when in fact he’d merely been pulling over to talk safely.
“It’s been a few days, so I thought I could at least find out where it was in the process. But I got the same person who told me it was frozen before. She said there was no application at all in my aunt’s name.”
“What? That’s crazy. Rick had it in his hand when he called me back.”
“That’s your contact?”
“Yes. Rick Alvarado.”
“You’re sure he had it? He wouldn’t...just say he did to cover losing it?”
“No. He wouldn’t lie to me.”
“Would Mr. Alvarado—or you—mind if I called him?”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t. And why would I?”
“He’s your contact.”
“This isn’t chain of command, Mrs. Burke. Feel free.”
Was there an edge in his voice? And there it was again, that
Mrs. Burke
. And did that chain-of-command comment mean he truly had looked her up, knew she’d fought her way up that chain more than once? She sighed inwardly in exasperation. She hadn’t spent this kind of time trying to guess at what someone wasn’t saying since she’d had to deal with brass who wanted to help her but couldn’t without damaging themselves.
“Been doing some research?” she asked.
“The joys of the internet,” was all he said, but he sounded a bit embarrassed. “I’ll call him again if you want,” he said, quickly dodging any further questions on that subject.
“It’s not your problem. You’ve already done enough.” Purposely she added, “Thank you, Brett.”
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Burke,” he said, and was gone, almost abruptly.
Mrs. Burke. Even when she’d called him Brett.
Obviously he had done that research. So he had to know her husband was dead. And how. And what had happened after. For some people, that put her in the too-uncomfortable-to-talk-to category. It seemed Brett Dunbar might be one of those.
That disappointed her.
And that, in turn, set off a warning bell in her mind.
With a stern self-directed lecture about foolishness, she ordered herself back to the task at hand and called the permit office once more.
* * *
Brett sat in the car where he’d pulled off to the side of the road, his phone still in his hand.
That, he thought, had been a disaster of a conversation.
No wonder she’d cowed half the top brass in a couple of military services. He had a feeling she would have eventually accomplished what she’d done even without the help of that battle-toughened senator. She was smart, determined and dedicated. She’d figured out he’d looked her up and tacitly, with her formal tone, acknowledged the distance he had put between them by using her married name. That didn’t surprise him; he’d guessed as much.
What surprised him was how much it bothered him, that tone in her voice. It was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? He’d wanted that safe distance between them.
Well, he’d gotten it. And if he didn’t like it, that was his problem.
He checked the highway, picked his spot and merged back into traffic. He made himself map out the rest of his afternoon so he wouldn’t dwell on one Sloan Burke. Or how the more he’d read, the more he’d admired her. Or how he had, against his better judgment, called up online video of those hearings, had watched with a pained sort of raptness as she told the story of her husband’s death and the cover-up it had revealed. Her testimony had been passionate, articulate and damning. She had never faltered, never let herself be diverted or intimidated. She had shamed them all with her courage, and in the end she had won.
And with each moment he’d watched, he’d envied a dead man more.
Chapter 8
B rett arrived back at the office to a slew of messages, paper, voice mail and emails. Some were the kind that ate at him, queries on cases where there was no progress. One was a break—the suspect in the case where he’d given the deposition had pled out, saving him from any potential trial appearance. The last two were information he’d
“It’s been a few days, so I thought I could at least find out where it was in the process. But I got the same person who told me it was frozen before. She said there was no application at all in my aunt’s name.”
“What? That’s crazy. Rick had it in his hand when he called me back.”
“That’s your contact?”
“Yes. Rick Alvarado.”
“You’re sure he had it? He wouldn’t...just say he did to cover losing it?”
“No. He wouldn’t lie to me.”
“Would Mr. Alvarado—or you—mind if I called him?”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t. And why would I?”
“He’s your contact.”
“This isn’t chain of command, Mrs. Burke. Feel free.”
Was there an edge in his voice? And there it was again, that
Mrs. Burke
. And did that chain-of-command comment mean he truly had looked her up, knew she’d fought her way up that chain more than once? She sighed inwardly in exasperation. She hadn’t spent this kind of time trying to guess at what someone wasn’t saying since she’d had to deal with brass who wanted to help her but couldn’t without damaging themselves.
“Been doing some research?” she asked.
“The joys of the internet,” was all he said, but he sounded a bit embarrassed. “I’ll call him again if you want,” he said, quickly dodging any further questions on that subject.
“It’s not your problem. You’ve already done enough.” Purposely she added, “Thank you, Brett.”
“You’re welcome, Mrs. Burke,” he said, and was gone, almost abruptly.
Mrs. Burke. Even when she’d called him Brett.
Obviously he had done that research. So he had to know her husband was dead. And how. And what had happened after. For some people, that put her in the too-uncomfortable-to-talk-to category. It seemed Brett Dunbar might be one of those.
That disappointed her.
And that, in turn, set off a warning bell in her mind.
With a stern self-directed lecture about foolishness, she ordered herself back to the task at hand and called the permit office once more.
* * *
Brett sat in the car where he’d pulled off to the side of the road, his phone still in his hand.
That, he thought, had been a disaster of a conversation.
No wonder she’d cowed half the top brass in a couple of military services. He had a feeling she would have eventually accomplished what she’d done even without the help of that battle-toughened senator. She was smart, determined and dedicated. She’d figured out he’d looked her up and tacitly, with her formal tone, acknowledged the distance he had put between them by using her married name. That didn’t surprise him; he’d guessed as much.
What surprised him was how much it bothered him, that tone in her voice. It was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? He’d wanted that safe distance between them.
Well, he’d gotten it. And if he didn’t like it, that was his problem.
He checked the highway, picked his spot and merged back into traffic. He made himself map out the rest of his afternoon so he wouldn’t dwell on one Sloan Burke. Or how the more he’d read, the more he’d admired her. Or how he had, against his better judgment, called up online video of those hearings, had watched with a pained sort of raptness as she told the story of her husband’s death and the cover-up it had revealed. Her testimony had been passionate, articulate and damning. She had never faltered, never let herself be diverted or intimidated. She had shamed them all with her courage, and in the end she had won.
And with each moment he’d watched, he’d envied a dead man more.
Chapter 8
B rett arrived back at the office to a slew of messages, paper, voice mail and emails. Some were the kind that ate at him, queries on cases where there was no progress. One was a break—the suspect in the case where he’d given the deposition had pled out, saving him from any potential trial appearance. The last two were information he’d
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