No retribution. Staring at their retreating backs, she couldn't work up the gratitude. Eleven years on the force and she'd drawn her weapon less than a dozen times. Never fired it outside the shooting range, before today.
And today, she'd killed a man. No matter his failings, Luis Garcia had a wife and six kids who depended on him. Her breakfast threatened to make a reappearance, but she managed to keep it down.
"Chase?"
Rowan turned, blinking at Captain Connolly. She couldn't seem to shake the fog that had wrapped itself around her brain. "Sir."
"What happened here?" he asked matter-of-factly. His weathered face was calm, his blue eyes patient.
Quickly, she gave their supervisor the rundown, in detail. Danny backed her up, and the captain nodded.
"All right. Looks like a clean shooting, but you know what happens next," he said kindly.
She did. Although she'd never had to fire her weapon, much less kill a suspect, other officers had over the years. They all knew the drill. She exhaled a deep breath. "I guess I'm on leave."
"I'm afraid so." Connolly squeezed her shoulder. "At least until the investigation is over. It'll probably be just a formality in this case, but it still sucks. We've got things covered here. Head on back to the station, take care of your paperwork. Make sure all your i's are dotted and the t's crossed. Then surrender your weapon and go home. I'll call you."
"What about Albright?" She gestured to her partner.
"I'll temporarily reassign him pending the closing of the investigation."
"Yes, sir." Damn, she hated losing a good rookie to another officer. Even if Internal Affairs closed the matter quickly, she'd have to fight to get him back.
"Take it easy," Danny said, trying to be reassuring. "Everything will be fine."
"Sure. Take care, and I'll see you."
She walked away, aware of eyes at her back, measuring. Wondering whether she'd be the department's new head case, waiting to see if this would be what finally sent her careening over the edge. First the loss of her younger brother, and now this.
Climbing into the patrol car, she forced herself to start the ignition and calmly drive away when all she wanted to do was sit there and fall apart. Later, she promised herself. She'd pick up a six-pack of beer on the way home and let go where no one could see.
For now, "compartmentalize" was the word of the day and the only way to get through it.
Three hours later, Rowan finished the last of her mountain of paperwork, surrendered her pistol, and headed out the door, thankfully unnoticed except for a couple of buddies who'd heard the news and stopped her to deliver brief pep talks. She felt decidedly naked without the comforting, familiar weight of a weapon at her side and just wanted to get the hell out of there before more of her comrades noticed and wanted to get the lowdown firsthand.
She hurried to her truck and fired it up just as her cell phone vibrated on her hip. With a sigh, she left the vehicle in park, retrieved the device, and checked the caller ID. This one she had to take. "Hello."
"Hey, it's me."
In spite of herself, she smiled. "Hi, me. What's cookin'?" Her friend, FBI special agent Dean Campbell, never spoke either of their names on the phone. Paranoia was more than in his job description-it was embedded in his DNA.
"Plenty. I've got those Dodgers tickets you wanted," he said cheerfully. "Meet me for a burger, usual place?"
Her smile vanished and the blood drained from her face. Her mouth opened a couple of times before she could find her voice. "I'll be there in half an hour. I need to go home and change first."
"On my way. I'll get us a table."
Punching the OFF button, she tossed the phone in the seat next to her and peeled out. Oh, God. Finally, after months of a fruitless, agonizing search for answers and a maze of dead ends, the call she'd been praying for had come. And for a while longer, she had to bleed just a little more inside, not knowing whether this was the end or the beginning.
Not knowing if Micah really was dead, as the government claimed, or if he was alive somewhere, waiting to be rescued.
And if her brother was alive, what the fuck was going on?
The questions and possible answers whirled in her brain all the way to her apartment, and didn't let up as she hurriedly stripped out of her uniform and changed into jean shorts, a tank top, and tennis shoes. She couldn't stand another second of this torture now that the end was in sight. The drive to Willy's had never seemed so long, yet she made it there in under fifteen. The bar and burger joint wasn't crowded this time of afternoon, so she was able to get a pretty good parking spot on the side of the building.
Jogging around to the front, she pushed inside and spotted Dean sitting in a booth near the back. He waved and she went to meet him, returning his quick hug before sliding into the seat opposite his.
Mustering a smile, she crossed her arms on the table. "You look good, my friend." He always did. Dean was in his mid-thirties, with honey blond hair, big brown eyes, and a killer smile. The whole package stopped traffic. It was a shame she felt nothing more than mild attraction for the man, and vice versa, because it had been way too long since she'd had any sort of an intimate relationship.
"Back atcha." Sitting back, he eyed her in speculation. "I already heard through the grapevine about the shooting. How are you holding up?"
"Jeez, that was fast," she muttered. "I'm okay."
"You sure?"
"No."
He patted her hand, his gaze softening. "That's normal. You'll be all right, trust me. Especially after I give you something else to occupy your mind." Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a legal-sized white envelope and slid it across the table.
Swallowing hard, she eyed it. "My tickets?"
The agent glanced around, but there was no one nearby to listen. Still, he spoke in a low voice. "Read that, memorize it, then destroy it."
Turning the envelope over she glanced at her friend. "What's inside?"
"Directions to a place that doesn't officially exist." He paused. "A compound in Wyoming, situated deep in the Shoshone National Forest. Top secret, black ops."
"Unless you know the right people to squeeze."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "Exactly."
Taking a deep breath, she asked the one question burning in her heart. "Is my brother alive?"
"I don't know," he said, tapping the envelope. "But those are the ones who will."
So close, but still no answer. Yet. She fought back the tears that would do neither herself nor Micah any good. "You risked everything to get this information for me. I don't know how to thank you."
"By not getting yourself killed." He wasn't joking.
"I'll put that on the list right after finishing with IA, taking personal leave, packing, and hitting the road."
"Call me when you leave town, and keep in touch."
"I will," she promised.
"You hungry? I'm buying."
To Rowan's surprise, her stomach snarled. Funny how a sliver of hope could revive a person's appetite. "I could eat, but it's on me. And if this lead takes me to the truth about what happened to Micah, there's a steak dinner in it for you when I return. It's the least I can do."
"Only if you bring Micah with you," he said softly.
Damn it, she would not cry.
"It's a deal."
Understandably, their meal was quite a bit more subdued than usual. Rowan was far too preoccupied to make a good companion, but that was the beauty of true friendship; neither of them had to say a word to be comfortable. They had each other's backs.
While they ate, her thoughts drifted to this mysterious compound and what kind of operation she would find. Not to mention the reception she'd receive, especially when they learned of her mission.
But she wouldn't leave there without finding out, once and for all, what had happened to her brother. She and Micah had always shared a mental connection that most people would scoff at, and certainly wouldn't understand. They weren't twins, but she felt strongly that she would know in her heart if and when he died. He was alive. Had to be.
No, this wasn't the end at all, but just the beginning. She'd find her brother if it was the last thing she ever did.
And then she'd make reservations for three at the finest restaurant in L.A.
With every mile that took her closer to her destination, Rowan's anxiety grew by leaps and bounds. The gorgeous backdrop of the Shoshone National Forest, resplendent in full summer greenery, hardly registered as she steered her truck up the winding road.
Gripping the wheel, she eyed the left-hand side of the road, looking for the obscure turn outlined in the directions she'd memorized and then burned three weeks ago. Three miles later she found it. Or hoped she had.
Turning, she braked in front of a metal gate. It was simple, the kind any landowner might use, along with the black and white NO TRESPASSING sign nailed to a post next to the chain and padlock. Neither posed a deterrent to her bolt cutters or her determination.
Leaving the truck running, she grabbed the cutters and made short work of the chain, then unwrapped it, letting it hang from the gate. In for a penny. If she was in the right place, she'd soon have a lot more to worry about than a measly charge of trespassing on government property.
After swinging the gate open enough to drive the vehicle through, she returned to the truck and did just that. Then she got out and closed the gate again, wrapping the chain around it so that, hopefully, nothing would appear out of the ordinary to a casual passerby. So far, so good. She continued on her way.
A couple of miles deeper into the forest, the second barrier was an unpleasant surprise, and a formidable obstacle. She could have screamed in frustration.
The chain-link fence was about ten feet tall and topped with razor wire. This gate was much more sophisticated, at least two feet taller than the fence on either side, and automated, with a pass code box on the driver's side. On top of the security box, a camera lens stared her in the face like an all-knowing eye.
"Shit."
She didn't have the code. And after several minutes of punching a green CALL button and then waiting, it became evident that no one planned to answer her summons. The operatives inside were probably having a good laugh. Maybe they thought she'd get bored and go on her merry way.
They thought wrong.
Calmly, she reached for her purse, never happier that the captain had returned her weapon. Extracting the Glock from within and squinting, she pointed the gun at the camera lens. "Knock-knock, assholes."
And fired, sending a shower of glass and metal raining all over the drive.
That ought to get their fucking attention. Best to meet them head-on. Stepping away from the truck, she tucked the gun into the waistband of her jeans and walked over to inspect the gate. State-of-the-art stuff, a real fortress. What was this place and how was Micah involved? She wasn't leaving until they enlightened her.
A shuffle sounded to her left. And low growling.
Turning, she cursed softly, eyes widening. Guard dogs? Several of them, on her side of the fence, fanning out to surround her, heads down, ears flat, fangs bared. Moving almost silently through the sun-dappled forest.
But no, these weren't dogs. They were...
Wolves! And one really large black panther?
She blinked rapidly as they approached and backed slowly toward her truck, thinking she must be seeing things. Wolves were now common in the Shoshone, thanks to wildlife rescue efforts. But she'd heard that wolves went out of their way to avoid humans. Right? Just not these wolves.
And what about the big cat? Black panthers didn't even technically exist!
Tell that to this one.
"Stay," she called, holding out a shaking hand. "Nice doggies. I'm not going to hurt you."