the judge had dismissed the case. Lara was relieved to learn Bremmer was only a passionate gay man in need of anger management and not a career thug who would track her down because she’d witnessed him leaving the scene of a crime. She stared at his mugshot and tried to visualize him ten years older and with longer hair. He seemed more attractive than the glimpse she’d gotten of him before hitting the ground. But age changed people’s appearance.
Lara hated being sucked into petty domestic bullshit. Yet for a few moments in that room with the bleeding man, she’d felt essential. Her presence in the world had mattered for a minute or two. Her stomach growled, surprising her. It was unusual for her to feel hungry except after intense exercise. She got up and crossed the living area into a galley kitchen the size of a walk-in closet. Even though her long period of unemployment had forced her into this small living space, she was grateful to look out the windows at a lush backyard surrounded by pine and oak trees, instead of being stacked up in a fifty-unit complex surrounded by asphalt.
She cored an apple and tossed it into the blender with pineapple juice, sunflower seeds, and two tablespoons of soy protein. She drank her dinner standing at the counter and worried about getting enough nourishment during the intense physical contest. She hadn’t been able to eat solid food since she left the department, and the next week would be no exception. Physically, everything still worked fine. The block was in her head. The idea of chewing and swallowing was simply too repulsive, and she couldn’t make herself put a chunk of food in her mouth. Lara knew what a shrink would say, so she’d never paid for the privilege of hearing it.
Two containers of protein powder were already tucked into her suitcase, along with a week’s supply of vitamins and flax seed. She’d buy a blender when she arrived in D.C. and drink plenty of coffee. After four years of living this way-and training intensely through most of it-her body had adjusted, and she could only hope that she’d perform at her best. At five-five, she was one of the smallest contestants, but she had exceptionally strong muscles, the only decent thing her father had given her.
Lara pushed her hands through her shoulder-length, recently-bronzed hair, now worried that she didn’t have enough wow factor to gain the audience votes she needed to win. What would the millions of viewers see in her face? Would they think she was kind of pretty with a heart-shaped face and nicely spaced blue eyes? Or would she look short and mousy next to a tall, big-breasted blonde with prominent cheekbones and silicone-plumped lips? Male contestants had won the first two Gauntlets, but the pundits and gamblers were all saying a female would win this year to balance it out. If the tall blondes didn’t make it through the Puzzle, which required quick analytical thinking, Lara figured she had a chance.
Back at the NetCom, she listened to the wind in the trees and searched for Thaddeus Morton, surprised at how few pages came up. Most were articles about his corporate positions leading up to employment commissioner. A few news blogs had gossipy stories about Morton’s single life and rumors of his various sexual relationships. Even though gay sex was now illegal on a federal level, few people were prosecuted for it. Yet incriminating photos could ruin a government career. For the heck of it, she plugged Morton’s name into the local law enforcement database and nothing came up. So he was a good guy, or at least smart and careful. How had Morton ended up with a hothead lover?
Lara forced herself to put the incident behind her. She opened her blog and wrote her last entry about her two-year journey to qualify for the Gauntlet. Once she was registered at the competition, she wouldn’t be allowed to post any details. The contestants competed in rounds, and the sponsors didn’t want those who went later to have an advantage. Writing the blog had been somewhat therapeutic, but it had also opened her up to far more people, strangers really, than she wanted in her life.
Her iCom beeped and she saw Wade Jackson’s handsome face. She decided to take the message on her NetCom so she could see him on a bigger screen. She loved having one number that linked all her communications. Even more, she loved the tiny receiver that tucked into the fold of her ear and made messaging easy. “Hey, pal. What’s up?”
“The system notified me that my password had been used and I assumed it was you.”
“Yep. I had a weird encounter on the job today and I wanted to check the guy out.”
“Anything I should know about?” He sounded concerned, but then, Jackson always sounded concerned.
“Probably not.” Lara wanted to tell him about the incident, but it would only cause him internal conflict. She changed the subject. “Are you working any interesting cases?”
“I’ve got a couple of missing foster teenagers and I’m trying to find a link between them.” He sounded tired. “I really called to say good luck at the Gauntlet. I’m so proud of you for making it this far.”
His words were like a warm heart massage. “Thanks, Jackson. It won’t mean much if I don’t bring home the grant.”
“Bullshit. To get there, you kicked ass against all the jocks and firefighters in this state who competed to represent Oregon. You’ll always have that honor.”
“Bringing jobs back to the state will mean so much more.”
“You’re a good woman, Lara. Go win this thing for us.”
“Thanks. I hope to.” Lara hung up before old emotions could surface. Jackson had trained her to be a detective and was one of the few on the force who hadn’t shunned her after the incident. She’d been in love with Jackson for a while too, right up to the day she’d started dating Ben Stricklyn. Then a crazy woman had shot Ben, and Jackson had been there for her again. A cold ache spread through her chest and she pushed both men out of her mind.
She finished packing, placed her Dock in her shoulder bag so she wouldn’t forget it, then set the sleep alarm on her iCom. As she got ready for bed, the situation at the commissioner’s house troubled her again. What if the shooting wasn’t a domestic altercation? She knew she’d let herself believe Morton’s story because it suited her agenda.
Lara let it go. Why would the commissioner lie? Reporting the incident would have made little difference anyway, except to make an enemy of someone who could help her. If she hadn’t been headed for the Gauntlet, she might have done a little surveillance on Richard Bremmer to see what he was really about. But she wasn’t a cop anymore. She was just a lonely woman, trying to salvage her soul.
Chapter 3
Eight months earlier: Thurs., Oct. 13, 2022, Washington D.C.
Paul Madsen was eating lunch at his desk when his NetCom made a small burping noise and his supervisor’s face appeared in the bottom corner.
“Come into my office, please.” Stacia Palmer closed off with no further comment.
Paul dropped his sandwich, muttered his displeasure, and hurried down the hall. Stacia headed the Personnel and Payroll Management Office, which had been formed after dozens of federal departments had been eliminated in the massive budget cuts of 2017.
Paul stepped into her corner office, blinking at the sun streaming in from two sides. He always kept his blinds closed, so the brightness made his eyes water. “Yes?” He sat down, hoping she didn’t think his tears were a sign of weakness.
“I have a major assignment for you, but it must be handled quickly and discreetly. Can I count on you?”
“Of course.” Paul hated the way she always needed verbal acquiescence. Wasn’t it enough that she was his boss?
“I need a database of personnel replacements completed by the end of the month.” Stacia tapped her dark acrylic nail on a stack of memos. “Everyone at Level C and higher has been instructed to submit three names and resumes. I need you to set up the database and pull all the information together.”
“That’s 352 people. With three replacements each, it’s 1,056 entries. Not to mention the number of fields for each entry.”
“Your ability to do math in your head while you talk is a little creepy.”
Paul’s hands tightened into fists in his lap. He’d been called a lot of names in his childhood-nerd, geek, orphan, momma’s boy-but never creepy. “Three weeks is not enough time.” He held his facial muscles rigid and stared with emotionless eyes. He couldn’t let Stacia see his anger. Not in the new mean-lean government environment.
