The Summer House

Chapter 4

At Sam’s Inn restaurant on Potomac Avenue in Quantico, Virginia, Special Agent Connie York of the Army’s Criminal Investigation Division glances at the dessert menu and quickly drops it on the table.

“Sorry, Pete,” she says, trying to smile at her date, a pudgy gent who owns a landscaping business in nearby Southbridge. “I really don’t have the appetite for dessert.”

Which is a lie, because she’s still hungry and loves sweets, and there’s a chocolate fudge cake on the menu that’s calling to her. But spending one more minute than necessary with Pete Laurion is going to be intolerable. Oh, not that he’s a bad guy, but her condo neighbor Claire hooked her up with him, and since Claire took care of her leaky toilet while Connie was on a recent deployment to Germany, it was a favor she was happy to do.

But just this once.

Pete seems intimidated by the other customers in the restaurant, mostly off-duty Marine and Navy personnel, and his thick fingers end with nails that still have a ridge of dirt under them. His heavy blue eyes flick around the place, like he’s expecting some officer to make him drop to the ground and do fifty push-ups. Yesterday Claire said, Pete’s a bit rough around the edges, hon, but he’s got a good heart. And it’ll be a nice change of pace from those gung-ho guys you always end up with.

Which is true, for along with her ten years of service in the Army have come two failed marriages, both to fellow investigators in the Army’s CID. While she feels she’s good at solving crimes, Connie admits she so far hasn’t puzzled out the secrets of a happy relationship.

Pete smiles with hope in his eyes. “I understand, you wanting to keep your figure and all that. Can I call you later?”

Her iPhone starts chiming, and with a sense of relief, she pulls it out of her purse and sees a familiar name. To Pete she says, “Oh, I don’t think so. But thanks for the brunch.”

With iPhone in one hand and purse in the other, she steps out onto a crowded deck, drops her purse onto the decking, and puts the phone up to one ear while plugging the other ear with a finger. “York,” she answers.

“It’s Cook,” he says. “Call you at a bad time?”

“Actually, Major, it’s a great time,” she says. “I needed the break.”

“I hear people and music in the background. A date?”

She shakes her head. “No, a dull brunch. What do we have?”

The tone of his voice instantly changes. “A red ball case, down in Georgia. Seven civilians killed in a house in the town and county of Sullivan. Four Rangers from Hunter Army Airfield have been arrested and are currently in the custody of the county sheriff.”

“Oh, shit,” she says.

“Get down to Georgia, soon as you can. I’ve called out Pierce, Huang, and Sanchez, but you’ll be the first on the scene.”

“Yes, sir,” she says.

“And once you get there, arrange transport to Sullivan and get us accommodations with an extra room to use as a meeting area. You’re not going to talk to the county sheriff, the State Patrol, the Georgia Bureau of Investigation, or any news media.”

“Yes, sir,” she says again, biting off the words. “You want me to set up housekeeping, am I right?”

“Agent York,” he says, his voice just as sharp, “that’s right. And I’m trusting you, as my second-in-command, to do that job to the best of your abilities. Got it, York?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” he says. “And among the civilian dead is a two-year-old girl. So enough with the pushback.”

“Oh, boss,” she says, “that’s horrible.”

“It’s bound to get worse,” he says. “See you in Georgia.”