Justice

by Karen Robards

  An old blue Toyota Corolla was parked in the driveway. The curtains had not yet been drawn for the night, and Jess could see the flicker of a television through the big picture window that fronted the street. A few doors down, a woman lugged a metal trash can to the curb. Across the street, some kids played basketball in front of a one-car garage. For a moment Jess simply sat where she was looking at the house. It would be too much to hope for that Tiffany would magically appear, making a trip to the door unnecessary, but hope she did.

  “So what exactly are you going to say to Ms. Higgs if she’s here? ‘I hacked into your Facebook page and your vocabulary has me worried’?”

  That hit a nerve. Jess actually had no idea. “You know, you’re the federal agent here. Shouldn’t you be just the tiniest bit concerned that something isn’t right?”

  “Last time I checked, no crime had been committed that either of us know of. Anyway, I’m not a cop.”

  “Nice attitude,” Jess said and got out of the SUV.

  Obviously feeling that she was in no physical danger, Mark stayed put. Which she knew he wouldn’t have done if he hadn’t still been harboring ill feelings about her anti-relationship stance. But she wasn’t changing her mind, and if Mark in a snit was the price she had to pay, then so be it.

  Even over the sounds of the kids playing, Jess heard the gentle whirr as the car window rolled down and then the cessation of engine noise that meant he’d turned the vehicle off. He could see, and hear, everything that went on, and she knew that if anything he didn’t like went down he’d be all over the situation like a bad rash. She took some solace from knowing that at least he wasn’t going to be sitting there in air-conditioned comfort while she got all sweaty and hot. As she trudged through the wet grass to the small porch, then rang the doorbell, she could feel his eyes on her back. The steamy heat made her wish she’d thought to shed her jacket, but too late now. Through the window, she could see the TV. What she thought was an episode of Law & Order was playing.

  The door opened without warning, and Jess found herself looking at Tiffany’s sister. The one who had called her “bitch.” Jess couldn’t for the life of her remember her name, if she had ever known it.

  The sister was wearing cutoffs and a tank top, with her long blond hair in a ponytail and her feet bare. Like Tiffany, she was pretty and fragile-looking, with big blue eyes. Those eyes collided with Jess’s, and it was obvious she recognized her. Her face tightened, her eyes grew small and hard, and she stiffened.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Is Tiffany here?”

  “You’re kidding me, right? That fucking trial is over, and the last person she ever wants to see again is the other side’s snotty bitch lawyer. So piss off!”

  “Wait!” Jess put her palm against the door to hold it open, because it was clear sweet sister was getting ready to slam it in her face. Inspiration struck. “She has some money coming to her, so if I could just talk to her …”

  If Tiffany came to the door, she’d pull a twenty out of her purse and claim that’s what Tiffany had dropped. She might even get brownie points for being such an honest person that she drove all the way out to Crystal City just to return Tiffany’s money to her.

  “Oh, yeah?” The sister hesitated, and it was clear the promise of money resonated. “She’s on vacation. They got her out of here so that she wouldn’t have to talk to any reporters or anybody like that after the trial. How much money are we talking about?”

  Saying twenty dollars would get the door slammed in her face, Jess was pretty sure.

  “That’s something I can only divulge to Tiffany. Who got her out of here?”

  The sister shrugged. “Whoever. You can leave the money with me. I’ll make sure she gets it.”

  “I can’t do that. I have to give it to her. Have you, personally, talked to Tiffany since she’s been on vacation?”

  “She’s not taking calls. Anyway, why do you care if I’ve talked to Tiff?” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re lying, aren’t you? I can see it in your face. There isn’t any money. You’re just out here snooping around. Get the hell off our property before I call the police.”

  Jess decided to go for honesty. “Look, I’m worried about your sister—”

  She barely had time to pull her hand out of harm’s way before the door slammed in her face. A moment later, for good measure, the curtains were drawn across the picture window.

  “I’m going to leave my card,” Jess called through the door. “If you get worried about your sister yourself, call me. I’m on her side this time, I swear.”

  When that got no response, she gave up, tucked one of her business cards on top of the doorknob, and retreated.

  “That went well,” Mark observed as she got in beside him, earning himself a dirty look. Hot and disgruntled, she shucked her jacket before putting on her seat belt. The small smile that curled his lips as they drove away didn’t make her any happier. He had enjoyed that, she knew.

  “Tiffany’s supposedly on vacation,” Jess reported, resting back against the seat and enjoying the full rush of the air-conditioning on her overheated skin. “‘They’—and you tell me who ‘they’ are—got her away to avoid reporters after the trial.”

  “I heard.” The imperfectly suppressed note of amusement in his voice made her lips thin. “Liar, liar, pants on fire.”

  “What, about the money?” She shot him a glinting look. “It was twenty dollars. She dropped it.”

  “Uh-huh.” They were silent for a few minutes as Jess luxuriated in the air-conditioning and he drove. They were already back across the bridge when he said, “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe your people got Tiffany out of here?”

  “My people? You mean Ellis Hayes?”

  “If she was influenced to change her story on the stand, whoever did the influencing might very well have wanted to put her someplace where nobody can talk to her for a while. Loose lips sink ships and all that. And either Ellis Hayes or Senator Phillips seem like the most obvious candidates both to do the influencing and the removing.”

  Jess thought about that. “They do, don’t they?” she said after a moment. “But … I was there, Mark. I’m willing to swear that Tiffany recanting was as much a surprise to everybody on the team as it was to me. Nobody, not Pearse, not Christine, nobody, knew it was going to happen.”

  He shrugged. “If you’re right about that, then you’re left with Senator Phillips.”

  “The Phillips trial is the thing they have in common.” Jess was thinking out loud. She flicked a glance at Mark. “Allison and Tiffany. At least as far as I know. Allison was working on the Phillips trial. Tiffany was the alleged victim and star witness. Now both of them are gone.”

  “I can see why they might first somehow coerce Tiffany and then get her out of the way so she doesn’t talk to anyone after they persuaded her to recant. But I’ll be damned if I can see why either Ellis Hayes or Senator Phillips would want to get Allison Howard out of the way.”

  “I don’t know, either,” Jess admitted.

  “Maybe somebody parked Tiffany with Allison. Maybe Allison is babysitting, as you like to call it, just like I am. Maybe they’re together, and that’s why their Facebook posts sound the same.”

  “Allison’s supposed to be on her honeymoon.”

  “Maybe that’s just a cover story for what she’s really doing.”

  Jess turned that over in her mind. “I suppose that’s possible.”

  “Anything’s possible, and none of it has anything to do with you.”

  “You think I ought to leave it alone, don’t you?”

  “We’ve already established how much you love your job. Go poking around in matters that don’t concern you, and you could lose it. Take my word for it, Ellis Hayes is run by a bunch of tight-asses who wouldn’t think twice about firing you if they think you’re pissing on them.” He sighed. “Why don’t you let me see if I can get somebody to look into it? It’s not in the Secret Service’s
purview, but I know people. They’ll keep it on the down-low.”

  “Would you? Thank you. It’s just—I have a bad feeling. I just need to know that Tiffany and Allison are alive and well somewhere.” Knowing that he really would carry through on his offer even though he’d only made it to pacify her, she smiled at him, a slow, sweet smile that he didn’t return. Instead his face tightened and he looked away.

  “So what do you want to eat? I could do with a pulled pork sandwich, myself.”

  Jess realized that they had reached Foggy Bottom.

  “Not Pearl’s.” Jess rejected it instantly.

  “Not pizza,” he countered.

  “Take-out Chinese?”

  “No. How about—”

  “Oh, my God, I forgot about Grace!” Jess interrupted as her appointment with her sister flashed into her mind. A quick glance at the clock in the dashboard told her that it was already almost nine. Jess whipped out her phone and started punching in numbers.

  Mark groaned. “I’m starving here.”

  Jess had to smile at his tone, which was almost plaintive.

  “So are you coming, or what?” Grace answered without preamble.

  “I completely forgot. I am so sorry. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “Lucky for you I’m still putting up displays for our fall sale.”

  Jess took that to mean that Grace would wait. She cast a significant look at Mark that directed him to drive to Grace’s store and said, “I owe you big-time” to her sister.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll collect,” Grace assured her, which Jess knew was probably true. Then they disconnected.

  Some fifteen minutes later they pulled up in front of Past Perfect.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Grace’s shop was located on Thomas Jefferson Street, not far from Washington Harbor, which was a tourist mecca because of the sheer number of shops, offices, and condominiums located within its architect-designed wings. Besides Past Perfect’s proximity to such a proven draw for locals and tourists alike, the building in which it was housed had charms of its own. It had been built in the 1800s of red brick in the federal style, and it had two doorways, one leading to the shop, which was on the ground floor, and one leading up to the apartments over it. It was within a couple of blocks of the Potomac and the waterfront in Georgetown, one of the toniest areas of D.C. A number of the very wealthy socialites who were regular fixtures at White House dinner parties and were part of the Washington political and social elite lived in the vicinity. Since it was a point of pride with them not to be seen in the same outfit twice, and since most of them were, in their own way, rather thrifty at heart, especially now that the recession had hung on so long that it seemed to have become a fact of life, their clothes found their way into Grace’s shop for discreet resale. A nice little bonus for the ladies, and a nice little profit for Grace.

  It was a business model that worked for everybody, and in the three months since it had been open, Past Perfect had become an unqualified success.

  A sign on the door said Closed, but that, Jess knew, did not pertain to her. Pushing through the heavy wooden door with Mark at her heels, setting off the tinkling bell that announced arriving customers, Jess was greeted by some elusive, very expensive-smelling scent. The walls were a deep rose pink, the woodwork white, the floors a light hardwood. The look was that of a high-end boutique. Clothing hung against the walls in neat rows according to size. More clothing hung from circular racks in the center of the floor. Outfits complete with accessories were modeled by white cardboard cutouts, which Grace felt were more up-to-date than the traditional mannequins. Grace herself was on a stepladder at the rear of the three large, shotgun-style rooms, near the checkout station. She was draping a scarf around the neck of a soft blue fall jacket that was part of a display of jackets hung high up on the wall. The dress she herself was wearing was a short, summer-bright print that packed enough punch to make even Jess, never the most fashion forward of the sisters, take notice. At twenty-two years old, Grace was lovely enough to turn heads. Five feet seven, with a beautiful face, a knockout body, long blond hair, and slender, shapely legs, Grace had had males coming after her in packs since kindergarten. She was, Jess had thought more than once over the past few months, basically the female equivalent of Mark. Until Past Perfect had opened, Grace had been attending college part time and working at their mother’s day care center, but fashion had always been her first love. Jess was glad that she’d had the money to help her get the shop started.

  “You look tired,” Grace greeted her as she came down off the ladder. She gave Mark a long, level look. Jess had to smile at the way her little sister seemed prepared to take on the big, tough, fourteen-years-her-senior federal agent on her behalf. “Okay, I guess you’re not a low-life bastard any more if my sister has forgiven you. But depending on how you treat her, that could change.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Mark responded dryly.

  “Leave him alone,” Jess ordered, feeling guilty about Grace’s false assumptions and Mark’s false position and the whole messed-up situation in general. But if Grace could not be told the truth about why Mark was back in her life—and she couldn’t be, Jess would never put her in that kind of danger—then the fiction that the two of them had kindasorta made up had to be maintained. “Where’s the dress?”

  “Gown. In the—” Grace broke off as a man emerged from the storage room in the back, his arms loaded with boxes. “Oh, Ron, this is my sister Jessica Ford. And Mark Ryan. He’s a Secret Service agent, so watch yourself. Ron Garza, guys.”

  All Jess saw around the trio of very large boxes was short black hair and muscular forearms. Then the boxes were dropped practically at Grace’s feet, and Jess was left looking at a muscle-bound hunk with soulful cocoa eyes and a Hawaiian Tropic–caliber tan. He wasn’t quite as tall as Mark, but he was bulked up in a way that made it obvious he did some bodybuilding. Jess saw at once why Grace had spent the last three nights away from home.

  “Nice to meet you.” Ron’s smile revealed blindingly white teeth. He had the slightest of accents. “You are the oldest sister, right? You look very young to be a lawyer, as Grace tells me you are.”

  Jess smiled in acknowledgment—the fact that she looked about eighteen was not only old news, it was one of the irritants of her life—as they shook hands all around.

  “If you would unpack those sweaters and put them on the shelves while I do this, I would be so grateful, Ronnie,” Grace practically cooed. Jess knew that tone: Grace was in love. Not that it was an unusual state for her. Grace was always falling in love. She fell, languished in the throes for a few weeks, then got over it. It was sort of like measles, Jess thought. Grace caught it, suffered, was cured. Poor Ronnie didn’t know it, but unless her sister’s MO had changed, his place in her life was destined to have the shelf life of a mosquito bite.

  “Of course,” Ronnie said gallantly. Mark, who was acquainted with Grace’s love ’em and leave ’em ethos, flicked Jess a satiric look.

  Then Grace whisked Jess off. Jess only hoped that Mark wound up helping Ronnie shelve sweaters in her absence. As revenge for the way he had enjoyed her encounter with Tiffany’s sister, it would be pretty sweet.

  “That guy is way hot,” Jess said as Grace dragged her behind the counter to the hall where the fitting rooms were located. “Where’d you find him?”

  “He’s my martial arts instructor, and he’s practically straight off the plane from Argentina. You would not believe how good he is in bed.” Grace gave an illustrative little shiver, pushed Jess into the largest of the dressing rooms, which was also painted rose pink, with a big three-way mirror in one corner, then pointed at a deep red dress hanging beside the mirror. “There it is. I even got you some shoes and things to go with it. How’d you end up back with Mark?”

  “It’s red,” Jess said, both because the dress was and because she needed time to think of a good answer.

  “It’s garnet. Trust me, it’s a
great color for you.” When Jess just stood there looking at the dress, Grace clucked impatiently and started tugging Jess’s black T-shirt over her head. “So let’s have it: what’s up with you and Mark?”

  “We’re just sort of dating.” Even to her own ears, that sounded lame. When her sister’s hands went for the button at her waistband, Jess swatted her sister’s hands away and unfastened her own pants.

  “Dating? Dating is going out to dinner on Saturday night. You’re sleeping with him again, sister. Don’t lie to me, I can tell.”

  What could she do? Backed into a corner, Jess lied. “We’re trying to see if we can make it work, okay?” By this time she was down to her bra and panties.

  “Oh, my God, Jess, what happened?” Grace was looking at the bruise on her rib cage, Jess realized.

  “I told you. I got mugged. In our front yard, so when you do go home, be careful. It’s fine, really. It’s not even sore anymore.” Seeking to change the subject, she asked, “So does Mom know about Ronnie—uh, Ron?”

  Even as Jess spoke Grace whisked the dress over her head.

  “No. And don’t you dare tell. You know how she is. She keeps telling me I’m too easy, and no man’s going to buy the cow if the milk is free, and all that. Like she practices what she preaches.”

  Jess’s answer was muffled by the dress. Which was probably a good thing. Bottom line was, where Grace was concerned the milk might have been free more often than it probably should have been, but plenty of men still seemed eager to buy the cow. And as for their mother, well, Grace hadn’t fallen too far from the tree.

  The cool slither of the silk felt wonderful against Jess’s skin as Grace tugged it into place. When it was all the way on, Jess looked critically at herself in the mirror while Grace zipped up the back. Besides the color, which was more eye-catching than she might have liked, there really wasn’t anything to object to, she decided. The dress was a slim, almost tight, fitted column, with two-inch-wide straps over each shoulder and a square neckline that was low enough to be summery without revealing the slightest hint of cleavage. A discreet slit in the front rose no higher than the top of her knee. Bands of the same silk, horizontally pleated, outlined the neckline and belted the waist. Other than that, the dress was perfectly plain. It relied for its effect on the natural luster of the fabric and the cut, which even clueless Jess could tell had been designed by a master expressly to hug a woman’s body. It made her look taller than she was, curvier than she was, and at the same time wonderfully elegant.