I search for him in the CIA database.
Status: Retired. File redacted. Just like my father's. No surprise there.
Would he talk to me? I don't even know how I'd get through to him, but maybe he was good enough friends with my dad, he'll give me a few minutes of his time.
I call his office. "Yes, this is Annabel Gray, daughter of Major Jack Gray. My father and Senator Flack were Marine buddies. I really need to speak to Senator Flack about my father's death. Would you have him call me?"
"I will relay the message and see if the senator is available."
"Thank you." I leave my number and hang up.
If this lead gets me nowhere, I don't know what other tree to bark up. I guess I keep trying to hack the system. Or make a personal visit to Langley to break into the paper files.
Yeah, right. Like I know anything about stealing things in person. I'm a desk jockey, nothing more. Something like that would require field agent skills.
Charlie Dune's skills.
Maybe I'm ready to call in that favor after all.
A message blinks on my screen. Agent down in Tucson. Lucius Frangelico suspected of the murder.
Holy shit. It could've been Charlie.
Thank God, I called him back.
Charlie
I DRIVE BACK to California and go to my small apartment.
The mountains are calling me. I had the urge to shift and run in Tucson but held it together. I was on a job. Now, with nothing to fill my time, I can't stop thinking about it.
It's either that or beat down agent Annabel Gray's door because I can't seem to get her scent out of my nostrils or the dirty thoughts out of my mind.
Fuck. I have to get myself under control.
My phone blinks with an incoming call. Annabel's burner phone. "Dune speaking."
"Charlie?" Annabel sounds breathless, frightened.
Immediately, my senses go haywire-adrenaline spiking, heat flushing through. My cells try to rearrange like my body wants to shift to wolf form. I suck in a deep breath and force the urge back down.
"Annabel? Where are you?" She has trackers on me which I already shut off because the mission was aborted, but I don't have any on her.
"In my apartment. Can you meet?"
I'm already out the door, running for my vehicle. My brain flashes over a million scenarios. "Do you have a gun? Can you get somewhere safe?"
I hear the tremble in her inhale, but her voice is calm. "Yes and yes. I think so."
I jump in the truck and start it up, cursing myself for not already changing this vehicle out for another one. "Are you alone?"
"Yes, but someone's been here." Her voice raises on the last word.
"All right. Sit down where you can see all the entrances and exits and keep your gun cocked and in your hand. Understand? Stay calm. What's your address?"
I'm relieved when I hear it's not far from mine. "I'll be there in twenty minutes. Call back if you hear or see anything."
"Okay. Okay. I will." I can't stand the fear in her voice.
The fact she called me rather than the cops tells me she's into something, which I'd already suspected. And if a CIA agent is into something, it has to be deep. Because we're already on our own questionable side of the law.
Danger usually makes me calm. I'm the sort of guy they sent into diffuse bombs in the war because I practically go serene under pressure, but thinking of Annabel in danger has me keyed up. Or maybe it's the fucking wolf in me-maybe both. Either way, I have to work hard to find my usual Zen.
I get there in fifteen minutes by stealth racing through the back routes of the city. I don't see any cars that look like surveillance, but they could be anywhere-someone in an apartment across the street or one of the people walking by. I park around the corner and grab a plumber's shirt and toolbox out of the trunk for a quick cover. Adopting a slight limp, I head into the building.
It's an open-air apartment building where all the doors open to outside landings. I take the concrete steps up the side, lumbering as if my hip causes me pain. When I find her apartment, I knock. "CD Plumbing," I say, hoping she'll figure out the CD stands for Charlie Dune. We have a code phrase, but for some reason, I don't want to drop it.
My newly enhanced hearing detects movement inside. She must be right up at the door. I lift the bill of my hat so she can see my eyes through the peephole, and she pulls open the door with an audible exhale. She has the government-issue pistol in her hand, and she's wearing a business suit like she just came home from the office.
"You have a leak, ma'am?" I step inside and wait for her to shut the door. The place has been trashed-books pulled down from bookshelves, cabinets emptied. Someone was searching for something. The moment I'm in, I drop the plumbing supplies and draw my gun, checking to make sure the place is clear even though it must be. Only when I'm sure-by both my traditional methods and my newly developing sense of smell-do I speak.
"What's going on?"
Despite her fear, she's all business. I'd expect nothing less of Agent Gray. She's a smart and capable young woman.
"Entered through the front door. I found it unlocked. Charlie-look at this." She leads me to the bedroom and points at a framed photograph lying on her pillow. At first, I think it's her with what must be her son, but then I realize the woman in the photo only resembles her-a sister then.
"Any prints?"
"I haven't touched it. I didn't touch anything. I just called you."
That shouldn't make me feel a foot taller, but it does.