He just shrugged those wide shoulders. “Women have a knack for that kind of thing.”
In today’s world, it was a sexist thing to say, but she almost smiled. She had lived with her dad and brother. She knew how military men thought. Since they also tended to be caring and protective, it wasn’t a problem for her.
“Some women, I guess,” she said. “I was never good at that stuff myself.”
“That why you took up writing?”
“Investigating and writing. I like the challenge of digging into mysteries and solving them.”
Bran’s features turned serious. “That’s good because we’re going to need your skills and mine to figure out what the hell is going on in Colorado.”
Jessie stayed silent. Because Bran Garrett was right.
THREE
Bran sat down behind the desk in his home office. He booted up his computer, a top-of-the-line iMac Pro with a twenty-seven-inch, 5K, P-3 widescreen color monitor. The room was filled with state-of-the-art equipment, some of it stuff he rarely used and was still getting a handle on figuring out.
While Jessie got settled in the guest room, he used the time to Google Colonel James Daniel Kegan.
Bran had met Danny’s father several times over the years, a good-looking, distinguished man with very straight posture, a slightly ruddy complexion, and a mane of silver-streaked dark red hair. He had always been cordial, if a bit formal due to his superior rank, but he had clearly loved his son.
Bran had gone to see him several months after Danny’s funeral, which he’d been unable to attend. He’d been in the hospital at the time, recovering from injuries he had suffered in the same Afghan firefight that had killed his friend.
He glanced down at the pages of links, began clicking through them. The colonel had graduated West Point and gone on to achieve a sterling military career. Several articles talked about his outstanding record, his service in the Gulf War, in Iraq and Afghanistan, about the medals he had won, including a Silver Star, a Bronze Star, and a Purple Heart.
It was hard to imagine a man like that stealing chemical weapons.
Bran found no articles on the theft, which he had expected, since the information would have been highly classified. The public would not be happy to learn that military-grade weapons had been stolen and not recovered.
He looked up information on the US Army Alamo Chemical Depot, responsible for the safe and secure storage of chemical weapons stockpiled in Colorado, one of only two such installations in the country.
He glanced up as the soft fragrance of flowers drifted toward him, and saw Jessie walking into the study. He told himself the little kick he felt had nothing to do with the way her fiery, red-gold hair fell in soft waves to below her shoulders. Or the way the long-sleeved T-shirt she had changed into hugged the swell of her breasts, just the right size to fit his hands.
Bran jerked his gaze away and turned back to the computer screen. Unfortunately, Jessie rounded the desk and stood close behind him to peer over his shoulder.
His groin tightened. Not good. This was Danny’s sister, not a woman he could trifle with and just walk away. She was special to Danny, which made her special to him.
“I see you’re digging up info on the depot,” she said.
“Yeah. I know it’s there to destroy the country’s stockpile of chemical weapons, but that’s about it.”
“In a nutshell, they’ve got fifteen thousand pounds of mustard gas, in seven hundred and eighty thousand recovered munitions. Last I checked, there were approximately fifty thousand 155 millimeter projectiles, three hundred 105 millimeter projectiles, and a hundred four-point-two-inch mortar rounds.”
Impressed, he turned in the chair to look at her. “Anything else I should know?”
“The actual destruction of the weapons is contracted to a civilian corporation, Weidner Engineering. They have fourteen hundred employees assigned to the project. Year-to-date they’ve destroyed over 365 tons of munitions at a cost of over a billion and a half dollars. Of course that doesn’t account for the stuff that’s gone missing.”
“How much?”
“That, I don’t know. As an outsider, it isn’t that easy to find out.”
“Maybe not, but you’ve obviously done your homework.”
“I’m a journalist. I need to be as accurate as possible. Add to that, I want my father’s name cleared. I need as much information as I can get.”
Bran nodded. “We’ll find out more when we get to Colorado. I do know these are the same type of chemical weapons used in Syria against the Syrian people. If you