Solemn Duty (1997) (12 page)

The microwave's beeping broke her from her reverie. Minutes later she was on the couch, the TV tray on her lap holding a paper plate and what was left of the burrito. Setting the tray on the coffee table, she picked up the photo album, and put it on her lap and began turning the pages. She stopped when she found the picture she was looking for. A smile slowly came to her. "Hi, Dad. I called Mom again today. She's hangin' in there, Daddy. She really likes her job at the courthouse and seems to be really enjoying life . . . Me? Come on, Daddy, it's Button. Remember, I'm your tough little gal who never lets anything bother her. I'm doin' real good. I I. . . I miss you is all.

I just needed to see you again."

Ashley felt the tears coming and closed her eyes. 'Why, Daddy? Why did you go into that damn alley? Mom and I needed you so much."

She opened her eyes, looked again at the smiling man and nodded. "I know Daddy, it was your duty . . . you had to go in.

Yes, I remember what you told me when we heard that Josh had died. You said Josh had died doing his duty for his country. I thought it didn't matter, Dad. I'm sorry. I thought Josh had died alone without anyone caring but us. . . . I was wrong, Dad. I saw yesterday that soldiers do care for one another very much. . . . I know now, Dad. I wanted you to know I know."

Running her fingers over the picture one more time, Ashley slowly closed the album and took in a deep breath. Exhaling, she set the album aside and stood. "I think it's time I got this place in order," she said aloud. "It depresses me like this.

Okay, first the boxes, then I'm putting up the curtains. I think it's time I gave up living like a bag lady. I'm a Sutton, damnit.

We don't give up; we have a duty to go on. Time to get to work."

Two miles away, Cynthia leaned over in the plush leather seats of Jerome's Lincoln and patted Eli's hand. "Thank you for takin' me home, Eli. Would you like to come in for some coffee? It'll only take a minute."

Eli smiled and turned off the ignition, thinking it might be nice. He was starting over and this was one way to do it, have coffee and whatever else Cynthia wanted to share with him.

She was a nice lady, a little too touchy-feely, but sweet, he thought as he got out of the car. I can do this, he told himself, taking her arm. Just let nature take its course. She'll keep the lights low and turn on soft music for starters, then walk into the kitchen and come back with wine, not coffee. Step three will be we'll talk awhile, and then step four comes and we'll start making out and things will heat up. Then comes step five, when I suggest we should get more comfortable, and that will be it; no more doubts what will happen after that. Yep, I can handle this. No sweat.

Cynthia unlocked the front door and quickly walked across the foyer and turned off the alarm. "Sorry, the house is just a mess. Just follow me back to the great room."

The house was a small mansion. In the foyer, a Tang horseman was looking unconcernedly across a Bukhara rug at two celadon vases. Eli followed her back to the great room, where she picked up a remote control and pointed it at a burl wood cabinet. Immediately Frank Sinatra's voice filled the room in surround sound.

Eli cringed. He knew there would be music, but Old Blue Eyes? Cynthia swayed her hips as she approached him. "Don't you just love him?"

Eli wanted to ask if she had any Garth Brooks or Clint Black tunes, or even that white guy that sounded black--Michael Bolder or Boston or something like that--but instead he smiled and said, "Yes, he's great."

Cynthia pressed her body against him. "I knew you would," she whispered and kissed his chin. She backed up slowly, giving him that look, and purred. "I'm going to change into something more comfortable. There's a bottle of wine just behind you. Why don't you pour us a glass . . . I'll be right back."

Eli was stunned. Where were steps two, three, and four?

Shit, she was already at five and that was his step! He grabbed for the cell phone inside his jacket and punched the keys as fast as he could. He brought the phone to his ear and waited.

Finally Jerome answered sleepily.

Eli whispered, "Call me in five minutes . . . I know it's late and you were asleep, damnit, call my cell phone number. It's on the refrigerator door under the Big Bird magnet . . . Yeah, I want you to get out of bed and walk all the way into the kitchen! Listen to me, you got me into this--well, Millie did--and you're gettin' me out. Shit, Jer, I've been in the house just a minute and she's already into the slippin' into the somethin' more comfortable stage . . . Look, just call me, five minutes damn you, 'bye."

Putting away the phone Eli hurried to the counter and picked up the corkscrew. Jesus, she'd had this planned for days, he thought. What's she going to come out in, her birthday suit?

To the tune of "Moon River," he opened the bottle and poured two crystal wineglasses half full. His wait and wondering were over. Cynthia appeared in a filmy see-through robe that barely covered her thighs. He wasn't quite sure what it was she wore under the robe, but it didn't have much material and left absolutely nothing to his imagination. Cynthia obviously went to a tanning booth because there were no tan lines anywhere, and he could almost see all of her where lines would have showed. For a woman in her late forties, she looked terrific, he thought.

She swayed back and forth as she came closer and lifted her arms. "Dance with me."

In that, you want me to dance? He smiled and took her into his arms. "You look super, Cynthia, you must work out a lot to keep in such good shape?"

She winked. "Wait till I get you upstairs, honey, then you'll see a workout"

So much for sweet Cynthia who talked about her flowers while at the dinner table, he thought I'm dancing with Lady Godiva and Madonna all rolled into one.

"M0000n river, wider than a mile. I'm . ." Cynthia sang, pressing closer to him.

Eli sneaked a glance at his watch and wished he'd told Jerome three minutes, not five.

At the end of the song he felt as if she'd become a second skin. He might have actually enjoyed the belly rubbing, but her perfume was too strong and made him feel nauseous. As she stepped back, lifted an eyebrow and said, "Come on, let's go upstairs," he knew it was not the perfume, or the music. It was him. He wasn't ready for this, and wondered if he ever would be.

He still played it right, kissed her lightly on the lips and backed away slowly. "Let me get the wine for us," he said. He picked up the two glasses and stepped forward, kissing her again, and said, "You're wonderful."

They got all the way to the bedroom when his cell phone beeped and he set the glasses on the nightstand. Taking his phone out, he whispered to her, "It's probably nothing, but I have to take it." He put the phone to his ear and said, "Special Agent Tanner . . . When? . . . How many were hurt? . . . I see, sure I'll be there in twenty minutes, get me a crime scene unit and contact the GBI. Right, out here."

He looked into Cynthia's disappointed but understanding eyes. "I'm truly sorry about this, but I have to go." He pulled her to him and kissed her passionately, liking the way she kissed, but finally backed away. "I'll call you tomorrow and tell you how things went," he said, then reached up and touched her face. Slowly, he let his hand drop and walked for the hallway.

He felt tremors of guilt quaking in his stomach, and the first eruption when he heard her say, "Be careful, Eli, I won't be able to sleep until you call."

He picked up his pace and held his breath until he shut the door and was outside. The sticky night air smelled of lilacs as he breathed in deeply and headed for the Lincoln. She deserved a helluva lot better than him, he thought as he slid in behind the wheel.

Fifteen minutes later he pulled into a roadhouse he'd spotted as he was driving her home. It was just what he needed.

The smell of smoke hit him first, then the loud twang of guitars. He walked on past the crowded tables and bellied up to the bar. A cute barmaid smiled. "What ya havin'?"

"Bud Light with a twist of lime, please, ma'am."

Eli turned, looked at all the people and didn't feel so lonely.

He knew after a few beers the guilt would be gone, and tomorrow he'd call Cynthia and apologize. But he'd never go back to her place. His gut told him it wasn't right, and his gut never lied. Cynthia deserved someone who liked to dance to Old Blue Eyes.

Chapter 7.

Wednesday, June 6.

Ashley walked into the office and saw Eli seated behind Regina's desk, typing on her computer keypad.

She walked past him, put her purse on her desk and turned around, facing him. He kept on typing. She cleared her throat.

He kept on typing. She sighed. "Good morning, Agent Tanner."

He nodded but kept typing as he spoke: "Good morning."

"What are you working on?" she asked.

"I'm doing the tutorial on Word Seven. It's not that different from WordPerfect, the one I used in Quantico. Actually, it's better--easier."

Ashley stepped closer. "Thank you. I ordered it for the office and just picked it up last week. So, how did chimer go? Was the lady nice?"

Eli stopped typing, pushed the chair back, picked up his coffee and walked to the worktable. "Dinner was fine. She was okay." He sat down and picked up a case file.

Ashley followed. "How did you two get along?"

"Fine."

Ashley nodded, seeing she was getting nowhere, and walked back to her desk. Regina entered from the back room holding a stack of printouts. "Boss, you was right as rain. The Puerto Rican is the dirty one. This sure 'nough proves it."

Eli lifted his eyes from the file and looked at her. "What do you think of Frank Sinatra, Regina?'

She shrugged. "I think he's old. Why?'

Eli looked back at the file. "Yeah, that's what I think, too. I like that white guy that sounds black, long hair, real popular, what's his name?"

"Michael Bolton?'

"'That's him. He's still popular, isn't he?'

"To white folks he is. My sister don't like the man. Says he don't have soul, but I think the man is cool. Why you askin' about Frank, boss? You takin' up ballroom dancin' or somethin ' ?"

Eli shrugged "A lady I met last night liked him a lot. I thought maybe his stuff was on the comeback and I was out of touch. I was just checkin'."

Regina grinned and stepped closer to him. "Well now, you meetin' ladies already? That's cool. How'd it go? You two click and dance to Frank?'

"Now, I had to go . . . I was pooped."

"Didn't click, huh? That's all right, boss, hang in there. That right lady goin' to come along and ring your chimes for sure.

You'll know when ya wanna dance and there ain't no music."

Ashley couldn't take it anymore and walked over to the table. "What was all that about a Puerto Rican being dirty?'

Regina motioned to the printouts she'd set out "The boss had me get the bank records of the four sergeants involved in the loss of the M-16s on post He was right The dirty one showed up."

Ashley shifted her gaze to Eli. He picked up the case file beside him. "This is the one you told me about the night before last. The five missing weapons and four sergeants who were the only suspects?'

"Yes, I was scheduled to interview them this afternoon,"

Ashley said Eli handed her the printout& "Sergeant Jose Gonzales is your man. Look at his bank statements for the past four months and then look at the current one."

It took her several minutes to examine the records before she gave Eli a questioning stare. "So?"

"So, he hasn't made any withdrawals this month and hasn't written any checks. Jose and his wife are obviously paying for everything in cash. Jose is not too smart . . . he'll roll if we get the D. A. to agree to a reduction provided he names who he sold the weapons to. Ten years versus five in Leavenworth will sound good to him."

Ashley shrugged. "I had him anyway," she said and walked back to her desk.

Eli stood. "What'd'ya mean, ya had him?"

Ashley reached in a drawer and pulled out a notebook. She opened it and motioned to a page. "Jose's wife left for Puerto Rico two days after the weapons were reported missing. She paid cash for a first-class ticket, which was big bucks. I had him without the bank records, but thank you for getting them for me."

Eli's jaw muscles rippled. "When we discussed the case, you didn't tell me you checked out the wife, Agent Sutton."

"And you didn't tell me you were going to begin working the case, or I would have told you not to bother, Agent Tanner."

Eli counted mentally to three, drew in a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. He nodded. "You're right, my mistake. I should have asked you about the case before jumping in. I'll remember next time."

Ashley sat down and put away her notebook, not sure what to do; her victory was ruined by his admitting his mistake. She glanced at him, but he'd already picked up another case file.

Damn, now I'll have to show him I can accept victory graciously . . . except I've never done it before. Damn. "Eh .. .

Agent Tanner."

He looked at her, and she frowned. "My fault, too. I should have given you all the information when we discussed the case. Okay?"

Eli smiled. "Okay."

Regina glanced at Ashley then Eli and shook her head.