THIRTY-ONE
After a couple of hours of tossing and turning, thinking about Bran and unable to fall asleep, Jessie gave up and went back into the living room. Bran was stretched out on the sofa asleep. Even with his eyes closed, there was a vigilance about him, a tension in his muscles that said he could come awake in an instant.
She moved quietly over to the table so she wouldn’t disturb him. So far the encryption on his computer hadn’t been penetrated. The people at The Max were good. Now was her chance to do some research.
When she’d first begun her investigation, Robert De La Garza, the project manager for Weidner at the Alamo Depot, had been her primary suspect, the man at the top who controlled the plant. She’d found nothing to connect him to the theft.
She took another look at him now, his credentials, his experience, the date he’d taken the job. She followed every link she could find. Nothing popped up.
There were two deputy directors under De La Garza, Dwayne Higgins and Nathan Staats. She had looked at both of them, but hadn’t gone that deep. Then things had started happening. Her life had been threatened, she’d headed for Dallas, and nothing had been the same since.
She started to look up Deputy Director Dwayne Higgins, then paused.
The one person she had never investigated beyond looking at his biography on the US Army website was Brigadier General Samuel Holloway. Her father had respected the man, and she’d had no reason to suspect him of being involved. But Wayne Coffman’s murder still bothered her.
Just days after Coffman had been transferred to the army stockade, he was dead. Weaver could have ordered the hit through his Aryan Brotherhood connections in the prison, just as he had before, but how did Edgar Weaver find out Tank had been arrested? And why wasn’t he placed somewhere the Brotherhood couldn’t get to him?
Holloway was one of the few people who knew about the connection between Tank and Weaver. She typed inBrigadier General Samuel Hollowayand the US Army website popped up, showing his photo and page-long biography.
At the sound of footfalls padding toward her, she glanced up to see Brandon yawning and absently scratching his broad chest. With his hair sleep-mussed and the dark scruff along his jaw, he looked so male and sexy she wanted to eat him up. Then she remembered her resolve. At the very least, she needed time to figure things out, try to decide on the right course to take.
Which was all well and good until he stood behind her to look over her shoulder and she could feel the warmth of his powerful body. Her mind flashed with memories of the last time they had made love, and her whole body flushed with heat.
“What are you working on?” he asked.
She mentally shook herself, focused on the question. Hesitated. Bran was military to the bone. Thinking a decorated superior officer might be capable of treason wasn’t something he was going to take lightly. Though she had a hunch he might have a few suspicions of his own.
“I’m looking at General Holloway, seeing if there’s something I missed.”
Bran started reading the words on the screen. “‘Division Chemical Officer Tenth Infantry Division, New York and Kandahar. Assistant to director of the Joint Staff at the Pentagon. Commanded the Blue Grass Army Depot for two years before he was also assigned to command Alamo.’”
“His background’s definitely impressive,” she said, knowing he had only read the bottom few paragraphs aloud.
“Yeah, and so are his awards. Bronze Star, Meritorious Service Medal, Army Commendation, Army Achievement Medal, Kosovo Campaign, Iraq Campaign, War on Terrorism Service Medal, NATO Medal.” He looked up. “Do I need to keep reading?”
“I get it. I’m sure it’s a big waste of time.”
“The thing is, the guy’s a highly respected army general. Twenty-five million is a helluva lot, but surely it would take more than money for a guy at that level to commit treason.”
“You’re probably right,” she conceded. Which didn’t mean she was quitting. She was a better journalist than that.
Bran scrubbed his fingers through his too-long brown hair, shoving it back from his forehead. “Most likely, I am right. But you’re right, too. We can’t leave any stone unturned. With Tank dead, Weaver is safe and we’ve lost our best source. The fact Holloway’s crossed both of our minds is enough for me. Keep at it.”
She turned back to the screen and continued, going backward in time, further into the general’s history, finding his place of birth, information on his wife, his kids, anything that might link him to Edgar Weaver.
An hour later she found it. For a moment, as the pieces fell together, she couldn’t believe her eyes. She read the info again, and the pulse in her temple started throbbing.
“I think I found something, Bran.”
He rose from the sofa where he was watching TV and at the same time gaming on his cell phone. She noticed he played when he was restless, a way of burning off excess energy, she guessed.
He paced over to where she sat and looked down at the computer screen. “What is it?”
She had two screens up side by side. One was General Samuel Holloway, the other Edgar Weaver. “Both men born in Albany, Georgia. Both attended Weatherbee High School.”
His blue eyes sharpened. “So Holloway and Weaver knew each other?”
“It gets better,” she said, feeling a second rush of excitement. “Holloway’s mother’s maiden name was Weaver. Her brother was Cyrus Weaver. Cyrus had two boys—Joseph...and Edgar.” She turned to look up at him. “They were cousins, Bran. Holloway and Weaver arecousins.”
