Angie had always called it his slaying-dragons look. And that was exactly how he felt right now.

  He looked back at the monitor, at that face with the benign trust-me smile. “Oh, yes,” he said.

  “Just out of curiosity, what did you tell him?” Rafe asked Sloan.

  “I told him to forget it, that I was used to a bigger man, in all ways,” Sloan said.

  Brett blinked.

  Rafe laughed. “Talk about hitting them where they live.”

  “I thought then about going to the opposition party,” she said, “but I didn’t want anybody involved in this only because of politics. I needed somebody who really believed.”

  “You found him in Senator Bienvenido. He’s a good man.”

  “Yes. He is. One of the few exceptions that proves the rule. And his wife is a treasure. She helped me so much when I got down about it all.”

  “I’m glad,”
Brett said softly, the first time he’d been able to look at her and speak without anger bubbling up inside him since she’d told them what Ogilvie had suggested. She smiled at him, and that old feeling welled up. He did want to slay her dragons. She’d fought them so long and hard; it wasn’t fair she should have to do it again. And Brett was big on fair, even as he admitted life generally wasn’t. He couldn’t change that, so he just did what he could to even things out in his little corner.

  He looked at Rafe. “Quinn mean that, about a job here?”

  “Yes,” Rafe answered, one brow lifting in query.

  “Good. Because I may be blowing my current job out of the water soon.”

  Sloan made a tiny sound. He looked at her, saw the touch of color in her cheeks. Realized she was thinking of the jokes they’d made about that today. His jaw tightened as he fought down the heat that answered that blush.

  “Brett, no,” Sloan finally said, her eyes fixed on him, concern darkening the vivid green.

  “Yes,” he said flatly. “I’m not sure what this is yet, but it’s something. And I’m going to find out what.”

  He glanced at Rafe, who was watching them thoughtfully. Almost wistfully, Brett thought. He remembered the man’s reaction to first meeting Sloan. And thought that even the hardened former Marine could fall for a woman like Sloan. Hell, any man could. If Rafe had been another kind of man, Brett would have thought of him as competition. But even though he didn’t know him that well, Brett knew Rafe Crawford would never think about poaching. And Sloan was his.

  It hit him then, hard and deep. Somewhere, somehow, he’d not just broken the rule he’d lived by since Angie was murdered, he’d blown it up. All his years of caution and avoidance might as well never have happened.

  “What exactly are you planning that could have you losing the badge?” Rafe asked.

  “Pulling out all the stops.” He met the man’s gaze levelly. “Or rather, asking Foxworth to. I want everything Ty can find, and I don’t care how he does it.”

  Rafe drew back slightly. His gaze flicked to Sloan, then back to Brett. Knowledge and understanding gleamed in his eyes. And then he nodded. “All right. On what?”