down and whispered, “So maybe handcuffs this time? Might be more appropriate.”
Jessie laughed. But the handcuffs reminded her of Ray Cummings and being held captive. Cummings was still out there. Some of her buoyant mood faded.
“Let’s get out of here,” Bran said, sensing the change in her as he always seemed to.
They headed outside, into a November day that was dark and gloomy, the temperature in the thirties as they climbed into Chase’s Lincoln sedan for the ride back to the Broadmoor, stopping briefly at the armory to pick up Bran’s Glock.
They had breakfast in the Lake Terrace Dining Room at the hotel to celebrate Brandon’s release: eggs Benedict for her and Chase, pancakes and bacon for Hawk and Bran, and an omelet for the attorney. During the meal, they discussed what could happen next.
“Doesn’t look like Brandon’s going to be needing your legal services, Russell,” Chase said, taking a sip of the aromatic coffee.
“Thank God for that,” Jessie said.
“I can stay till things get sorted,” Maddox offered, shoveling in a mouthful of pancakes. “Now that Bran’s out of jail, the two of us ought to be able to handle things.”
Chase had an office to run and a wife waiting at home. But the closer they got to catching the thieves who’d stolen the munitions, the more dangerous it was going to get.
“Bran?” Chase asked.
“If Maddox stays, we’ll have it covered.” He crunched a piece of bacon and winked at Jessie. “Right, Deputy Kegan?”
Jessie laughed. “We’ll be fine.”
They were just finishing the meal when her cell phone pinged and Thomas Anson’s text appeared on the screen.
Her heart lurched. The exhumation of her father’s body was scheduled for one o’clock that afternoon.
THIRTY-FIVE
A bitter wind slashed the air and dark clouds loomed over the lawns of the Pike’s Peak National Cemetery. Snowcapped mountains rose in the distance, American flags snapped along the roadsides, but all Jessie saw was the sea of headstones in meticulous rows, one after another, hundreds of them. Standing between Hawk and Brandon, Jessie felt cold to the bone.
She watched as a cable at the end of a forklift raised her father’s casket out of the ground, then turned and set it on the back of a flatbed truck.
Men tossed straps over the coffin to secure it for the fifteen-mile drive back to the medical examiner’s office at Fort Carson. After the attack on Bran last night, Colonel Larkin had made the autopsy a priority. The ME would begin his examination that afternoon.
The wind stung her eyes, and Jessie wiped tears from her cheeks. She had known this would be hard, but she hadn’t expected to feel the devastating loss of her father just as fiercely as she had the first time.
Her lips trembled. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I wouldn’t disturb you if I weren’t sure this is what you would want me to do.” Her throat closed up. Her father had only been gone a few months. Part of her still couldn’t believe it. “I won’t let you down, Dad. I swear it.”
Bran squeezed her hand and drew her against his side, steadying her. She took a deep breath, some of her composure returning. As she watched the flatbed drive away, she prayed the autopsy would give them the evidence they needed to prove her father had been murdered.
Then the CID would be forced to look into her accusations that Weaver, the Aryan Brotherhood, and Chemical Material Activities director General Samuel Holloway were connected. Maybe they could find a link to the money from the auction, follow it straight to Holloway’s front door.
“Come on, baby. Let’s go.” Bran’s arm went around her shoulders as he urged her back to the Cherokee. Maddox slid in behind the wheel, Bran helped Jessie into the passenger seat, and climbed into the backseat behind her.
No one spoke as they drove back to the hotel. Until they had the evidence they needed, there was nothing to say.
Jessie refused to consider the possibility the autopsy would come up with nothing. Agent Tripp had ordered the Division of Forensic Toxicology to run a new tox screen for various poisons, including aconite, that could simulate a heart attack.
Before they had left the hotel, Jessie had looked it up on the internet, a poisonous tree plant that was sometimes called wolfsbane, monkshood, or devil’s helmet. According to Tripp, the ME would be testing for similar poisons, as well as examining the contents of her father’s stomach.
By the end of the day or tomorrow at the latest, they should