dad have a long reach and violent habits.”
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.
FRANKIE 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
