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She shrugged. "I'm ex-SEAL. I have a couple of old contacts in the system. I'll find a way."

"That won't be easy." Gabe shook his head. "And with your mom?"

Cora folded her arms. "I have two days. It'll take that long for her to heal up from the allergy and for them to see if she responds to those new meds. And people are dying, Gabe. I know what it's like to be a new recruit. It's not fun. You get bullied and hazed. You feel like you're among enemies a lot of the time. You feel like anything could happen to you and nobody would ever know. And someone is taking advantage of that."

She felt anger rise within her. That whole scenario was brutally unfair. New recruits had to suffer the process, sure. It was part of what the Army was about. You had to be tough, and ready to ride out the unexpected. But to be murdered? For some psycho to be using the system as a shield to do his killing? That was brutal. And she might be the one who could stop it quickest. Nobody deserved to spend every night in terror, trying to get some sleep in those narrow bunks, exhausted and scared, not knowing whether they'd live to see the morning, not knowing if this entire situation was being properly investigated or just suppressed in the hope that it would go away.

Gabe sighed. "Okay. I was just pointing out you have a lot on your plate."

And he didn't even know half of it.

"Yeah, I know," she said.

"If you're going to do this, you want help?" he asked.

Cora finished the Coke. She looked at the full glass of beer. Three months ago, she knew she’d have no problem picking it up and finishing it in a few fast gulps. Now, things had changed, and she’d changed; she didn’t want to go down that road. It would lead to more. One glass was just the start, and had never been enough, so she wasn’t going to start.

She pushed the glass away, getting some distance between it and her.

"You offering?" she said. "Because if you're offering, I'd appreciate it."

Gabe nodded. "I'm offering. I have time. I've done three weeks' worth of projects in two. I have some spare time, a few days, anyway. I can help you if you need it."

"I'm taking you up on it," Cora agreed. "And thank you."

"So," he said. "Where do we start?"

She thought about it.

"There's a motel near the base. I reckon we head there tomorrow morning and set up shop. And there's a place nearby where I know a lot of the Army people like to go when they're off duty. I think we should start there. We need to find the right person to ask, and then we need to lean on them. Hard."

***

"This is the place?" Gabe asked her, surprised.

Cora nodded. "This was like a magnet for Army people, back when I was near here. I'm sure it's the same now."

They'd arrived at the motel an hour ago, booked a room, dumped their gear. Now, it was midmorning on a drizzly day, and Cora was driving into the parking lot of the local racetrack.

Horseracing. A bar and betting. This was where a lot of fun was to be had. People came here, hoping to make money but usually ended up blowing their paychecks. It was a Saturday today and that might mean an even better chance of spotting who they needed.

She climbed out of the car and they headed through the turnstile and inside.

"We need the right person," Cora said, looking around as she took her bearings. The racetrack bar was to her right. The grandstands were nearby. Above the bar was the exclusive area for the owners and trainers. The parade ring was on the right, with horses circling, preparing for the next race. She took a moment to admire them. Held by their grooms, some were walking calmly, others were hotted up and jogging sideways. She'd heard, long ago, that the better bets were the calm ones because they didn't use up their energy before the race. But she had no idea how true that was.

If that was true, her money would be on number six, she decided, a steel gray horse walking placidly around the ring, oblivious to the antics of the panicked chestnut horse in front of him who was being restrained by two handlers as he leaped and jogged.

The commentary was enthusiastic, the voice rising and falling ceaselessly in the cold, damp air.

"Who's the right person?" Gabe asked. Deciding on the racetrack bar as the best starting point, she headed that way.

"The right person is CO or higher."

"Commanding officer?"

She nodded. "I want to start high. We can always work down. But we might have one chance only to get the big fish."

"Okay," Gabe said.

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