Page 44 of A More Perfect Union

Rook filled in theblank she’d left unsaid. They shouldn’t have kissed. She’d brought Zoey backhere, partly because they needed to talk about the letter Mitchell had left,and partly because she had been worried about Zoey’s physical state afterwitnessing the scene at Mitchell’s house, but there was a completely separatepart of her that had hoped they might fall back into the easy intimacy they’dshared before Julia called to tell her about Mitchell’s suicide.

She’d been wrong tohope. Zoey’s anger was natural, and it was pretty clear she didn’t need Rook tohold her hand, but they still needed to talk about Mitchell’s letter, todebrief about exactly what Zoey had said to Mitchell yesterday that hadprompted him to kill himself and leave his final words for a woman who’d onlymet him once.

But Rook didn’t wantto do any of that. She just wanted to hold Zoey and tell her everything wasgoing to be all right. Not the way she comforted clients in trouble, but like alover, soothing away the trouble of her partner. But Zoey would never fill thatrole, and she wasn’t even sure why she wanted her to.

* * *

Zoey fumbled to putthe key in the lock and then waved at George as she walked inside her dark andempty house. On the drive over she wondered what he thought of her, spending somuch time with his employer and in her personal space. Did he often drive womenhome from Rook’s townhouse, late in the evening or was she an exception to therule? Rook had insisted that he drive her home and she’d been too tired toargue. Now that she was here, stepping over boxes, she wished she’d checkedinto a hotel for the night.

The first thing shedid was change clothes. Even though she hadn’t touched Mitchell’s body, shefelt as though she reeked from the scene of his demise. She shuddered at thememory of his body on the ground, bits of brain splattered across the floor.Who commits such a gruesome act when they know their family will find them?He’d either been desperate, apathetic, or both.

She walked into thekitchen and rummaged through boxes, looking for a glass and the one nice bottleof whiskey she kept around for special occasions. It didn’t measure up toanything Rook had in her fancy liquor cabinet, but then again she was merely apublic servant, not a high-powered fixer paid big bucks to ensure outcomes.

Okay, that was alittle unfair. Rook had had opportunities she hadn’t and made choices that hadnever been available to her. Who was she to say that her life might have takena very different path if she hadn’t relied on her connection to the service toget her out of Imperial, Texas, and the chains that bound her there.

As if on cue, herphone rang. She pounced on it, but it wasn’t Rook. “Good evening, GeneralSharp. I was just about to call you,” she lied, projecting assurance into hervoice.

“Figured you would’vecalled me a helluva lot earlier, Major.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I—”

“I don’t want to hearit tonight. Report to General Bloomfield’s office at oh seven hundred, sharp.”

He clicked off theline before she could respond, and she was both relieved and frustrated at thecall. Now she had all night to come up with a reason for not calling him fromMitchell’s house—something besides “Rook Daniels told me not to,” because thatwould go over like a ton of rocks.

Resigned to asleepless night, she dug through boxes until she found a juice glass, one of amismatched set she’d collected over the years, and a bottle ofeighteen-year-old Balvenie her last CO had purchased directly from thedistillery on a family trip to Scotland. He’d given it to her on the occasionof her promotion to major and she’d rationed it over time. She poured the ambergold into a glass, doubling her usual dose. Was Rook enjoying a similarindulgence right about now, like the one they’d had before their kiss?

The kiss. As shesipped her Scotch, she relived every detail of their touch, from the soft, yetforceful press of Rook’s lips against hers to the way she teased with hertongue. She’d wanted more and had been prepared to ignore the cautionary voicein her head warning against getting involved with Rook, but the call from Juliahad waylaid her plans. Considering how the evening wound up, the interruptionwas a godsend, but in the moment, she’d felt robbed, and now she was missingthe connection.

The realizationstruck her. She’d lived her life with so little real connection to anyone else thatthe instant pull to Rook surprised her. Yet from the very moment she’d seen herat the airport, Zoey had been drawn to her. Cool, confident, effortlesslycharming, Rook had won her from the start.

What had changed?Rook was still the same person who’d thoughtfully arranged a personal tour ofthe monuments along with a private picnic in a beautiful park. Nothing aboutthat night had seemed designed to impress, only to please. And tonight, evenafter her burst of anger at finding out Zoey had spoken with Mitchell withouttelling her, Rook had come around to comfort her after the shock of seeing hername mentioned in Mitchell’s suicide note.

Maybe she was thejerk, not Rook. Maybe her lack of connection wasn’t a factor of time and place,but because she didn’t want to get too involved in the messiness of being apart of other people’s lives. If that was the case, Rook was better off withouther. But the real question was, was she better off without Rook?

All signs pointed tono.

Chapter Fifteen

The nextmorning, Zoey found Lieutenant Louden lurking outside her office. “They’rewaiting for you in General Bloomfield’s office.”

Zoey held back acurse. She’d arrived an hour early, hoping to have a few minutes to make a listof bullet points about what she’d seen at Mitchell’s place before she had toface what was certain to be a dressing down. “How pissed off are they?”

“Hard to tell. Iheard loud voices, but I couldn’t make out if it was both of them or just one.Care to share what happened?”

Zoey briefly consideredwhether the details of Mitchell’s death were something she should keep private,but decided Louden, in his capacity as Sharp’s assistant, would see everyreport that was filed anyway. “I guess you know by now, Colonel Mitchellcommitted suicide.” Louden nodded and she continued. “He came by to see me daybefore yesterday. He was pissed off and he tried to get me to agree to leavehim out of our investigation.”

“Ballsy.”

“I guess,” Zoey said,although she thought desperate was a better descriptor. “He left a note for mein his study where he…you know…Anyway, it was very cryptic and I’m not surewhat to make of it.”

Louden nodded. “I’msure you’ll sort it out. Do you have the note? I bet the general is going towant to see it.”

“I left it at thescene.” She started to say with the men in suits and Rook’s team but thenrealized how that would sound to two generals who were used to running theirown operations. The full extent of how much trouble she was in settled squarelyon her shoulders. Not wanting Louden to witness her meltdown, she said, “I hateto say this, but do you mind showing me the way to Bloomfield’s office? I swearI’ll learn my way around at some point, but it’s only my first week and there’sbeen a lot going on.”

The walk toBloomfield’s office took about ten minutes—enough time for Zoey to sort throughthe events of the last two days. The volume of activity—the initial review ofthe case file, the trip to the White House, the interviews both here and atMcNair, and her confrontation with Mitchell and his suicide—had beenoverwhelming even before she added the push and pull with Rook. She wonderedwhat Rook was doing right now. Was she getting an earful from Julia about thestatus of the investigation? Had sharing the story of her brother’s deathexposed emotions she’d preferred to have left buried? Did Rook regret theirkiss or did the memory still linger, despite the brewing conflicts betweenthem?

“Come in,” Bloomfieldbarked when Louden rapped on his office door. With a look of sympathy, Loudenpeeled off and left her to enter the lion’s den on her own.

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