Free Operation Power Play by Justine Davis Page A

administrator office to the governor’s office. The two men had gone to school together, and in some circles the phrase
thick as thieves
was pointedly used to refer to them. God, he hated politics.
    “Thanks for the heads-up,” he said as her phone rang again. She rolled her eyes at him as she reached for it. He left, glad once more he’d never even considered that job opening when it had come up.
    He made a stop to talk to the victim of an armed robbery who was due to testify at the trial in a couple of weeks. Toby Markham was a feisty old guy, but Brett knew that often bravado broke down over time. He’d promised the man he would be there for him, and he’d meant it. After assuring himself the wiry war vet was fired up and ready, and drinking a cup of coffee he would swear could be used as lubrication for a jet engine, he excused himself.
    A few minutes later he was outside Rick’s house. The tidy small cottage appeared quiet, but he supposed Rick could be holed up inside, feeling miserable.
    Or worse. That family had been through so much; Brett didn’t like to think where his friend’s mind might be right now. Losing his job and likely his ability to keep Caro in school, with her finally safe and finding her way, he couldn’t be in a good place.
    And apparently, he wasn’t here. Or wasn’t answering.
    Brett walked around the house. There was no sign of lights on, despite the dark gray sky. He fixed the layout in his mind from the times he’d been here. He could see through the windows into several rooms, and all appeared normal, undisturbed. Only the back corner windows, where he thought the master bedroom was, were blocked with heavy drapes.
    He headed for the garage and peered in through one of the rain-stained windows. Empty, except for a lawn mower, a bicycle and a workbench with some tools and what looked like an oil filter sitting out.
    He wasn’t sure if the empty garage made him feel better or worse. But at least it made it less likely Rick was lying dead inside. And for a moment he envied people who wouldn’t even think of that, because such things never happened in their lives. He’d seen too much too often.
    And once, it had happened in his own life.
    He shook his head sharply. He was not going there. It was pointless.
    He called Rick’s cell again. And again it went to voice mail. He dug out a business card and wrote a note on the back. He stuck it above the doorknob on the back door. It was the closest to the garage, where he knew Rick usually came in from.
    He walked slowly back toward the front of the house. He had a decision to make. He could play with what could turn into a nasty political football or opt out. Let it be. Wait and see. Maybe Rick would come back and there would be some mundane explanation. He didn’t know the man so well that he knew every aspect of his life. Who knew what else might have come up? Or maybe he was out on job interviews.
    He hoped Franklin wouldn’t screw Rick over on that. But after the lieutenant had confirmed his assessment of the man, he didn’t hold out much hope that he wouldn’t enjoy twisting the knife. He wondered if Al Franklin was the type who couldn’t stand to have an honest, decent man around.
    “Too much contrast,” he muttered.
    Pushing this could land him in hot water. But he’d been in hot water before, and dropping it went against every instinct he’d developed over the years. His gut was insisting there was more to this, and anytime he’d ignored this kind of insistence in the past, he’d regretted it.
    He’s an ass with connections...
    Connections.
    It occurred to him then there was a third option. He grabbed his phone and made the call.
    Again with the voice mail, he thought as Quinn Foxworth’s voice spoke. No identifying remarks, not even a name, just a brusque “Message, please.”
    “Rafe, this is Brett Dunbar. If you’re there, I need some discreet Foxworth help after all. I can’t explain why, but I think—”
    He