Heavy Artillery Husband (8 page)

His ears were turning pink, an outward signal that the admission embarrassed him. “We all take for granted things that we shouldn't.”

Was that some vague reference to her? She bit back the question. Dumb to think it, dumber to ask. “True.” She couldn't understand when he'd thought anything was too silly or small to share with her. For twenty-eight years they'd been as close as two people could be. Then he'd pulled away until that little gap was insurmountable.

“We shared a lot over that table,” she said. “Coffee on Sunday mornings was the best.”

“I was partial to the late evenings after Frankie had gone to bed,” he said, a twinkle in his dark blue eyes.

Those had been wonderful evenings, with beer or wine, stargazing or people-watching while they held hands. When the little table set had been in a more private area, she'd often been convinced to sit in his lap and make out under the stars.

Was this her estranged husband's way of hitting on her? She found it more appealing than she should. “Those were good times, too,” she admitted, pleased her voice was steady. Those nights bore a striking resemblance to this one: alone, sharing food and conversation across a small table. If he invited her to sit in his lap, she'd have a fight on her hands to remember how to say no. Her body temperature seemed to climb at the very idea, heating her cheeks so he'd know exactly where her thoughts had traveled.

“Assuming your email campaign keeps Lowry busy, we need to think about Engle, Farrell and the next step,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

The abrupt change of topic and the shift in his body language as he returned to business gave her a chill. It was as though he'd flipped a switch and all that intimacy had been in her imagination. “Farrell?” She picked up a chip. “Is he the third anchorman for Hellfire?”

Frank nodded.

“Why do I know that name?” She was excellent with names and yet she couldn't put a face with it at all. Probably because the face she was most concerned with was sitting right across the table, scowling fiercely. “Don't leave me hanging.” She gestured for him to hurry up with the story.

“Jack Farrell is a retired colonel. He was career military police and honored as a hero when he shot a terrorist who managed to open fire on a forward operating base in Afghanistan a few years back.”

Frank didn't have to say another word. She pressed her fingers to her lips as the scene, the reports, all of it surged through her mind with the force of a flash flood. “You don't think it was a terrorist.”

He shook his head. “Not in light of what we know now. I think that attack was related to the early days of Halloran's effort to take his piece of the drug trade.”

“Good grief. If only we could prove it,” she mused, knowing they couldn't. “Halloran's assembled quite a team.”

“Yes.” Frank leaned back in the chair, his eyes on the ceiling. “Speaking of names to know, I sifted through the old reports and my notes looking for Engle while you were putting the finishing touches on ruining Lowry's reputation. I'm coming up empty.”

Her cell phone chimed and she held up a finger. “Hold that thought.” She read the message from her assistant, an update on the data they had pulled from the cell phone Frank confiscated earlier. “Pay dirt,” she said.

“Tell me. We need good news.”

She read the message and related the pertinent details. “My assistant identified the logo on that employee badge along with phone numbers in his text message history. They match up with an import-export brokerage.”

She clicked the link in the email to go to the company website. “Oh! Look at this.” She hopped out of her chair to kneel at his side so they could look at the small screen together. “I found Engle. He's listed as the operating manager at World Crossing, Incorporated.”

Frank squinted at the phone screen. “Stateside offices in Norfolk and Seattle. The man doesn't lack for courage.” He took the phone and swiped through the pictures. “Check the logo on the truck.” He opened his notebook and showed her. “That's the freight carrier they use with every incoming shipment.”

“I can use this.” She bounded to her feet and retrieved her laptop.

“I've been an idiot,” Frank said. “I should've known he would control every aspect.”

Sophia sent an email to the reporter Eddie recommended, complete with the screenshots from the kid's phone. “I hope he took your advice,” she murmured as she hit Send. “When this breaks, it will send Hellfire scrambling. If they don't believe him...”

“He made his choices,” Frank said, his voice cold. “The more I think about Farrell, the happier I am that we'll have a head start.” His gaze drifted toward the window. “Such as it is.”

“They can't move on us tonight.” She shrugged at his quizzical glance. “One look out that window and I knew why you'd booked this room. They'd have to scale the wall to get in.”

“Or use the main door in the lobby.”

“Please. I heard the false name you gave at registration.” She wasn't going to fuel his worry. “Halloran's spies might find the car, but they won't figure out the room number before we check out.”

He gave her the look she'd laughed at through the years. The twist of his mouth and crinkle at his eye that said he knew she was right but she'd never get him to say the words. Afraid of the happy little skip in her pulse, she returned to the task of digging into the lives of the men who'd founded this dangerous operation and turned their lives upside down.

Frank pushed the room service cart out to the hallway and stretched out on one of the beds, reading glasses perched on his nose as he studied his notebook.

It reminded her they had only days until a new shipment arrived in Seattle. If only Frank would agree, she could put a team on the ports. They needed a smaller target than “the waterfront.” And she knew he was right to fear for Frankie's safety if Halloran or anyone else spotted a Leo Solutions team. Although her guys were good, it wasn't worth the risk. Yet.

“Huh. The only thing current on Jack Farrell is a PO box in Arizona.” She tried a few more searches with no luck.

“Don't forget the bank account in the Caymans,” Frank quipped. He sat up and lowered his reading glasses. “Wait. Phoenix?”

“No. Vail, Arizona. South of Tucson.” She used the internet to pull up a local map. When Frankie was led to believe the worst about Sophia, the trail had taken her through a nearby area. She didn't care for the direction her thoughts were taking.

Following the hunch, she found another, unpleasant connection. “Paul Sterling went to college with Farrell, both political science majors,” she told Frank. “And Farrell and Halloran attended the war college in the same year. It might be worth asking Paul about Farrell.”

Frank's blue eyes were as cold as ice chips.

“For the record, asking Paul for help isn't my first choice,” she stated.

“Visiting a prison isn't mine.” Frank tapped his glasses against his thigh, his mouth twitching. “How'd you manage to get Sterling behind bars so fast?”

“You don't know what happened?”

He shook his head.

She didn't want to revisit all the details. “He fooled me, let's leave it at that. While he was in custody in Seattle, I reached out to an old friend inside the Department of Justice. Leo Solutions has a modest government contract arrangement. It wasn't much, but I was thankful they got him transferred to the federal prison in Maryland while he awaits trial.”

“I don't think he'll want to cooperate with you after that.”

“Us. If we do this, we do it together.”

Frank sat up. “You're kidding. I can't walk into a prison, Sophie. Even if I wasn't recognized immediately, Paul would make a scene out of spite. He always hated me because I had you.”

“The two of you were always competitive.” When she thought she'd been widowed and needed help, Paul had been there for the business and, after a time, on a more personal level. Thinking of him, of how he'd deceived her so thoroughly, left her wanting a shower.

Frank stretched out again. “All the more reason not to trust anything he might tell us.”

She held her tongue. Frank knew as well as she did they couldn't allow any part of Halloran's organization to escape justice. They had to nail all the top players or Frank would never have his life back. “We can't let Farrell off the hook because we can't find him. What we need is something to hand to a prosecutor. Paul could give us that kind of lead.”

Frank shook his head and went back to his notebook.

The prison was a short drive and couldn't possibly be on Halloran's radar. There was a regional airport close by where they could park the car and further hide their trail. It would become a pointless exercise if Frank got detained in the process.

She could ask him to wait with the car, but she couldn't bear it, not after her near panic attack in DC. “If I can guarantee you won't be detained, will you think about it?”

“It's a bad idea.”

“I know that.” Exasperated, she went over and sat on the edge of the bed, leaving as much space as possible between them. “I know there are better ideas. Do we really have the time for any of them? Your fake ID will work.” He was shaking his head already. “I need you with me,” she blurted. “I mean it, Frank. I'm not letting you out of my sight. My heart can't take the worry.” She felt her heart pounding now, terrified if he left her sight that he'd be gone again. “I—I had anxiety attacks when we were younger. Wh-when—” she gulped “—when you were gone. In the beginning. Today when I thought you were gone...”

“Dolcezza,”
he whispered, reaching for her.

She dodged his hand, scrambling off the bed. If he touched her now, she wouldn't be able to resist him. Sex would only make things worse, blurring the lines and insinuating obligations she didn't want to push on him. If they could clear his name, maybe they had a shot at rediscovering their dreams as a couple, as a family. “I worked past those fears. I managed.” She sucked in another breath. “Just not now.” She rested her hand over her heart, willing it to slow down. “Come with me. Please.”

“Of course.”

Relief so profound she swayed with the force of it had her dashing for the bathroom. She splashed water on her face. She was grateful for not crying, though her face was a splotchy mess anyway. Her life was a mess.

Going to the prison to speak with Paul was a long shot. Even if he cooperated and shared what he knew about Farrell, spending a minute in his presence would be difficult enough. If he chose to be a jerk... Oh, it didn't bear thinking about.

She hadn't jumped into bed with Paul immediately following Frank's graveside service, yet trying to explain to her very alive husband that, after a time, she had done exactly that was not a pleasant prospect. She had been entirely fooled by Paul. And Frank.

At last her temper surfaced, saving her from a night of hiding in the bathroom wallowing in what-ifs and what-might-have-beens. She returned to the room and picked up her laptop, ready to review the best way to and from the prison, and how to keep Frank safe in the process. There were still plenty of people who owed her favors and she was ready to cash them in so her daughter could see her dad and they could all decide what came next.

Frank's strong hands landed on her shoulders, radiating warmth. Was she imagining any forgiveness in his touch? Did she want or need that forgiveness? She let him massage the muscles at her neck and shoulders, still aching after the recent attack.

“I've pulled myself together,” she said.

“You always do.”

“Paul helped me get Leo Solutions off the ground when I needed to move fast,” she explained, latching on to the one point she didn't regret. By all accounts, she'd been a widow, personally and professionally. She never would have been able to establish Leo Solutions so efficiently or make the company relevant so quickly without Paul's help. He'd done that much right. Mostly. The bastard.

“To separate yourself from my problems?”

“Yes.” She stated the fact calmly, her eyes locked on her monitor. “If the situation were reversed, I would've expected you to do the same thing. It was a future we had planned. A legacy we would leave for our daughter.”

He came around to sit across from her, and something deep in his blue eyes contradicted her assessment. His scent surrounded her, and her muscles were loose and warm from his hands. “Frankie was injured, her navy career over.” The memory of their daughter in that hospital room surrounded by the equipment and dire prognosis still haunted her. “She was too stubborn to accept any physical limits, then too angry with me for what she assumed was my blithely moving on without you.”

She'd gone through all that alone. Frank had been overseas or in custody, unable to help.

“You both succeeded, despite all of it,” he said.

Her temper crackled to life again. “Do you think I'm looking for your approval here?”

“No.” He held his ground, typical Frank. “But you have it.”

She stifled the hateful words that wanted to pour out and burn him as effectively as acid. He hadn't been a traitor, and, knowing that, she couldn't keep blaming him for what was done. They had to find their way forward from here. She had to help him extricate himself from Halloran's schemes.

For Frankie, if no one else. Her daughter needed her father and it was clear to Sophia that the opposite was equally true. Despite the pain his choices had caused, she couldn't let this opportunity to salvage the father-daughter relationship slip away. She hugged her arms around her waist. Frankie had been right all along; her belief had never faltered. Sophia couldn't say the same thing. Even now, understanding his impossible choices, she couldn't quite get past the residual frustration—with herself for giving up on him and with him for heaping sorrow on Frankie's life at the worst possible time.