Gunning for the Groom (2 page)

She resisted the urge to try to enlist his help. He'd clearly done all he was going to do. “I can take care of myself.” She'd trained hard to earn her place as a cultural liaison with the navy SEALs. Her well-honed skills and habit of excellence hadn't been affected by the back injury that wrecked her military career.

“I hope so.” He stood up. “Your dad always wanted the best for you.”

Frankie believed that was true. She watched her father's mysterious friend leave, disappointed when he walked out of view. She'd hoped to catch him getting into a car. Staring into the tea cooling in her cup, she weighed the pros and cons of each possible next step. Did the cons even matter? Every decision in life came with a price; every option held some risk.

Her gaze shifted to the window and the bustling activity on the street outside. She had a new career as a crime analyst. She enjoyed it. Her life was stable and she gained satisfaction in the work and being involved with the community. And she knew herself well enough to know that part of her fulfillment came from finding justice for victims.

The whole truth wouldn't bring her father back, but it could open the door for justice and potentially restore his reputation. He'd served honorably and deserved to be remembered for the way he'd protected national interests, as well as the soldiers under his command.

She pulled out her phone and researched flight options. By the time she got back to the office, she had her explanation ready and a realistic idea of the days off she would need to run down this lead.

Tucson, Arizona
Friday, April 8, 8:40 a.m.

F
RANKIE
CHECKED
OUT
of her hotel room and left the cool lobby for the warm sunshine of the Arizona springtime. Her boss had waved away her vague explanation of a family crisis and granted her time off through the end of next week. It helped that Frankie could do much of her work long-distance if necessary. She'd gotten on a plane last night. Waiting for morning had proved one of the hardest things she'd done in a while.

Hailing a cab, she gave the driver the bank address as her mind raced yet another lap around the same tired circuit that had plagued her since she left the diner yesterday. Every time she reviewed what she'd learned since her father's death, the timing of the charges and the sequence of events, she bumped smack into her mother's uncharacteristic behavior and apathy. Her mom was hiding something; Frankie just couldn't guess what or why. Hopefully, whatever her father had stashed in this safe-deposit box would take her a step closer to the truth.

Sophia, as a military analyst for the CIA, had the clearance access and professional connections to support the general's defense. At the very least, she should've given Frankie a better explanation for how things had spiraled out of control. Her injury and recovery weren't a reliable excuse any longer. Neither was the nonsense about Frankie's career being negatively impacted by her father's misdeeds.

He was
innocent
. Whatever had happened during those last few months in Afghanistan, Frankie knew her father hadn't betrayed his oath to his country, and she meant to prove it.

It was a relief when the cab stopped and she had to think about paying the fare. Taking her suitcase and the backpack serving as her laptop bag and purse, she headed inside the bank, then paused to look around. She didn't know why her dad had chosen this facility. They'd never lived on the nearby post, though she was sure both her parents had been here at one time or another, since Fort Huachuca was home to the Army Intelligence Center.

Frankie offered a polite smile as she showed her key and requested access to the safe-deposit box. Her palms were damp as she followed the teller toward the vault, the wheels of her suitcase rattling over the marble floor. When both keys had been inserted into the respective locks, the teller pulled out the slim drawer and walked toward a small alcove.

“Just draw the curtain back when you're done,” she said. “And we'll replace the box for you.”

“Got it. Thanks,” Frankie said as the woman walked away.

She stared at the closed safe-deposit box on the table, her feet rooted in place. Now she had second thoughts. Her dad had left her something here, something he hadn't trusted to her mom's care. The truth of her father's downfall could very well be inside. Frankie had come this far; she had to see it through. One step, then another, and she rested her trembling fingers on the cool metal box. John's warning echoed in her head. She believed with every beat of her heart that her father had been a scapegoat. Whoever had gone to those lengths to avoid the consequences obviously didn't want to be exposed.

If she looked inside, there would be no going back, no way to undo whatever she learned. Holding back or walking away—those weren't valid options, either. Not for Frankie.

“Don't have to like it, just have to do it.” She whispered one of the favorite motivators from her SEAL training as she opened the box. She didn't have to act on it; she just had to know.

An envelope marked Top Secret was no surprise, though surely the evidence against her father should rate a higher clearance level. Under the envelope she found a flash drive, half a map and two passports. Slipping the drive into her pocket, she discovered both passports had her mother's picture beside different names and birth dates.

Assuming John had gathered the evidence in this box on her father's behalf, Frankie wondered how he'd gotten the passports away from her mom. Seduction or burglary? A small voice in her head suggested this field trip was a setup, and Frankie's temper flared in bitter denial. John was a wild card, definitely, but she would not leap to any conclusions until she'd exhausted every lead.

Frankie tamped down her frustration. The attention an outburst would bring was the last thing she needed here. She tucked the fake passports into her backpack and kept going.

A smaller envelope held her father's dog tags, and her heart stuttered in her chest. She looped the cool metal chain around her fingers. When she was little, her dad had often let her wear his tags when she played dress up with his boots and uniforms. If she'd had any doubts about John's claims, the dog tags dispelled them. With care, she poured the tags and chain back into the envelope and added it to her backpack. Only one item remained, a small jewelry box covered in worn black velvet.

Her fingers curled back into her palm. That box didn't belong here. Her father had kept it on top of his dresser in the bedroom. The ring inside came out only for official functions.

Frankie popped open the lid, praying she was wrong, that this was something else. It wasn't. She bit her lip, staring down at her father's class ring from West Point. Snapping the box shut, she pressed it close to her heart, as if somehow that would make everything that had gone wrong right again.

This ring was central to her image of her dad, of the honor, dedication and commitment he'd given to every endeavor. She opened the box again, smoothing her finger over the heavy gold band. All her life she'd watched him, captivated by the stories he told as he polished it for special occasions. She'd caught him once just holding it, dazed, when he returned from a deployment. Her mother had told her later that one of his classmates had died.

When had he stored it here and why? Frankie couldn't think of a single answer to either question. “I'll figure it out, Dad. I promise,” she murmured, sliding the ring box into a zippered inner pocket of the backpack.

Finally, she unwound the red string tying the large envelope closed and shook out the papers inside. After-action reports were on top. She skimmed each page, noting the details that weren't blacked out. The dates and locations matched what she already knew of General Leone's final months in Afghanistan.

She forgot everything else when she found the transcript of her mother's statement about his activities in Afghanistan. Icy dread tickled the nape of Frankie's neck and she steeled herself against the involuntary shiver. Sophia Leone had created a report that didn't support her husband at all. She'd tossed him under the proverbial bus.

What the hell? Her parents had
always
been a team. From Frankie's first memory they'd been affectionate and happy, devoted to each other. They'd embraced life, taught her everything she valued about being in love and being loving. They'd exemplified respect, support and drive as they went after their individual and mutual goals together.

How could Sophia turn on him?

Frankie blinked back a red haze of fury as she read the cold, sterile statements that tied her father to criminal actions. Fumed over the
implications
that he'd sabotaged missions for personal gain. The report did nothing to corroborate General Leone's account of critical operations. Good grief, in light of this statement, no other verdict than guilty had been possible.

Frankie pulled out the band holding her hair in a bun and worked her fingers over her scalp. At least she understood why her mother had refused to discuss any of this. Frankie wound her hair back up into place as she read the terrible statement again.

Two dates stood out to her, dates when she knew her father had been at the Bagram Airfield, when her mother stated he'd been in Kabul. She checked her watch, wishing she had time to boot up her computer and check the flash drive here. Now that she had a lead, she was eager to chase it down. With any luck the drive would have more details she could assess and pull into a cohesive case against her mother. No wonder her dad had killed himself. Someone had set him up so well with the treason charge that even his wife had turned on him.

“And I was useless,” Frankie whispered to herself. During his trial she'd been stuck in a hospital bed while surgeons debated the best treatment for her spine injury.

She fisted the papers in her hands as something inside her shattered. John had warned her and he'd been right. Appalling as this was, the answers gave her a target. Sophia owed her more than another weak evasion. Frankie had asked her mother point-blank about the allegations and charges against her dad, and the answer had been to trust the legal process and keep believing in him.

Frankie had obediently complied and the process had failed her father. Along with a helpful boost from her mother, apparently. Even after the verdict, her mom had insisted things would work out, that her father wasn't done fighting. Now it was obvious those assurances had merely been more lies and platitudes to cover Sophia's part in the witch hunt.

Why? Who gained? Her mother had put the life insurance and other assets into a trust for Frankie, and turned her attention to a new private security business out in Seattle, Washington.

After stuffing the papers back into the envelope, Frankie secured the tie, suddenly uncertain. Was it safer to leave the evidence here or take it with her?

John had given her one key. Typically, safe-deposit boxes were issued with two. He'd told her that his visit, brief and cryptic as it was, put her at risk. She hadn't done anything to hide her travel plans, so if someone were watching, whoever it was could easily conclude she'd been here. She decided to take everything and create a new hiding place.

John must have gathered the legal and personal items on her dad's orders. Frank would've known his daughter would never buy in to the treason charges. He wanted her to clear his name—Frankie felt it like a flame deep in her heart. If he believed in her to do that, why kill himself?

Confused and hurt, she couldn't quite see the next step beyond leaving Arizona. Her gut instinct was to fly out to Seattle and confront her mother. Just the thought had Frankie braced for a battle. Showing up in a fit of anger wouldn't help. Her mom was far too composed, too deft at sliding around the truth for a direct attack.

There was no way Frankie could do this until she calmed down, planned it out. She needed to go through the flash drive and it would be smart to get a second opinion on the documents, just in case John was playing her.

She thought about the dog tags and the West Point ring as she rubbed her knuckles across the scars and tight muscles at her back. If that was the case, she had to give him points for knowing his target.

“Think, Frankie.” There were always options. Her military training had changed her way of thinking. As a SEAL she'd embraced the clever and creative strategies required for a small force to succeed when outnumbered by a larger, better equipped opponent.

She smiled as she made her decision. It was time to visit another friend of her father's. A friend, unlike John, she could be sure of, based on her personal experience. After the safe-deposit box went back into the vault, she booked herself on the next available flight to Chicago.

Victoria Colby-Camp could help her.

Chapter Three

Chicago, 5:30 p.m.

Frankie had fond memories of visiting with “Aunt Victoria,” though it was an honorary title. Somewhere in a box she had yet to unpack in Savannah, there was a framed photo of her with Victoria at a Fourth of July barbecue. When news of her father's suicide flooded the media, Victoria had been one of the few people who'd sent her a sympathy card.

The evidence of her mother's betrayal burned through her system as Frankie sat in Victoria's reception area. She wanted advice on how to proceed. Sophia couldn't be allowed to get away with this.

Frankie shifted in the chair. It was a nice enough piece of furniture, for someone who hadn't spent too many hours on airplanes recently. She needed to take a break to stretch and let her back recover, but she had no time to waste. All the physical therapy in the world couldn't change the simple fact that she wouldn't rest easy until this was over.

The receptionist stationed outside Victoria's office directed Frankie to the coffee service, and she had barely declined when Victoria opened her office door. Frankie smiled. The woman still looked as regal as she remembered. Though her dark hair was now streaked with gray, Victoria remained beautiful.

“Frankie, what a pleasure to see you again.” She crossed the room and gave her a warm hug. “It's been far too long. How are you feeling?”

“Fit as ever, though the navy docs didn't clear me for active duty.”

“That's frustrating,” Victoria said, guiding her into the office and closing the door behind them. “Have a seat and tell me how things are going. I hear you joined the Savannah Police Department.”

Frankie smiled. “As an analyst,” she replied, though she was sure Victoria knew that, as well. It would've been more surprising if Victoria hadn't checked into her background. “It's good work and I enjoy it.”

“But not as exciting as your previous career.”

“Few things are,” Frankie agreed.

“Your message sounded quite urgent,” Victoria said, concern in her eyes.

“It is. Thanks for seeing me.”

Frankie had rehearsed the talking points on the flight and refined them in the cab. Now her stomach clenched. Maybe she should've taken more time to review the flash drive first. No, the statement alone was damaging enough to enlist Victoria's opinion and guidance. “I need some advice,” she began.

Just start at the beginning and walk through it step by step
, she coached herself. She was more convinced than ever that her mother had been part of the plan to railroad her father. What baffled her was why. And rushing straight to that conclusion without the backstory would get her nowhere. Victoria was her last chance.

“I'm glad you came to me,” the older woman said, her voice soothing.

“You knew my parents well?”

She nodded. “I knew them both, long before they married.”

“Did you follow their careers?”

“Not particularly. Mainly what they shared in Christmas cards or when your father made the news.” Victoria reached for her cup of coffee. “For his successes.”

Frankie rubbed her palms on her jeans, wishing she'd worn the one dress she'd packed for this trip. Her soft green sweater set felt too casual next to Victoria's polished style, and Frankie felt absolutely outclassed by the elegantly furnished office. Everything screamed experience and expertise. Which was why she was here. “I don't know who else to turn to,” she admitted. “I found evidence that my mother lied to me about my father's case, and probably several other things, as well,” she added, thinking of the passports.

Victoria set her coffee aside. “What sort of evidence?”

Frankie pulled the statement from the envelope in her backpack. Handing it over, she explained, “Sophia had a choice and she willingly contributed to his guilty verdict.”

“Sophia?” Victoria echoed with an arching eyebrow. She studied Frankie over the top of the document. “You actually believe that.”

“I've suspected it for some time,” Frankie replied. “You're holding the proof.”

Victoria picked up a pair of glasses and set them in place to read the statement. When she finished, she placed the papers gingerly on her desktop, as though they might explode. “How did you get this?”

“A friend of Dad's came to see me. He gave me a key to a safe-deposit box and warned me the contents could be dangerous. That document was one of several items inside.”

“Go on.”

“False passports with Sophia's picture, a flash drive with more information that connects her to my father's death, and other personal items from Dad.”

“Did you recognize this friend?”

“No,” Frankie admitted. She pulled out her phone and brought up the pictures she'd taken at the diner. “Do you? He told me he was close to my parents.”

Victoria adjusted her glasses and carefully examined each photo. “I've never seen him. You should speak with your mother and verify your source and the accuracy of this statement.”

“I have.” Frankie swallowed her impatience. “Well, I haven't asked her about this man, but we've talked about Dad. Argued really. Her answers weren't clear or helpful. Or even honest, in light of all this.”

“Frankie. You've been part of covert operations. It's a world of smoke and mirrors. You know reports rarely give the full picture of any situation.”

“You won't help me get to the truth?”

Victoria sighed. “What are you asking me to do?”

Frankie wanted to get up and pace or scream, or otherwise release some of the frustration building inside her. Instead, she remained in the chair. “I have nightmares about my dad's downfall and death. He wasn't a traitor.” She stopped and swallowed when her voice started to crack. “I can't believe it, not about the man I knew.”

“Frankie—”

“I know I'm looking at this with a daughter's eyes. I talked with Sophia several times when he was accused and after they found him guilty. She was too composed through the whole mess. Never a tear or any sign of worry. What kind of wife doesn't worry when her husband is accused of treason?” Frankie paused, pulling on the tattered edges of her composure. Losing it would get her nowhere. “Sophia never gave me anything but the same tired reply—trust the process.”

“It's sound advice.”

“It didn't work.” Frankie left out the irrelevant piece that trusting a legal process included zero comfort factor. “It was a self-serving answer,” she argued. “Suicide isn't part of any fair or just process. How did he even manage that with the security team that must have been surrounding him?”

Frankie took a moment to compose herself. “Aunt Victoria, I have a new job, I'm making a new life, but I haven't moved on. Not really.” She scooted to the edge of the chair. “I need the answers. I deserve to know what happened and who I can trust. There's no way I can move forward until I clear up the past.”

“I understand how that feels,” Victoria said, her words heavy with the wisdom of experience. “But leaping to conclusions will only hurt you. Others, too, most likely. I've known your mother a very long time. Her word should be enough for you.”

“What word? She won't explain herself,” Frankie pressed, desperate for Victoria's help. “My father's been silenced. I want to understand what happened.”

“You want revenge,” Victoria stated bluntly. “Who will you target and what price will you pay?”

Frankie forced herself to calm down, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. “My dad isn't a traitor. Even dead, he doesn't deserve to bear that notoriety.” She fidgeted in the chair, wishing again she could get up and pace. “Apparently the friend of his who found me yesterday is the only person who agrees with me.”

“You don't know that.” Victoria tapped the papers in front of her. “This statement doesn't prove your mother was complicit if there
was
a concerted effort to ruin your father. She had to make an accurate report. Her position and her integrity required it.”

“It's
not
accurate. Dad was in Bagram when she stated he was in Kabul.” Frankie hadn't felt so helpless since she'd woken in a hospital bed with no feeling in her legs. She needed an ally. Just as the candid support of the medical team had empowered her recovery, one trustworthy partner would make all the difference now.

Victoria's eyes lit with troubled interest. “How can you be sure?”

“Because I was there. I saw him.” She nearly cheered when Victoria's brow furrowed as she reviewed the report again.

“Let me see the passports.”

Frankie handed them over and endured the small eternity awaiting Victoria's response.

The older woman reached for her phone and pressed a button. “Ask Aidan to join us, please.” She replaced the handset and met Frankie's gaze. “Aidan Abbot is one of my best investigators. No one's better with documents or ferreting through layers of security or fraud. He can tell us if the passports are fakes.”

“How could they possibly be real?”

Victoria flipped through the pages. “Frankie, you know there are times when an established alias is necessary. Or all of this could be an elaborate setup to turn you against her.”

“I've already been against her for months. We haven't spoken since his funeral.” An event that had been postponed a full month so Frankie could attend. Too bad it hadn't made anything easier. The delay had only given her mother more time to pretend life with her spouse hadn't existed. The brutal lack of emotion had shocked Frankie. Still did. If Sophia so willingly cut out a husband, losing a daughter probably hadn't registered on her scale. Everything Frankie thought she knew about love and family had been turned upside down by a disaster someone had manufactured. Hurting, her blood beating cold in her veins, Frankie fixed her gaze on the window and the city glittering beyond it.

“Let's assume you're right,” Victoria continued. “It would require serious planning and resources to systematically take down a man of your father's standing. To create evidence strong enough to ruin his career and push him to suicide without leaving a trail would be almost impossible these days.”

A knock sounded on the door. Frankie turned to see it open and a man with thick, dark hair in need of a trim, and vivid, cobalt-blue eyes, enter.

“Aidan Abbot, Francesca Leone.”

“A pleasure,” he said, shaking her hand.

There was a trace of Ireland in his voice and it sent her pulse into some foolish feminine skipping. He probably got that all the time, she thought, irritated with her reaction. “Likewise,” she replied.

“Francesca's a lovely name.”

The way he said it made her want to sigh and forget why she'd come here. She cleared her throat. “Call me Frankie.” She'd been named in honor of both her grandmother and father. Her full name had always felt too exotic. “Frankie” was a better fit for the tough and proud little girl who'd spent her life aspiring to be like her dad.

When he was seated, Victoria handed Aidan the passports. “Frankie has some concerns about these.”

Frankie watched him examine them, involuntarily admiring his hands, as well as his attention to detail. More annoying was the difficulty she seemed to be having with the fact that he wore some appealing cologne that reminded her of the Pacific Coast on a clear, sunny day.

“One woman with two names implies that one of them is a fake,” he said after a moment.

“Both are fakes,” Frankie stated firmly.

Aidan arched a dark eyebrow, and his mouth quirked up at one corner. Frankie felt a warm tremor just under her skin. It was a relief when he turned that bold blue gaze toward his boss. “If there's no question, why call me?”

“There may be good reason those passports were issued. Would you mind taking a closer look into the names and any travel records?”

“Not at all.” He tapped the closed passports against his knee. “How much time do I have?”

“A few hours at most,” Victoria said, her eyes cool. “Frankie wants the information yesterday.”

Frankie couldn't sit still a moment longer. Her back ached from the travel and the tension. She wanted the freedom and clarity of a quick run but settled for pacing the width of the office. The patience she'd relied on in the field and in her work didn't translate to this situation. “That's a start. Can you tell me what sort of legal action we can take?” She shoved her hands into her pockets.

“Why don't you give me what you have?” Victoria suggested. “Let my team investigate while you go back to Savannah. We're good, objective and fast. I'll call you as soon as we know something.”

Frankie shook her head, her ponytail swinging. “I'm not sitting this one out.” She'd been relegated to the sidelines too often since her injury. While she couldn't say she knew her parents better than anyone—the opposite appeared to be true—she wouldn't deal with this long-distance via secondhand reports. She wanted to see her mother's face when the truth finally came out.

“Then why did you come to me?”

She felt Aidan's gaze on her as Victoria waited for an answer. Frankie wished she could ask him to leave. She didn't want to share the ugly Leone family secrets with a stranger. “For support and guidance,” she replied, keeping her gaze on Victoria. “I took vacation through next week. I'll go to Seattle and confront my mother about that statement while you investigate the passports and other documents. Won't that be enough time to know if we have a case against her?”

“Frankie—”

“I'll tell her I want to reconcile, to mend the rift,” Frankie explained. “Hopefully, she'll buy it and open up. If that isn't enough, I'll ask for a job. Anything to lower her defenses.”

Victoria glanced at Aidan. “Frankie's mother owns Leo Solutions, a security firm in Seattle.”