Stealing Justice (The Justice Team)

by Misty Evans

  Smoke and mirrors. That’s what they were offering. Get in, do the job by whatever means necessary, nail the bad guy and disappear. There would be no record of his job and no life preserver if he or his team screwed up. “When do you need my answer?”

  Once more, the group exchanged that odd look. Riggs turned a hand palm up. “Twenty-four hours sound good?”

  “And Director Lockhart knows nothing about this?”

  “Neither does Agent Donaldson.”

  That was a perk. “My past record holds no bearing on this position?”

  “None whatsoever.”

  Riggs was definitely singing Grey’s tune. “Can I have a look at the cases you’d like my team to tackle before I agree to the job?”

  “Of course.”

  Before Riggs could crook his fingers at the woman sitting two chairs down from Grey, she shoved a large file box sitting on the floor his way.

  The box was full of manila folders, crime photos, and documents. His fingers itched to dig in. “Is this all one case?”

  “Sixteen,” the woman said. “Sixteen cases, all highly sensitive, but of utmost priority to national security.”

  Sixteen. Damn. It was going to take one hell of a team to solve that many in any reasonable time frame.

  “Unfortunately that’s not all of them,” Riggs said.

  More? “How many?”

  “Enough to keep your CAP team in business for a long time.”

  Grey drummed his fingers against his thighs for a moment, leaned over, and hefted the box as he stood. “Twenty-four hours.”

  Riggs gave him that patient smile. “We look forward to hearing from you, Justice.”

  Half an hour later, Grey sat in the abandoned apartment above the pizza joint where he’d first watched Syd though his scope. The scope was in his car, but he didn’t need it to see her sitting at her desk, typing like a mad woman on her computer.

  Punching a button on his phone, he watched as she stopped typing and frantically searched her purse for her cell. Four rings later, she answered, her voice sexy and out of breath. “What happened?”

  “They offered me my job back.”

  She propped an elbow on her desk, laid her head in her hand. Her breathing slowed and the sincerity in her voice was forced. “That’s great. Congratulations.”

  She knew as well as he did that an FBI agent and a woman who broke the law on a weekly basis did not make a successful relationship. “I turned them down.”

  Her head came up. “You did?”

  “I did.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  “You can’t give up your career for me. You’ll end up resenting me and I…I won’t have that.”

  “I’d give up everything for you. But you don’t have to worry about my job causing you problems. I was offered a different job. One more suited to my personality.”

  “That sounds downright scary. Dare I ask what it might be?”

  He laughed. Through the window, he saw her smile.

  The marks on her neck were healing but she still had a lot of bruises. He owed her a fancy dinner, but knew she wouldn’t want to go anywhere public. “How about I pick you up in fifteen minutes and take you to my place? I’ll tell you all about it over a perfectly grilled steak and a cold beer.”

  “Throw in Monroe and you’ve got a deal.”

  “Monroe?”

  “I have a lot of questions for him that he refused to answer when he was babysitting me. Don’t you think it’s time we officially met and you gave me clearance to hear all about your past together?”

  Past time. Grey put a hand on the window’s glass and smiled down at her. “Look across the street. Upstairs.”

  She did and her face lit up when she saw him. “Stalking me again, Fed Boy?”

  “Get used to it. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  “How about now?”

  Grey closed his phone and went to get her.

  Chapter Thirty

  The following day, Syd pulled into her normal parking spot at Edwin Hospital and slid her beater car into park. After the events of the last two weeks, there was a definite comfort in running her hands over the battered steering wheel. The car was a wreck but, like her life, it was her wreck. It had been with her for years now and in many ways felt like home.

  She turned to Grey sitting in the passenger seat. She should say something, yet the words were stuck. Trapped inside her swirling thoughts because what the hell was she doing? The routine had been the same for years. Just her. And her mother.

  Until now.

  Grey held his hands out. “What?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He laughed. “Okay.”

  “I guess I can’t believe you’re here. Well, not you specifically, but anyone. I’ve been the only one to ever visit my mother.”

  What kind of reflection was that on either one of their lives? Sydney had hidden her mother away. No friends, no family, no one to bring birthday or Christmas gifts. Had that been fair?

  God, she didn’t know. There wasn’t any family, and her intentions had been pure. All she’d wanted was to protect her mother’s privacy. Now, she wasn’t so sure she’d done the right thing. Her chest tightened and she sucked air through her nose.

  No tears.

  She closed her throbbing eyes and released her breath. When Grey’s hand landed on her shoulder, she leaned sideways and rested her head against his forearm.

  “I haven’t been fair to her. I locked her away and didn’t tell anyone.”

  “You’ve kept her safe. Every mother should have a daughter like you.”

  “You’re just saying that so you can get laid.”

  He grinned. “That did cross my mind.”

  Syd sat up and shook her head. “For God’s sake, could you at least deny it?” But she was smiling, and considering the flogging she’d just inflicted upon herself, she was thankful for the moment of lighthearted fun. “Thank you. You always find a way to snap me out of it. Whatever it is.”

  He held up the bakery box on his lap. “My cupcakes are crying for release. Got a special flavor today.”

  The man wasn’t perfect. Not by a long shot. He might be her perfect though.

  “Grey, are you sure you want to do this? Some days it’s rough.”

  “I want to meet your mother.”

  Syd flipped the ignition off and opened the door. “When Number Seven rips you a new hole, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “She doesn’t scare me.”

  “That’s your first mistake, Fed Boy.”

  Good thing they were at a mental hospital because he must be out of his mind wanting to come here. Even if she did find it sweet that he’d insisted on meeting her mother. For some bizarre reason, this man wanted to share her dysfunction. All of it.

  I’ve finally found him. The one man she could be herself with and not be judged. Besides, he had his own demons that needed to be pinned.

  Weren’t they a pair?

  Two screwed up people somehow equaled one contented life. She could live with that kind of math.

  A gust of cold wind kicked up and Syd held her jacket collar closed. The red marks on her neck were almost gone, and with each day, Nabil and his father slipped further from her thoughts. She and Grey had done it. They’d saved countless women. That alone would have been worth her life.

  Grey held the lobby door open and she marched to the desk to drop off this week’s cookie delivery for the staff.

  “You bribe them with cookies?” Grey asked as they headed to the common room.

  “You bet your ass I do.”

  “I love you more every day.”

  “Honey, you have no idea.” She stopped in front of the door to the common room and turned to him. “This is it.”

  He nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  She grabbed the door handle and the cold of the metal shot throu
gh her hand. Maybe she shouldn’t. Two visitors might be too much for her mother.

  “Syd, you’re making me nuts. Quit worrying and open the goddamned door.”

  She did and spotted her mother sitting directly in front of them by the window. The blinds were up and sunlight streamed into the room giving it an odd comfort.

  To Syd’s relief, her mother wore the new cotton pants and long-sleeved T-shirt she’d brought by earlier in the week. It seemed only right that her mother should meet Grey wearing a new outfit.

  She reached for Grey’s hand and led him to the window. “Hi, Mom.”

  Her mother turned from her inspection of the tree outside and glanced up with hard, accusing eyes.

  Crap. Number Seven. Off to a great start.

  “As usual,” Number Seven said, “you’re dressed like a whore.”

  Jeans tucked into boots apparently fell into whore category. Then again, when didn’t Number Seven tell her she looked like a whore?

  Either way, she didn’t dare look at Grey.

  “Number Seven, I’d like to be alone with my mother.”

  Number Seven slid her gaze to Grey. Uh-oh. “Who’s this?”

  Number Seven lifted her two fingers to her mouth and took a drag of her imaginary cigarette. Now she’d taken up smoking again? Terrific. In a few weeks, she’d give it up again and there was nothing like a schizophrenic trying to kick a pretend nicotine habit.

  “This is my friend. Grey.”

  “Now you’re fucking someone?”

  Welcome to my world, Fed Boy.

  “Hello, Number Seven.” Grey stuck out his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Number Seven glanced at Grey’s hand, ditched her imaginary cigarette, and actually shook his hand. “She hates me.”

  “She doesn’t hate you. She hates when you call her a whore. She’s not a whore. You raised an amazing woman.”

  “Grey,” Syd said in warning.

  Bakery box still in hand, he turned to her. “Have you ever told her you don’t like being called a whore?”

  Okay. This was a mistake. Clearly, he didn’t understand antagonizing Number Seven would be a horrendous mistake.

  “Hello, Sydney.”

  Recognizing the softness in her mother’s voice—thank God—Sydney bent low and kissed her cheek. “Hi, Mama. I missed you this week.”

  “You always say that.”

  Gently, her mother squeezed her cheeks. A sudden realization slammed into Syd, crushed her chest and she gasped. Had Nabil completed his quest, her mother would have been left alone. She would have missed the chance to say goodbye and would have spent her limited coherent time wondering what had happened to her daughter. Syd took a heaving breath and slapped her hands over her mother’s. Big, ugly sobs flew from her mouth and her ribcage came apart. Completely unhinged.

  “Oh, my baby, why are you crying?”

  On her knees, Syd rested her forehead against her mother’s lap and enjoyed the moment of simplicity in a complicated relationship. “I’m just happy, Mom. For the first time in a long time, I’m very happy.” She stood and held her hand to Grey. “This is Grey. Grey, meet my mother.”

  Grey flipped open the bakery box. “Your daughter tells me the two of you used to like chocolate peanut butter cupcakes. I’ve yet to bring her one that measures up, but I’m hoping I’ve finally got it. Try one?”

  Her mother pursed her lips and stared at the half-dozen cupcakes. She shifted her gaze to Syd and her blue eyes twinkled in a way Syd hadn’t seen in ten years, and that feeling, that pow in her chest that represented having her mother—her real mother—back, could have sustained her for life. “Shall we put them to the test, Mom?”

  “He’s a brave one.”

  Syd smiled up at Grey. “He is indeed.”

  “Well, then, let’s try a cupcake.”

  Grey held the box so her mother could grab a treat. Syd took one also. “I told him about the bakery we used to go to all the time.”

  “Oh, we loved that place didn’t we? I was so sad when it closed.”

  “Me too, Momma. Me too.”

  Her mother peeled the paper from the cupcake and Grey took the garbage from her. Fed Boy was working his charm today. Good for him.

  Her mother took a bite and chewed. “Oh, my.” Slowly she licked a bit of frosting off the top of the remaining half, then looked at Syd. “It’s them. Take a bite.”

  Little tingles shot up Syd’s arms because she wasn’t quite sure if this was wishful thinking on her mother’s part or if Grey had done his magic.

  In a rush, Syd peeled back the paper and bit into the cupcake. The flavor, that heavenly mix of just the right amount of peanut butter and cocoa, triggered memories of strolling down Pennsylvania Avenue and inhaling the smell of fresh baked goods.

  She spun to Grey and with a bite of cupcake still in her mouth said, “Where did you get these?”

  He grinned at her, all Mr. Smug. “Is it them?”

  “It’s them,” her mother said. “Give me that box.”

  Grey laughed and handed it over. Yes, he was proud of himself. As he should be. She quite simply adored him. With half her cupcake still in hand, she stepped closer, wrapped her free hand around his waist, and snuggled into his neck. Finally, a keeper. “Thank you.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “You’re welcome.”

  “Where did you get these? It’s unbelievable.”

  “Believe it. I used my contacts to track down the original bakery owners. I told them about you and your mom and they made you cupcakes.”

  Syd backed away. “You did that for us?”

  Mr. Smug again. “Yep.”

  She glanced at her mother who was into her second cupcake. “Mom, you’d better save me one.”

  “No,” her mother said. “You’d better marry him and make him bring me more.”

  Grey snatched a cupcake from the box, peeled the wrapper away, and bit off half. “Ladies, that can be arranged.”

  Now for a sneak preview of Monroe’s book…

  CHEATING JUSTICE

  by Misty Evans & Adrienne Giordano

  Runner’s Paradise. That’s what locals called Rock Creek Park.

  As the sun sank lower on the orange horizon, Mitch Monroe was nothing but one of a dozen runners—just what he wanted—out on a cold, late October afternoon, enjoying a piece of wilderness in the midst of Washington D.C.

  His breath came in white puffs, fogging and disappearing in the crystal-clear air as he climbed another hill. The sun’s weak light barely penetrated the heavy wall of trees on either side of the trail. No traffic sounds came from the nearby road—Beach Drive was closed on weekends so hikers, bikers, runners and walkers could use the road for workouts and sightseeing.

  Thud, thud, thud…his feet pounded a similar beat as his heart, light flurries falling intermittently and making the trail wet. Running, running, running…that’s what his entire life had become. Running from the FBI. Running from a mistake that he’d do all over again. Running away from a past that haunted his every move.

  What he wanted was to be home, but there was no “home” for him anymore. Running was all he had left.

  Behind him, another runner entered the trail and Monroe quieted his breathing to listen to the rhythm. Was the runner speeding up or slowing down? Following him or simply following the trail?

  There was only one person who knew he was on this specific trail at this time of day. He constantly varied his comings and goings, varied his runs and the places he went. Tonight was different. Tonight he was meeting a friend.

  The footsteps grew louder, closer. One step, two…Monroe eased over to the side of the trail, ready to duck into the woods. As usual, he was unarmed. Fugitive or not, he’d never shoot a fellow agent or police officer. If they came after him, they were only doing their job and it would be his own damn fault if he let them catch him. Anyone else—say a bounty hunter or random criminal looking for a sucker—was fair game.

 
But even though he’d once been a Bureau man with commendations in his personnel folder to spare, he wasn’t a man of violence. He’d protect himself and those he cared about. Period. The level of violence depended on the threat.

  The squeaking of sneakers caught up to him, a shorter, thinner man falling into step beside him. Kemp Rodgers. The man who knew Monroe was here. The man Monroe hadn’t seen in months.

  The man who had requested this secret meeting.

  Hearing Rodgers heavy breathing, Monroe kept his pace slow and methodical. Jogging, not running. He pinned his gaze on the road ahead, putting one foot in front of the other and resisting the urge to grab his friend in a bear hug.

  So wrong. He wasn’t a hugger. Months of little contact with friends and none with his family had made him crave human contact. “That cushy White House job is making you soft.”

  Rodgers snorted an out-of-breath chuckle. “Not like our days in the Bureau, huh?”

  A wave of homesickness devoured him. Not for home necessarily, but for what had been. His job, his friends, his life…all gone.

  Rodgers’ text had been brief: Beach. 5:45 pm. OGR. The message had come from an unknown number, probably a burn phone. But Monroe understood. Rodgers had news about Operation Gun Run. About Tommy’s death three weeks ago in an FBI sting operation.

  Monroe cut his eyes to his left, noting Rodgers was dressed in all black. Not a reflective stripe or bright color anywhere. Definitely does not want to be seen. “The cat burglar costume is really working for you.”

  “Like you’re some runway model.”

  “Not me. You’ve got the cheekbones for it.”

  “Too short. But I got brains. That’s why I’m in the White House.”

  And I’m not. “I assume I’m freezing my ass off out here for more than idle chitchat about your doomed modeling career.”