Campaign of Desire (CSA Case Files 4) (29 page)

“Even I could see how it was going to end, Lach.” Phoebe understood that Lach felt guilt over how things had turned out, but she also knew that Lionel Rutledge hadn’t planned on living for another day. “The media has a way of turning things to make something out of nothing. They—”

“They did their jobs and reported the facts. I went by protocol, upon the direct orders of my supervisor, and I ended up losing the lives of two more people in the process—not including Lionel. To the public, all they saw was a Congresswoman’s husband trying to help his dying wife, Gloria Weaver Rutledge. They saw a daughter whose life was turned upside down by tragedy. They didn’t see a deteriorating situation by a desperate man who didn’t care if he lived or died that day. Taking Lionel’s cues over the phone, it had come down to the moment when a decision had to be made due to his threat of shooting one of the hostages.”

Phoebe could see Lach’s disbelief at how things had turned out, but knowing him the way she did now, she didn’t doubt that he had done what he thought was best at the moment. Looking back and saying
what if
was always easier. He spoke of following protocol when he shouldn’t have, yet if he hadn’t he would have been made an example of and that would have ended his career. From what she knew so far, it had but it was by his choice.

“S.W.A.T. had made their way into position through an upper floor window and into a maintenance access panel. They were on the inside and a sniper had a high percentage shot through a vent from above.” Lach finally shifted his stance and he turned his head toward her, maybe to watch her reaction. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but his eyes were almost black with pent up anger. “I was engaged in negotiations when I got word of the clear line of sight and I had no doubt from Lionel’s words that he knew it was time. I gave the go signal.”

“Lach, I know how this ends,” Phoebe whispered, unable to stand the tortured reflection in his voice. “You don’t need to relive it.”

“We had identified every hostage in that bank but one. The woman in question had her coat hood up over her head when the situation went down and from where Lionel had her seated, the camera angle was impossible to get a picture of her face. We went through every possible scenario, even thinking that he had taken his daughter inside with him. We finally located her on a tour of the campus she was slated on attending.” Lach barked out a laugh at what Phoebe assumed was the implausible turnout of events. “Gloria Weaver’s sister had been in that bank the entire fucking time, aiding Lionel in his quest for God knows what—only it wasn’t Lionel’s pursuit.”

“You acted on the information you had, Lach.” Phoebe could see that her words weren’t getting through. “You were relying on other people and even they couldn’t have predicted what would happen.”

“You mean the fact that when Lionel took that fatal bullet, Jennifer Chartelle lost all reason of sanity and was able to take out one hostage and wound four others before S.W.A.T. neutralized her? You’re right, no one could have predicted that, but I sure as hell shouldn’t have followed protocol that day.” Lach finally stepped away from the cold glass and paced a few steps until he was behind the chair. He leaned down and grabbed the cushion in his fists, as if it was preventing himself from physically beating himself for what had transpired. “I could feel it in my bones that there were more variables. Something more was going on than those based on what the facts were saying. I’d even gotten into words with my supervisor over the course of that day due to the fact that I wanted to put on a vest and go in that building to do a face to face. Lionel Rutledge didn’t
want
to do what he did.”

“What do you mean?” Phoebe didn’t understand where Lach was going with this. She should know, given her life in the public eye, that there was always more than met the eye. Nevertheless, nothing had given any indication that Lionel had any other ulterior motive. “Lionel was behind you in line. You said so yourself.”

“Jennifer Chartelle couldn’t face the fact that her sister was dying and she wanted Gloria to go for an experimental drug. Lionel and Gloria were against it, not just because of the money, but that’s what Jennifer had come to believe. Lionel didn’t go into that bank of his own free will, Phoebe. Jennifer brought in the weapons and forced him to take those people hostage. He thought he was saving those people by doing what she said. That’s why he seemed so at ease when I started to indicate that the situation was coming to an end one way or another.”

“I take it you got some of the facts from Gloria?” Phoebe asked, knowing that the woman passed away not six months after everything that had happened. Phoebe couldn’t believe what had really taken place behind the scenes. “I can’t imagine she knew what was happening.”

“She didn’t. Gloria shed some light on her sister’s determination to save her, but it was a letter that we found on Lionel’s body that confirmed Jennifer’s actions.” Lach finally released his grip from the cushion, leaving dents in the fabric that indicated his stress level. He straightened and then ran his hands down his face, showing the emotional drainage this had taken upon him. “You can imagine how tore up Gloria was, along with her daughter.”

“The last I heard Trinity Rutledge was a student teacher at a local high school out in the suburbs.” Phoebe recalled having a conversation with one of the other Senators at one of the fundraising dinners. “As a matter of fact, I think she’s getting married next summer.”

“To her high school sweetheart,” Lach said, providing more information than Phoebe had been privileged to and letting her know that he had been keeping tabs on the young girl. “I needed to know that she was okay. I check up on her once in a while.”

“Why wasn’t this mentioned in the press?” Phoebe could instantly see the absurdity of her question, but she still needed to ask it. “Why would the media make it seem as if you made the mistake? I remember them saying that the hostage negotiator was to blame for the lives lost.”

“Gloria Rutledge had been an up and comer in the political arena. You should know that. She didn’t want her sister’s name sullied and she had the wherewithal and the means to make sure it didn’t materialize. I happened to get caught in the political cover-up.”

Phoebe was well aware of how easy it was to cover up a personal matter within the life she and her family led, but she would never have done that at the expense of another’s reputation. Anger welled up inside of her and she now understood Lach’s torment at seeing his career basically implode.

“That’s not fair, Lach.” Phoebe leaned forward and set her glass on the table besides his. “Regardless how sick Gloria was, she had no right to use you as a patsy.”

“You’re missing the point, Phoebe.” Lach seemed almost accepting of what he was about to say, although she could argue whatever
point
he was trying to make. Misplaced guilt had a way of muddling the truth. “I knew all along that something wasn’t right with Lionel Rutledge. I went against my gut and I followed protocol, all the while knowing I should have handled it differently.”

“And how would you have handled it then?” Phoebe asked, playing devil’s advocate. She watched impatiently as he rounded the chair and picked up the empty bottle, along with the wine glasses. “What could you possibly have done differently given the facts at the time?”

“I should have gone in.”

Phoebe wasn’t sure how to reply to that. When Lach made his way into the kitchen and tossed the bottle into the recycling, she quickly followed him and positioned herself on the other side of the counter. She had to have heard wrong.

“Gone in? You mean into the bank? That’s insane, Lach. You most likely would have ended up dead at the hands of Jennifer Chartelle.” Phoebe could see Lach was serious in his hypothesis. “You said you were ordered to do otherwise. Doing so might have had even worse consequences.”

“I would have seen his eyes.” Lach set the glasses in the sink and then placed his palms on the granite, leaning forward to make his point. “I would have seen the tortured anguish he must have been going through. Do you realize he must have seen my gun when I reached into my suit jacket for my wallet? He knew I was an agent, Phoebe. He was trying to tell me something in line and I blatantly ignored him because I was too busy worrying about my day. Had I paid attention that morning, those lives wouldn’t have been lost. His life wouldn’t have been lost. Trinity might have been left one parent.”

“You acted like an everyday normal person, Lach.” Phoebe couldn’t stand seeing him persecute himself when the press had done that enough. She worked her way around the counter, and although she knew the last thing he wanted was to be touched, she didn’t care.
She
needed to touch him. “That doesn’t make you a horrible human being. I’m sorry that you were the one in the bank that day. I’m sorry that you took the fall for a woman who couldn’t find a way to deal with a personal loss. What I’m not sorry about is that you are here, with me, and I get the honor of knowing whom the true Lach McKinnon is. I see your suffering and I want to make it go away. Let me ease your pain.”

Lach didn’t say anything, but instead gathered Phoebe up against him and held her tight. She had her arms around his waist, yet she felt like she was inside of him. He’d opened up a wound that was a part of him and let her in. She wanted to thank him, but she couldn’t get the words out around the lump in her throat. She hadn’t even realized she’d started crying, but tears ran down her cheeks at what he had to endure alone. She’d have given anything to be a part of his life back then, but fate had seen to it that they were here now.

Phoebe remembered how Lach had given her time to think over where their relationship was headed after he’d told her about his lifestyle and what he needed. He’d listened to hers as well, and although she’d made the decision to want to be a part of his future, he’d said that people changed their minds once reality set in. Would he be sharing the most vulnerable part of his life with her if he wanted out?

Chapter Twenty-Two

“W
e stay for an hour and then we’re heading to my place,” Lach murmured as they stood on the porch of a beautiful Victorian home right on the edge of Minneapolis waiting for someone to answer the door. He’d considered buying up the property a street over, but he wasn’t sure he’d have the time to renovate it the way he’d want it. His attention was snagged when Phoebe looked down at what she was wearing twice. “You look fine.”

“I love my jeans, but are you sure this sweater looks casual enough?” Phoebe parted her dress coat, while still holding on to the present he’d bought Derrick weeks ago. “I haven’t been to this kind of birthday party since I was a teenager and trust me, my Aunt Freda didn’t spare any expense.”

Lach had picked Phoebe up from her apartment not thirty minutes ago, Secret Service agent in tow. The man was standing on the step and taking in his surroundings. Lach hadn’t met him before, but since it was the weekend he was probably up on rotation. Now really wouldn’t be a good time to tell him that an officer died across the street at the hands of an international assassin. He’d want Phoebe to vacate the premises immediately. Lach figured that her primary agent, who was somewhere in his vehicle close by, already knew the past of every CSA agent and was well aware of their former cases as well. Phoebe’s hand on his arm brought Lach’s attention back around.

“I’m sorry that I had to work so late last night.” She tucked some of her silky blond strands behind her ear and smiled up at him. “But I like your thought process of going back to your place after this. I never did get to open my present.”

“Which is why I grabbed it off of the table,” Lach replied, unable to continue talking as they heard the door being unlocked. He adjusted his shoulders, easing the pressure of his holster underneath the leather. He really wasn’t looking forward to the next hour when he could be at home and have Phoebe bound to his bed, but from the muttered curse word that just came out of the agent’s mouth, he wasn’t either. “Hi, Lauren.”

“Lach!” Lauren shifted Derrick on her hip so that she could wrap one arm around Lach. The loud noise that came from the crowd within indicated the party was in full swing, which was why the agent wasn’t too happy. It only made his job harder. “I’m so glad that you’re here. Ethan needs therapy and the only one who can get him there is you.”