to tell him she believed he was innocent, or that she loved him despite the stones thrown from all sides. There hadn’t been any tender farewell phone call or last words in a note. When her father made a decision, he followed through. He’d killed himself shortly after the guilty verdict, before she’d regained her ability to walk unassisted.
The memories of hearing the news swamped her and she raised her tea to her lips, the cup shaking slightly. Sophia, with no trace of emotion, had explained her husband’s suicide and told Frankie what would come next regarding services, the will and estate, and the rest of it. In the days immediately following the tragedy, Frankie had tried to talk to her, hoping to make sense of the senseless. Her mother had been too wrapped up in the legalities and had quickly moved on as though a lifetime of marriage and family had meant nothing.
“He’d be happy to see you strong and healthy again.”
John’s quiet voice brought Frankie back to the present with an unpleasant jolt.
“I like to think so.” She carefully placed the cup in the saucer.
“You’ve done well reestablishing yourself.”
“Uh-huh.” She toyed with the handle of her cup. “You said you had something for me?” She didn’t want to talk about her father or her new life. Not with a therapist, not with a friend, and definitely not with a stranger.
“Yes.” He reached into the pocket inside his sport coat and fished out a small gray envelope. “This matches a safe-deposit box in Tucson,” he explained, his voice no more than a whisper. With one finger he pushed the envelope, which presumably held a key, halfway across the table. “No one mattered to your dad as much as you did. He can’t tell you in his own words, but the answers you’re after are there.”
Answers. Frankie blinked away the rush of tears blurring her vision. She’d expected dog tags, or maybe her dad’s class ring from West Point. Answers were a thousand times better. She hadn’t been prepared for someone who believed her father had been railroaded, and wanted to help her ferret out the truth. She caught her trembling lower lip between her teeth and fought valiantly for composure. There would be time for emotions later. “How do you know what answers I’m after?” she asked, using his phrase. “Dad’s case is closed.” It was hard to believe this could be the break she needed to clear her father’s name.
John left the envelope on the table, pulling his fingers back and drumming them on the rim of his coffee cup, watching her closely. “The case is officially closed, but it’s nowhere near done for you. You take that and you’ll have a chance to right a wrong.”
She couldn’t tear her eyes away from that slim gray envelope. “Why don’t you do what’s necessary with the information?”
He shook his head. “This is for family. I’m just the messenger.”
Frankie sucked in a breath. He couldn’t mean what those words implied. She’d learned that her mother’s testimony had come into play during her father’s trial, though Frankie had never understood why it hadn’t helped. Sophia refused to discuss the matter, which left Frankie with more questions than answers at every turn.
“From where I’m sitting I’d say you got that stubbornness and tenacity from your dad,” John said, urging her on in his quiet way.
Frankie covered the envelope with her hand, pulling it closer to her side of the table. Either she hadn’t been as discreet as she should have been or John had the depth of access that went with the cloak-and-dagger routine. She thought of the inquiries she’d made after her father’s funeral. All of them had turned into frustrating dead ends. Hope surged through her that this key would unlock the secrets about General Leone’s final missions overseas.
She peered into the envelope before tucking it into her pocket. Taking it didn’t mean she had to do anything about it. She studied John’s inscrutable face. “How can I reach you?”
“You can’t.” His gaze moved systematically around the coffee shop. “My being here, even for a few hours, puts you in jeopardy. This has to be our only communication.”
She gave a short nod as her mind reeled. This man was the first person who showed any sign of agreeing with her about her father’s innocence.
John pulled out his wallet and tossed a ten-dollar bill onto the table. “You don’t have to go and you don’t have to be in a hurry,” he said. “In fact, I recommend you take some time and think it through. What’s inside the box isn’t going anywhere.”
She knew she had to go. She couldn’t ignore this opportunity. A flight to Arizona was nothing in the bigger picture. Her family had imploded under the treason accusation. Knowing her father had died disgraced and alone, Frankie still felt an ache in her heart. If there was any information that would cast a light of truth into those dark final days and clear his name, she meant to find it. “I’ll go.” As soon as she could arrange a few days off work.
Getting to Tucson was the easy part of the equation. There was no way to tell what would come next until she’d seen the contents of the box for herself. After the last lead dried up a few months ago, she’d been less aggressive in her private inquiry, resigned that she might never learn who’d set up her dad. Cautiously pushing hope aside, she considered that this meeting and the trip to open a safe-deposit box could be nothing more than an elaborate ruse or distraction, though she didn’t know who would gain by such a tactic.
“What you discover could make things worse,” John warned.
“Thanks,” she whispered, stunned by the dramatic shift her morning had taken. The key in its envelope felt like a stick of old dynamite in her pocket, shaky, volatile and ready to blow her life apart without any notice. “Unless you have more insight, I guess I’ll figure that out when I get there.”
“Whatever you decide, be careful.” He slid to the edge of the booth. “The people who took down your 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