Backlash!

Aya Walksfar

Published by Wild Haven Press

This book is a work of fiction. With the exception of recognized historical figures, the characters in this novel are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright 2015 by Aya Walksfar

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use this author’s material work other than for reviews, prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

Cover Art: Deva Walksfar

ISBN: 978-1534890190

Dedication

This book is dedicated to all the women, all over the world, who struggle to secure human rights, especially the right of a woman to self-determination and education.

My wife Deva, thank you for taking care of the dogs and everything else so I could write.

My sister Lois, thank you for your unwavering support, encouragement and love. I have been incredibly blessed to have you and Deva in my life.

Acknowledgements

This book may have been born from the solitude of a writer’s mind, but many people helped to birth it.

Detective Suzanne Eviston, thank you for sharing your expertise and experience.

Pam Fritchman, Volunteer Firefighter, thank you for clarifying and explaining about fire and the pathways fire takes and how weather and material affects the progress of a fire.

Nia-Renie Cottrell, Attorney, thank you for your sharp eyes and mind in catching errors in this manuscript, and especially for vetting the legal segments.

Thanks to my beta readers for sharing their expertise and their time to make this a better book:

Denise Beaumont, Deva Walksfar, Clintena Wells, Nia-Renie Cottrell, Joyce Hertzoff, Ruby Standing Deer.

The first thing that a reader sees is a book’s cover. I want to thank Deva Walksfar for a great cover.

For this book’s awesomeness, I thank all those who helped to birth it. If there are mistakes, they are mine alone.

I wrote this book to entertain, to enlighten, and to empower, but an unread book is the equivalent of an unseen sunset: no matter how beautiful, it doesn’t impact us. So to all those who pick this book up and read it, thank you. It was for you that I sat those many hours trying to discover the exact right words to use. Thank you for reading my work.

Aya Walksfar, Author

Chapter 1

On the day that Ellen Delaney’s carefully constructed world shattered, she crossed December first off the desktop calendar, signed off her laptop and placed it in its black leather satchel. With the satchel set to one side, she removed the Gucci handbag from the deep drawer on the right side and pulled a small hand mirror and a tube of mauve lipstick out of the makeup tote.

Lipstick carefully applied, she dropped the tube back in the tote. The reflection staring back from the mirror showed dove gray eyes looking back from a heart-shaped face. For a woman staring at forty, she had aged well. A few light laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and a few silver strands threaded among the fall of midnight wavy hair. Her five-foot-five slender body moved with grace and style, whether clad in business suits, workout clothes or designer jeans.

A chill rain tapped lightly at the office window as she put the mirror away. A glance at the diamond-studded wrist watch had her slipping into the suit jacket hanging on the high back of the deep-red leather office chair. A quick look around assured her that everything was tidy.

The obsession with tidiness grew from the untidy things that had happened to her; the same things that had made her choose a career in Women’s Law. Such things happened to women all the time. The law could be used to tidy up a woman’s life; to make it easier; safer.

Purse and laptop satchel shouldered, her heels clicked a staccato beat across the high gloss floor. Keys jangled in one hand though a keycard worked the lock on the office suite. She strode across the carpeted reception area, stepped out of the beveled glass door. An alarm keypad hung unobtrusively on the wall to the left of the door. Code punched in, the green light flashed.

Redundant locks--the office suite, the elevator stop on the sixth floor, the exterior door to the building and the security guard at the gated garage entrance--enhanced a feeling of safety. During this past year, a sense of safety had become critical.

The law had a few drawbacks; some shortcomings. It could only function within a set parameter of evidence and argument. If only she could obtain incontrovertible proof....

The rustle of her suit and the tap of heels on the hall tiles echoed in the silence of the sixth floor at six p.m. This close to the Christmas holidays the occupants of the other offices in the ten-story Bell Town building had left earlier than normal.

The elevator hummed to a halt and its doors swished quietly open. She stepped inside the glass and chrome box and fed the keycard into the slot then hit P1 for the parking area.

Keys in hand, finger on the button of a canister of pepper spray, Ellen left the confines of the elevator and started across the well-lit parking garage. A couple of feet from her Cadillac ESL she thumbed the key fob. Headlights blinked signaling that the doors had unlocked. She swung open the driver’s door, set the laptop satchel and purse on the passenger seat, slid in quickly, clicked the seat belt and drove to the exit.

Since she owned the building, she’d set up the security routine. The high-risk occupants of the offices--wildly successful attorneys who landed on hardcore hate lists, a hard-hitting journalist whose name had made the drug cartels hit list and others whose careers increased their jeopardy--appreciated the extra layer of safety.

Simon Getting, retired Marine sergeant, walked around her car, shining a light in the back seat and peering in the front. Finally, he stepped to the driver’s side rear quarter panel and waited for the trunk lid to be opened. He inspected the trunk, slammed the lid and walked back to the security booth. Have a nice evening, Ms. Delaney.

She eased out of the gate and onto the street. Tonight a drive to Olympia and a late dinner at the Governor’s Mansion with Governor Andrea Marleton. A smile crossed her lips. Governor Marleton--she’d been so proud when Andrea took the Governor’s Mansion.

Andrea’s insistence on meeting tonight had impinged on other plans, but it had been for the best. What had she been thinking? It was dangerous enough that he knew about her friendship with the governor; that had been inevitable. At least, a circle of protection surrounded Andrea.

No one else’s life could be put in jeopardy. Dinner with Andrea to discuss the Notable Women in Law Award that she’d won made a good excuse to break the date with Celeste. Tomorrow the next step--dropping her gym membership.

At a time when she should be reveling in her achievements, planning future successes, she knew there would never be any future successes. Not unless she found a way to stop him.

Bittersweet that her greatest achievement had so enraged him. She’d never dreamed of winning such a prestigious award; a white trash girl from the wilds of Montana. No one would ever know that part, though. Those Libby, Montana roots had been deeply buried beneath stories of a head-on collision that allegedly--and conveniently--killed her parents right after she graduated high school.

They remained deceased to everyone, including herself, except for one day each year. One day that she drove hours to experience. What would happen if she failed to show this year? She forced the troubling thought away.

The mansion would be decorated for the holidays. She enjoyed that sort of thing, but had no desire to do it. For a moment, she wondered why Andrea had never married. Must not have found that special someone.

She’d given up on finding a special someone; accepted that one-night stands would fill the years. A short, bitter laugh burst out. Two years ago, everything she’d ever dreamed of had been within her grasp. Within months the dream had been shattered. She’d had a taste, though; enough to feel the ache of losing it.

Several times she’d come close to confiding in Andrea. Each time some hand of caution had clamped across her lips. Too bad that same caution hadn’t been there with Celeste. Determinedly, she locked away those melancholic thoughts. I will savor these hours with my best friend. I will not think sad thoughts.

Two point three miles from home while she hummed along with the haunting sound of Enya, a dark van shot out of Kelly Road, one lane of hard-packed dirt that served two houses back in the hill. It smashed into the back quarter panel of her car. Airbags deployed as the car spun. The steering wheel whipped in her hands as she fought it and the airbag. The front tires left the asphalt and bit into the soft side of the ditch, wrenching the wheel free from her white-knuckled grip. For a moment, her heart pounded with hope as the car teetered on the edge of the ditch. Then the wall of dirt gave way and the car slid sideways. It came to rest tilted nearly perpendicular to the roadway above. Groggy from being hit by the air bag and jerked this way and that way, she reached up and touched her forehead. She pulled her hand down in front of her eyes and stared blankly at the slick red on her fingertips. Her mind felt as sluggish as molasses on a bitter winter’s morning.

Blindly patting the passenger seat, she searched for her handbag and cell phone. The driver’s side window burst inward, sprayed her with rounded bits of shatterproof glass. An arm reached in and clamped a stinking rag across her face.

****

Ellen rolled to one side just in time to heave. Yellow bile spilled in a small puddle on the rough plank floor. Eyes cracked open a slit, the dull daylight caused her head to pound. She squinted her eyes and tried to scan her surroundings. None of it made sense.

She inventoried herself: black ski jacket, faded blue flannel shirt, no bra, black ski pants with a rip in the right knee where blue denim showed through. A faded black sleeping bag lay beneath her. She wiggled her toes. Felt like they were encased in wool socks within the heavy leather boots that had cracks across the toes. A little bit itchy, but she felt grateful to have the socks. Her breath clouded in front of her.

Then she saw the shackle. A dull steel chain anchored to the floor snaked across the sleeping bag and latched onto the dull steel cuff snapped around one leg just above the top of the boot. Where the hell am I?

Heart pounding, she forced herself to scan the space around her, though spears of pain shot through her head. A room. Not a very large room. Some kind of opaque white material over the only window. Light seeped through, but no way to see through it. No furniture. What the hell happened?

The last memory was... a truck of some kind roaring out of Kelly’s Road. Then... bile rose up the back of her throat. She swallowed hard. Black, someone all in black. Couldn’t see anything, except his light colored eyes. Oh, God! What kind of maniac has me?

Chamberlain, it had to be Chamberlain. Nothing else made sense. Why didn’t I see this coming? Should’ve known he’d pull something like this. There had been plenty of warnings. Why didn’t I pay more attention? Why didn’t I do something! For Christ’s sake, why didn’t I simply leave? I had the money to leave, to start over, but no, my stupid pride refused to let him chase me away from my home, my practice. Now look where I am.

Her stomach heaved again and she barely cleared the sleeping bag before the bitter bile spewed out. Flopped back on the sleeping bag, arm over her eyes, tears leaked down the sides of her face, leaving icy tracks.

None of it had mattered. None of her work had made any difference at all. She’d gone full circle. Back to what she had fled.

Chapter 2

It had been a glorious fall with a mixture of summery days and brisk nights. The leaves had turned red and gold and drifted to the ground on soft breezes. A few days past Thanksgiving winter asserted her rights and blustered in with chill rainy days and cold nights. December second heralded another brisk step into winter, but at least the day had come with clear skies.

Sergeant Nita Slowater, second-in-command of the Special Crimes Team, hooked a wayward strand of long raven hair behind one ear and sipped a hazelnut latte. She brushed at a piece of lint on the gray, merino wool slacks. The light pink blouse that Dawn had chosen for her outfit today went well with the dark gray jacket and lighter gray slacks. A glance down assured her that the shine on the black tie-ups met her standards.

Her mind drifted as she waited for morning briefing to start. A glance at the round-faced clock above the corkboard wall announced that Lieutenant Michael Williams, head of the Special Crimes Team, was now an unheard-of ten minutes late. She’d be thinking up a snarky comment for all the times he’d hassled her about punctuality, except for the niggling sense that something headed their way. And it wouldn’t be good.

Governor Andrea Marleton had originally formed the Special Crimes Team from a group of misfit cops and charged them with catching a gruesome serial killer who had eluded three police departments. Since then SCT, pronounced SCaT, inherited the worst of the worst cases; cases that had veteran cops questioning their choice of careers. A seed of dread lay leaden in Nita’s guts. Whatever it is, please, don’t let it be old women or children.

The opening of the Command Center door pulled Nita from those thoughts. Lieutenant Michael Williams held the door for Dr. Irene Nelson. Mike’s six-two, burly body dwarfed the FBI behavior analyst’s five-two petite frame. The two presented a study of opposites: his bitter chocolate face next to her pale tan skin; his short kinky hair next to her burnished copper, stylishly shoulder-length hair. Nita still found it interesting that the two had gotten engaged after one of their cases.

Mike stood at the head of the table and slapped his big hands together. The loud crack signaled the start of briefing. I just got off the phone with Governor Marleton.

Everyone around the table sat up straighter, attention fixed on the lieutenant.

Her best friend, Ellen Delaney, has gone missing.

Nita asked, What makes the governor think her friend’s missing?

They had a dinner date last night and Delaney never showed. Governor Marleton phoned her home and left a message and Delaney never returned the call. This morning she phoned Delaney’s office. She never arrived today. An associate, Jayne Woodhull, said Delaney wrapped up her last case yesterday and didn’t have an upcoming case. She suggested Delaney might have decided to take a few days off, but conceded that Delaney’s standard procedure would be to schedule the time off and inform her associate. She failed to do that.

Nita held a palm upward in a questioning gesture. Why tell us? If Delaney really is missing that case belongs to the Missing and Unidentified Persons Unit.

Mike began shaking his head. Nita...

Uh-uh. No way, Mike. Arms crossed over her chest. I don’t care if she is the governor. She’s the one who set the guidelines; and busted our chops when we overstepped them with good reason. Tell the governor to go to MUPU.

Nita, Mike’s voice dropped a couple of octaves, this isn’t up for debate. It’s not a request for our assistance; it’s an order. In case you’ve forgotten, we answer directly to Governor Marleton.

Her brows crashed down. Damn it, Mike! Chasing a missing person is not part of our mandate. This is what pisses me off. She makes the rules, busts our chops if we bend them, but we’re supposed to fall happily into line when she tosses those same rules aside.

Mike held up both palms facing outward. I understand where you’re coming from, Nita. Really I do, but we don’t have a choice.

Officer Driscoll Mulder shifted the red plastic coffee stirrer to one side of his mouth. His ordinary brown eyes showed only slight interest in the conversation as they peered from an equally ordinary face. The man would make a great undercover cop if he’d get over having to constantly wave around his gay flag. Might as well hound the governor’s bestie; we don’t have anything active and it’s no worse than chasing after cold cases.

Hazel eyes glinting with anger, Nita glared at him. We have those cold cases because we’re good at resolving them; and those people deserve resolution. Besides, cold cases are part of the governor’s mandate for our team.

Irene’s soft voice interrupted the angry tirade. I agree that the cold cases deserve our attention, and we will return to them. But they are cold; a few days won’t matter one way or the other. With a missing person, however, the first forty-eight hours are critical.

Yeah, I know that. Sharpness edged Nita’s words. That’s why she should get MUPU involved. Those guys rock at locating missing persons. That’s not our forte.

Detective Frederick Albert cleared his throat. "I believe our team has a proven track record of solving cases--any case in which we become involved. Governor Marleton is only requesting that we do for her what we did for you when your grandmother went missing."

Damn it, Frederick, she whipped around and locked onto his spring green eyes. That was different.

He raised one dark brow. His handsome caramel face settled into a questioning look that made Nita squirm like she used to do when she got sent to the principal’s office.

The sheriff refused to concede that Grandma Greene was even missing. And, there wasn’t a lot of physical evidence. Voice dropped a notch lower to better mimic Deputy Sommers, As a competent adult, Mrs. Greene has the right to leave without prior notification to friends and family.

In a mellow voice, Frederick asked, Isn’t this the same? Governor Marleton has no physical proof that Ms. Delaney is missing. Ms. Delaney appears to be as important to Governor Marleton as Mrs. Greene is to you. Is it really so bad to help someone, even if we have to color outside of the lines to do so?

Nita threw her hands in the air then let them slap down on the table. You win. I give up. We’ll go chasing a grown woman who probably disappeared in an attempt to get some time alone.

****

The dashboard clock read seven o’clock when Nita pulled the Chevy Equinox next to Dawn’s black Porsche and got out. Hours earlier, winter’s dark had drifted as light as a down quilt over the evening. Wearily, she leaned against the fender of the vehicle and gazed up at the full moon. A chill breeze gusted past.

Her eyes dropped to the house that Dawn and she had chosen on ten acres of land between the small town of Snohomish and the city of Monroe. The best of all possible locations with Stevens Pass and east of the Cascade Mountains minutes away while woods and farms surrounded them. She gazed at the cedar tongue and groove exterior of a house she’d never dreamed she’d be able to own. Wouldn’t be able to own if not for Dawn selling her condo. Even that wouldn’t have been enough, except the housing market had tanked and this beauty had come up on foreclosure.

She crossed the gravel driveway to the covered entry with a soft-gray slate half circle. Opening the front door, she stepped onto the granite tile floor of the foyer. Most of the house had hardwood floors, except for the marble floors in the kitchen and bathrooms. Bypassing the curved staircase, with an open railing to the second floor, she headed for the kitchen. As she drew closer Dawn’s humming rode the sweet smell of cinnamon and apples into the hall.

Warmth washed over her as she stepped into the kitchen and hung her shoulder holster on the hook next to the table. Built in stainless steel appliances gleamed under the overhead lights. Dawn stirred a pot on the stove, a strand of long blonde hair stuck to one cheek. What’re you making? Nita peered over Dawn’s shoulder then nuzzled her sweaty neck.

I thought African Beef Stew with a green salad and baked apples would taste good tonight. She twisted her head around to look at Nita. How did it go today?

Much better now that I'm home... that is, if I could get a kiss.

Dawn laid the spoon down, turned and wrapped her arms around Nita. After a thorough kiss, she turned back to the stove. Would you mind fixing a pot of coffee?

Nita moved over to the cluttered counter. The coffeemaker was still buried behind stacks of dishes and pots and pans that covered every flat surface in the kitchen. Moving was so messy.

Want to talk about your day? A puff of steam floated out of the pot on the stove and haloed Dawn’s face.

When the coffee began gurgling, Nita moved over to the doorway and propped a shoulder against the jamb. Governor Marleton pulled rank. Our team is now assigned to track down Marleton’s best friend.

Dawn hauled the stewpot over to the hot pad on the table. "I assume you mean the person is missing. I can see you are sooo thrilled, but why not have MUPU handle it?"

Nita pushed off the wall and grabbed the salad from the double-door stainless steel refrigerator while Dawn pulled the warmed French bread from the oven. I don’t have a clue as to what that woman is thinking.

Who’s the governor’s missing friend? Dawn slid into her chair while Nita poured coffee for both of them.

An attorney named Ellen Delaney.

Dawn halted the serving ladle in mid-air as she gaped at Nita. "Ellen Delaney? I should have guessed."

Yeah, Ellen Delaney. What’s the biggie? Nita took a piece of French bread.

"Girlfriend, you have to read a newspaper now and then!"

With a wicked grin, Nita said, Why should I when I have access to the best investigative reporter in the state of Washington--even if she has taken a leave of absence to do some nesting?

Dawn grinned back, finished filling her bowl and took a piece of the warm bread. Ellen Delaney and Governor Andrea Marleton roomed together during most of their years at law school. Near the end of their last year, Ellen dropped completely out of sight. Rumor had it that even Marleton didn’t know where she went.

Dawn hummed with pleasure as she took a big bite of stew, chewed and swallowed. Anyway, a year later she returned to Seattle, re-entered the UW Law School and graduated after completing the interrupted work of the last quarter.

Nita ate stew knowing Dawn would tell the story in her own time.

Dawn wiped her lips with a linen napkin and continued. Meanwhile, Marleton went into practice with her father and her brother here in Seattle. Delaney worked a couple of years with a woman attorney in Tacoma before relocating to Seattle and hanging out her own shingle. According to what I’ve heard, Marleton funneled overflow cases over to Delaney’s office. The cases always involved women because that’s all Delaney represents. And the rest, as they say, is history. Ellen Delaney has become nearly as powerful as the governor. Last week, she won the prestigious Notable Women in Law Award. In a couple of weeks, the governor is hosting a banquet in Delaney’s honor. The dinner tickets go for a thousand dollars a plate and the money is to be put into a fund to help women financially struggling to complete their law degree. A lot of big names are on the guest list.

Nita took a long sip of coffee. Does Delaney have family?

No family; at least, not according to her interview with Jill Sanders last week.

That probably explains why Governor Marleton holds Power of Attorney for Delaney. Kind of weird though. The Power of Attorney lists the normal specifications for when the document is activated, like in case of death or incapacitation, but she added the stipulation that in case she couldn’t be located for more than twenty-four hours the document went into effect.

With a dainty shrug, Dawn said, Not that weird nowadays. Do you know how many women simply go missing? There are currently sixteen on the Washington State Patrol’s board. Last month, an actress in Seattle disappeared and a few days before that a twenty-one year woman who went on a hike near Snoqualmie Pass vanished.

Nita raised her brows, chewed and swallowed. That’s a stat I really don’t want to think about. She buttered another slice of bread. Marleton couriered over a key for Delaney’s place and a notarized statement. We have permission to search the house and the premises for signs of a struggle or other clues to Delaney’s whereabouts. The last of the gravy sopped up, she set the bowl to one side.

Dawn stacked their dishes then got up and loaded them in the dishwasher. Did Governor Marleton give any reason why she didn’t hand this case to MUPU?

Just said we’re to handle it.

Pouring the dishwasher detergent in its cup, Dawn said, Governor Marleton must have a good reason. From what I’ve seen and heard, she usually gives a great deal of thought to what she does. She pushed the on button and the dishwasher began its cycle. That’s one reason she’s a good governor.

Chapter 3

Rain drizzled down the Command Center’s only window directly across the room from Nita. A few pigeons huddled on the concrete sill, fluffed up and looking miserable. Mike slapped his hands together, garnering everyone’s attention. Did everyone get loose ends taken care of yesterday?

Heads bobbed around the table confirming that cases had been properly put on hold. We’re behind on this one, folks. I don’t have to tell anyone that the first forty-eight hours in a missing person’s case are the critical hours. And this is already day two that our victim has been missing. He zeroed in on Nita. What do we have?

Nita looked up from her laptop. I did an in-depth phone interview with Governor Marleton yesterday. Nothing new there. She couriered a key over with copy of the Power of Attorney from Delaney to her and a notarized statement giving SCaT permission to search Delaney’s house and premises.

Frederick? Mike turned his focus on the quiet spoken detective. What did you and Maizie find out?

Instead of taking the floor, Frederick tilted his head toward Detective Maizie O’Hara. At the gesture of confidence from her older partner, a slight flush colored her pale Irish cream cheeks. Blue eyes wide beneath flaming red curls, she sat up straighter. "We interviewed Jayne Woodhull, Ms. Delaney’s associate. The entire report can be found in the online Team Room. To summarize, their firm hasn’t had any cases in the last six months that might cause someone to want to harm Ms. Delaney. Her latest case was a divorce. The ex-husband has been in England on a business trip since November twenty-ninth and will remain there until December fifteenth. I confirmed his presence overseas on December