Reluctant Hero

Having been stonewalled by Wallace’s gatekeepers at the network, he’d given up trying the polite approach. While he appreciated that they hadn’t run the story on speculation and zero evidence, he didn’t have time to play ethics games. He needed the name of the source or some clue he could follow so he could peel back the layers of anonymity and handle the jerk tossing around these outrageous, damaging allegations.

Parker lingered in the hallway, recalling his cursory searches of Rebecca Wallace and her reporter Bill Gatlin. At first glance, they were both workaholics and married to their jobs. He didn’t know where the reporter was tonight, but he knew where Wallace was not.

He’d had his boot in her doorway long enough to learn her apartment security amounted to two dead bolts and a chain. Far easier for him to bypass the locks here than get past the systems protecting her office at the network building. He strolled up to her door, pulled his lock-picking kit from the thigh pocket of his work pants and was inside in less than a minute.

A quick survey of the space told him she was tidy, she spent little time here or she had an excellent cleaning service. He roamed around, appreciating the decor and furnishings. She went for classy and practical, not overdone or overpriced. As a business owner and a building owner, he knew the going rate for a two-bedroom apartment in this area and decided producing for a popular network show must pay well.

The master bedroom felt more lived-in. Though the bed was neatly made and the closet well organized, the various notes she’d left for herself here and there, along with the overflowing laundry hamper, gave him a sense of her as a more accessible person. He couldn’t blame her for coming off as a prim snob during their tussle at the door.

The second bedroom she clearly used as a home office and guest room. He searched the desk, found an invitation to a gala that explained the little black dress, but no sign of the lead he needed. If she’d ever brought information on the bogus theft home, it wasn’t here now. Leaving the room as he’d found it, he checked the more common and uncommon places people stashed important information. Nothing. She didn’t even have a briefcase or a laptop here tonight.

On a sigh, he mentally adjusted his evening plans, knowing the next stop would need to be her office at the network. With his hands fisted in his jacket pockets, he was aimed for the front door when another idea struck. Returning to her bedroom, he found a tablet as well as an e-reader. “Yes!” he cheered softly when he opened the tablet and found her email applications were still open.

He searched through her inbox and the main folders, grumbling when he found all of his email messages moved to the trash folder. Were the days of professional courtesy gone? At least his assistant had handled the initial inquiry professionally while he was still waiting for Wallace to return his calls.

Continuing his search, he learned how she organized her files. He couldn’t find a way to access any progress they were making on the story about him and his team, but he could tell it had nothing to do with soldiers returning to civilian life.

Sitting on the blue suede bench at the end of her bed, he searched through her email folders until he found an email from the previous week with Soldiers Steal Gold in the subject line. Bingo. The email was written in a similar tone to the blackmail note Parker received. While the author of the email didn’t threaten anyone on the show, the names of those involved were the same, and listed in the same order as the note he had tucked into his wallet.

The allegations in the email were ghastly, making Parker’s skin crawl. His team had worked their mission and followed orders. The implications—with no evidence to back them up—that he and the others were corrupt, brutal thieves infuriated him. The last few lines and the unique closing really caught his attention. The writer, pleading to maintain anonymity, thanked Rebecca and Bill for their kindness and integrity during their visit to the Iraqi village where the theft allegedly occurred. He—Parker was certain the writer was a man—gave the producer’s ego another stroke by claiming Rebecca was the only person who could be trusted to handle this the right way.

The original email was bad enough, but the instructions she added when she forwarded the email to her reporter hit him like a sucker punch.

Bill, reach out to the family. Verify their safety and if/when the gold was stolen. If this is from Fadi, why would he insist on anonymity?

Parker swore. Fadi was a common name. In context with the other details laid out in the email, he couldn’t dismiss the possibility that she was referring to the same young man they’d employed as a translator when they were in that area.

Did Rebecca know who’d sent the tip raising questions and spreading rumors about his team? The way he read and reread the email, she sure suspected the tip on the theft had come from the oldest son of the victimized family. No wonder she’d avoided Parker and refused to give up her source. Hell. He wouldn’t get anywhere with her if she felt some misplaced obligation to cooperate with the person trying to discredit his team.

Well, he wasn’t leaving empty-handed. He had a better idea of where the tip originated from, which gave him a better starting point than he’d had an hour ago. After his service in Iraq, he had people he could reach out to as well. He set her tablet back to the home screen and wiped off his fingerprints before slipping it back into the bedside drawer.

After locking her front door, he let himself out of her apartment through the fire escape and headed home to work the new lead. He needed to find the show with their report from that trip to Iraq and start fitting the pieces together. When he went to her office in the morning, he would insist on hearing everything about her trip to Iraq and why she was so eager to believe the worst of him and his team.

He stalked down the street, needing to walk off the anger simmering in his system. It wouldn’t be smart to call for a car or catch a bus so close to her apartment. From his pocket, his phone rang. Seeing Theo’s name and face on the screen, he picked up immediately.

“How did things go?” he asked. There was a long pause on the other end of the line and he heard several voices in the background. “Theo?”

“Mr. Lawton?”

Parker froze. This wasn’t Theo. “Yes?”

“My apologies, sir. This is Detective Calvin Baird of the SFPD. I’m calling from Theo Manning’s phone, as we’ve just opened an investigation.”

A detective’s involvement could mean any number of new problems and most likely the work of a busy blackmailer. “What kind of investigation?” He put his back to the wall of the nearest building and studied the action around him on the street.

The detective ignored the question. “According to his phone log, you spoke with him recently.”

“That’s true.” Parker’s stomach clutched and his pulse kicked into fight mode. “Where is Theo? Can I talk to him?”

“I’m sorry to say it, but he’s dead,” Baird replied.

No. Parker couldn’t catch his breath. His hand gripped the phone hard and he slid down to land on his backside as the grief stunned him. He was on the phone with a homicide detective. What had happened to the five days the blackmailer had given him?

“Mr. Lawton?”

“Yeah.” He swallowed the emotion choking him. “I’m here. What do you know? Where is he?” Was. Theo was gone. Parker cleared his throat. “How did it happen?”

“Nine-one-one received a call about shots fired about forty minutes ago. By the time the responding officers and paramedics arrived, it was too late. I am sorry for your loss.”

“Was I the last to call him?”

“According to his phone log, you were one of two people trying to reach him.”

“Who was the other?”

“I’m not ready to comment on that yet,” Baird said. “I just arrived on the scene and we have very little to go on right now. Do you have time to come by the Bayview Police Station tomorrow morning? I should have more details for you by then.”

Bayview? That hardly narrowed it down. The large district covered the port where Theo worked along with the southeastern part of the city. “Yes, of course.” Parker knew the drill. If he wasn’t a suspect, he was a person of interest. Unfortunately, his alibi was best not confirmed, since it involved his harassing a woman followed by breaking and entering.

“Thank you—”

“Hang on a second,” Parker interrupted. “You mentioned gunshots. How did Theo die?”

“It’s too soon for the coroner’s report,” the detective hedged.

Parker stood up, pulled himself together and applied the tone he’d once used to lead others in and out of harrowing conflicts. “He was my CO and a friend. What appears to be the cause of death, in your opinion?”

“Unofficially, sir, I’d blame the two bullets in the back of his head.”

Parker’s vision hazed red. Assassination less than twenty-four hours after he’d reached out to Theo. If the blackmailer thought this would motivate him to cooperate, to pay a debt he didn’t owe, he was mistaken.

“Officers are canvassing the area for witnesses,” Baird continued. “I’m hoping for a better picture of what happened by morning.”

“No signs of a struggle?”

“Not at first glance, but we are in an alley.”

Parker cringed at the image. “Thank you, Detective. I’ll come by your office first thing in the morning.” Tonight he had more work to do. He took another minute after the call ended to say a prayer for Theo. Real grieving required time he didn’t have right now.

The blackmail note taunted him. Why ransom his team for gold they’d never stolen and then ignore the timeline? Something was off, and he intended to figure it out before anyone else on that list got hurt.

Chapter Two

The gala wasn’t living up to Becca’s hopes for the evening. Oh, the glitz and glamour made a visual impact, although her date clearly had an agenda. His conversation revolved around her father’s work, and he hoped one day to work with him on a project. The scenario was familiar territory for Becca, who listened with only half an ear as he droned on. If he could pitch his big idea to her father and add a side trip under her skirt, his life would be complete. He didn’t say that last part in so many words, of course. He let his wandering hands make his point clear.

She admired the timing and efficiency of the dinner and award presentations, but now, with only dancing, celebrating and mingling on the schedule, her mind kept circling back to Parker Lawton’s shocking appearance at her door.

Did he often slum around dressed like a normal person rather than a new-money billionaire? She glanced across the room, trying to picture Rush Grayson, local billionaire and one of tonight’s award winners, dressed as a typical workingman. Could happen, she supposed, squinting a little. She shook off the distraction. How Lawton dressed wasn’t the point. He’d bullied his way into her personal space. She should report him, except the police would laugh her out of the station. Everyone presumed reporters resorted to similar tactics and worse when pursuing a story.

“I’m not sure I like the way you’re staring at my husband.”

With a start, Becca turned to see Rush’s wife at her side, smiling and holding out a glass of champagne. “Oh! Hi, Lucy.” Thank goodness it was a friend who understood Becca could appear more than a little fierce when she was concentrating. “Congratulations to Rush.”

“I’ll pass it along.” Lucy was radiant in a strapless ice-blue gown, pride in her husband sparkling in her dark eyes. “Dare I ask who has your attention?”

“Don’t worry. It’s not a story. Well, it is, sort of.” Becca clamped her lips together to cease the babbling. “I’m rattled.”

“Never thought I’d see it,” Lucy said, linking her arm with Becca’s. “Do you need to walk it off?”

“Sure.” The warm offer drained a bit of the tension dogging her since Lawton’s appearance. “Some distance from Mr. Grab Hands wouldn’t hurt.”

Lucy’s expression sobered. “Do you need an assist?”

“No. I have plenty of practice brushing off people who only want to meet Dad.” She glanced over her shoulder to see her date occupied with the men they’d been seated with at dinner. Eventually, he’d notice she’d left and come racing after her with an inane compliment on his lips before he suggested a weekend in LA. “You’d think the red hair would make guys like that more wary of the reputed temper.”

“The freckles undermine the effect,” Lucy said, echoing Becca’s theory. “Want me to get him tossed out? Rush and I can take you home.”

“Not yet.” Becca’s gaze meandered as they walked from the ballroom to the mezzanine, where guests milled around between the open bar stations. She searched for a safer topic. “It seems married life agrees with both of you.”

“It does,” Lucy said. “I know people think I married him for the money, but the opposite is true. He married me for my common sense.”

Becca chuckled. Although Lucy and Rush might not have had smooth sailing on their journey to wedded bliss, it was absolutely clear it was a love story.

“You know, most of the serious money in San Francisco is represented right here and some of it is single,” Lucy teased.

Most. By reputation or introduction, she knew many of the people in the room. She was well aware of who was loaded, who liked to flaunt it and who preferred flying under the radar. Until tonight, she’d had no idea Parker Lawton had a place among the financial elite. “Do you know Parker Lawton?”

“We’ve met a few times.” Lucy’s lips pursed. “Why do you ask?”

“Put away the matchmaker ideas,” she said quickly. Some days Becca cursed her rampant curiosity, fostered by her father’s habit of giving everything and everyone a fascinating backstory. Unwilling to explain how she’d first heard Lawton’s name, she gave Lucy the cover story. “He’s local and he’s had such success after his military service,” she said breezily. “Bill’s been trying to get him to sit down for an interview.”

“I expected Parker to be here tonight,” Lucy said, her eyes traveling over the guests. “I would’ve been happy to introduce you.”

That derailed Becca’s wandering thoughts. “You did? Why?”

Lucy tipped her head toward her husband, pure happiness shining in her eyes. “Because Rush invited him.”

For a moment Becca’s mind reset the evening, inserting Lawton as her date, replacing tepid compliments with witty banter and a discovery of mutual interests. The man probably had a tuxedo tailored to his impressive physique. Stop it. His wardrobe wouldn’t make any difference, she decided. If he’d been here, as her date or as a guest, he would have harangued her for the name of her source. Still better than dodging Mr. Grab Hands all night, a small voice in her head pointed out.

“How do they know each other?” Becca asked.

“Goes back to high school, I think,” Lucy replied. “Although I didn’t get the impression they were particularly close then. If you need a character endorsement, I’ll go on the record that Parker’s a stand-up guy.”

“Huh.” It seemed the safest response Becca could offer. Sticking a boot in her door wasn’t a stand-up kind of move in her book, but Lucy didn’t toss out character references willy-nilly.

“What’s next for you at the network? I know you were eyeing a move up the ladder.”

Becca mimed locking her lips and tossing away the key. “I’m happy where I am. Tell me what’s next for you. Off the record.”

Lucy’s lips curved into a smile packed with barely leashed secrets. She drew Becca a few steps away from the nearest guests. “We’re expecting,” she said, eyes twinkling. She smoothed a palm over her trim waistline as her eyes darted around to make sure no one was watching them. “I’ll be showing soon.”

“That’s wonderful,” Becca said. “You must be thrilled.”

“We’re well beyond thrilled and floating somewhere in the galaxy of obnoxiously happy parents-to-be. I feel a little sorry for everyone who knows us.”

Becca gave Lucy a heartfelt hug. “You’ll be amazing parents. The rest of us will have to get used to a new, impossibly high standard.” When she saw Lucy tearing up, she added, “I may just have to tip off one of the gossip sites.”

As she’d hoped, her friend laughed out loud and the sheen of tears vanished. “You don’t have such low friends.”

“Of course I do,” she protested. “I just keep them stashed in LA.”

Lucy laughed again and, as Rush walked toward them, Becca promised to take her for a spa day soon.

Sipping the rest of her champagne, she made a game of staying out of her date’s sight, making new friends as she worked her way around the room. She should just go home, though she wasn’t ready to be alone and she didn’t feel right about intruding on Lucy and Rush. Desperate for a distraction, she found a quieter spot and sent a text message to Bill, asking about the interview with Theo Manning.

Bill replied immediately, explaining Manning had been a no-show.

She should tell him about Lawton’s visit and had her fingers poised to do just that when she changed her mind. He’d only insist she move in with him for a couple of days. Not happening. She’d be better off getting a room here at the hotel for the evening.

When Bill asked, she shared how well the evening was not going with Mr. Grab Hands. Welcoming the snarky replies, she was soon chuckling at herself for this latest failure at establishing a personal life. Her eyes landed on Rush and Lucy on the other side of the mezzanine and she sighed.

Love was lovely for them. Becca just wasn’t cut out for the interpersonal stuff. She had her career to love. She had a stable of reporters who gave her plenty of ups and downs to juggle. She’d pit a moody reporter against the grumpiest toddler any day of the week. It might not look like a standard life, but it was hers.

Wishing Bill a good night, Becca went to find one more glass of champagne before going to the front desk to book a room. Better alone in a posh suite than home wondering when Lawton would come back and knock down her door.

* * *

AT HIS PLACE, Parker finished shaving and dressed for the gala. It seemed every breath was a new battle to keep his grief at bay. With a last check of his appearance, he decided it wouldn’t get any better tonight. He grabbed the go-bag he kept ready in the coat closet, added another change of clothes and a rain jacket considering the season. Parker planned to be a much harder target for the assassin who had double-tapped Theo. Packing up his computer, he left his apartment, one eye searching for anyone too interested in the building or himself. He thought longingly of the SUV he’d had armored and knew it was too soon to reveal that asset.

Tossing the gear into the small space behind the driver’s seat of his black-and-silver Audi R8 Spyder, he headed out, arriving at the awards gala well past the point of fashionably late. One perk was the lack of a wait at the valet stand. Easing out of the low-slung sports car, he tossed the keys to the valet. He flashed a fifty-dollar bill and pressed it into the young man’s hand. “Keep it close. I may need a quick getaway,” he said with a wink.

The kid grinned conspiratorially and promised Parker a zero wait time. Didn’t matter. With the upgraded locking system, Parker could get into his car without the key he’d handed to the valet.

As he walked through the extravagant lobby, he scanned the attendees milling about on the mezzanine level. Resisting the urge to tug at his bow tie, he did his best to believe he looked like all the rest of the men in tuxedos. Although he preferred his military mess kit on formal occasions, tonight he needed to blend in with the upper echelons of San Francisco society.

He knew it wasn’t wise to pester her again after she’d made it clear she’d speak with him tomorrow at her office. He just couldn’t wait. A man was dead, cut down in his prime by a coward who’d ambushed him. Eyeing the free-flowing champagne, Parker hoped to have more luck this time. He deserved a chance to share his side of the bogus story, to counter every unsubstantiated claim in that email.

More important, he intended to make her understand that Theo should be allowed to rest in peace, free of any scandal casting shadows over his honorable service.

She would give him the name of her source by morning, and he would take that information to Detective Baird.

At the top of the wide staircase, he wandered left, bypassing the first two bars and the long lines of men and women in glittering formal wear. Reconnaissance was the first step in getting a handle on the situation and the woman. After two circuits of the areas designated for the event and the acquisition of a champagne flute he was using as a prop, he still hadn’t found her.

She was here. He kept his gaze roving, eager for a flash of her auburn hair or those long, creamy legs. Striving for the patience he used to demonstrate in the field, he planted himself where he could watch the majority of the guests come and go.

At last he spotted her, walking up the stairs from the lobby alone. Where was her date? Her red hair gleamed, swept up off her neck in a sleek twist. The short black dress and sky-high heels with the sparkling straps winding around her ankles showed off her toned legs. At her door, in those heels, she’d been almost eye level with him. Her bright blue eyes, full of defiance and intelligence and amped up for the evening, had captivated him, putting an unexpected sizzle of attraction in his blood.

Forget that. He didn’t need her to like him, and he’d blown any possible personal advantage by being a jerk earlier. Now he’d have to adjust his approach. He moved cautiously, using the crowd as cover to follow her when she reached the top of the stairs, so she wouldn’t bolt. He wasn’t in the mood to chase her around a hotel or out into the chilly October night.

He didn’t want to tell her about Theo, didn’t want to use his friend’s death that way, but he was prepared to fight dirty and play the sympathy card if necessary. He couldn’t afford to give the blackmailer any more of a head start.

How to get a stubborn woman to talk? He drifted after her as she aimed toward the ballroom where the dinner and presentations had been held. To save the rest of the men named as targets, he needed to succeed on his first attempt, not flounder around hoping for her cooperation.

His skills didn’t run to charm, and with his heart in a vise over Theo, his patience was waning. The best option was to draw her away from the party, isolate her and make her see the wisdom of cooperating with him.

She tossed back her head, laughing at some flirty greeting from a man who appeared at her elbow offering champagne. Then she suddenly turned toward Parker, as if she’d sensed him staring.

Parker smiled, holding his ground while he waited for her to react. Her eyes went wide with recognition. From one second to the next, her initial shock shifted into a glare that would have split him in two if her eyes had been weapons. He merely raised his glass in a silent salute.

She turned away, returning her full attention to the people surrounding her.

He started toward her, taking his time, assessing the people around her as he practiced polite phrasing over and over in his head. She continued to check on his progress, something he found inappropriately satisfying under the circumstances. With growing confidence, he anticipated having her full attention, and the name of her source, before the night was over.

Fluttering her eyelashes at her entourage, she excused herself and moved toward the restrooms. Did she really think that would stop him?

Another man halted her, blocking her path just as she turned the corner. She stepped to the side and the stranger did the same, in that awkward dance of two people who were striving to be courteous.

Parker saw the danger a moment too late. The stranger’s startled expression clouded over and he yanked Rebecca around the corner and out of sight. Hurrying through the crowded space, Parker wondered why she wasn’t screaming. The woman had put up more resistance against him.