She let that sit a moment. But this week, I found something in the county property archives that I think this council and this family," she glanced briefly, deliberately at Walter, deserves to hear. She read the notice aloud, the address, the date, the name. Ruiz M. And dependence, landlord, Colton Properties agent for W.
Colton, a widow and two dependents evicted in 2003. A caseworker's note about a 12-year-old boy needing new school enrollment out of state. I don't know for certain yet that this is Dy's family. Ren said, "I want to be honest about that, too. Ruiz isn't an uncommon name, and I won't stand here and claim a certainty I don't have.
But I think it deserves to be looked into properly publicly instead of buried in a filing cabinet the way it's apparently been buried for over 20 years. Walter Colton's face had gone pale, paler than the room's fluorescent lighting could account for on its own. This is absurd, he managed, standing halfway out of his seat. Ancient history has nothing to do with tonight's complaint. Doesn't it?"
Said a voice from the back of the room. Every head turned. The doors at the rear of the town hall had opened without anyone quite noticing. And standing in the frame in a dress uniform that hadn't seen use in some time, but still fit like it had been tailored yesterday, was a woman in her late 50s, silver-haired, ramrod straight, with the particular bearing of someone who had spent a career commanding rooms far more dangerous than this one. My apologies for the entrance," she said, walking down the center aisle with unhurried authority.
"My name is Colonel Patricia Kaine, United States Navy retired. I drove 4 hours to be here tonight after a phone call from a young woman I trained 8 years ago, told me there might finally be a room willing to listen to the truth about her." Ren's breath caught. She hadn't called Colonel Cain. She hadn't spoken to her in over a year.
Frank had quietly two nights ago after Ren had told him in a rare unguarded moment at the bakery counter the name of the officer who had once commanded her unit. He'd found a number through an old Veterans Network contact and made the call himself without telling her, betting that the truth, once summoned properly, would know exactly where it needed to stand. Colonel Cain reached the front of the room and turned to face the council and then deliberately the gathered town of Cedar Hollow. I'm not here to discuss classified operations, she said, and I won't. But I can tell you this much on the record in this room.
Petty Officer Ren Hale served under my command for 6 years. She is, without exaggeration, one of the finest operators I had the privilege of leading in a 30-year career. Four years ago, during a hostage rescue operation I still cannot discuss in detail, she made a decision under fire that saved the lives of every member of her team at considerable personal risk to herself. She did not save mine that day only because I was not on that mission. But she saved the life of a young corman named Petty Officer Ruiz twice before the situation turned in a direction none of us could control.