by Misty Evans
Damn. The Director was a millionaire? Who knew? He must have been squirreling it away, since he sure didn’t act like a rich man.
“Was Annabelle going to see any of that in the divorce?” Beck asked.
“Haven’t dug into the divorce proceedings yet,” Grey said. “But I’ll put Mitch on it and see what we can find.”
Beck was suddenly ravenously hungry again. “Thanks, Grey. I’ll be in touch.”
“One more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Taylor hired Pasche & Associates to handle your PR. Expect a call from Fallyn tonight.”
PR? Jesus, what was his life coming to? “Can she handle nosy reporters who want to expose my family’s criminal histories?”
Fallyn Pasche was known around DC as the scandal lady. She hadn’t met a crisis she couldn’t resolve.
“I believe that’s right up her alley,” Grey said. “Is there a particular reporter leading the charge?”
Beck filled him in on Debra Johansen and the story she was after. “Obviously, the FBI did an extensive background check on me before they let me into the Academy so the higher-ups know all about my family’s criminal enterprises. I think Lockhart leaked the information to Johansen, and possibly others, to continue his smear campaign against me and set me up. The story breaks tomorrow.”
“I’ll call Fallyn and let her know. I suspect she’ll eat Miss Johansen alive.”
Beck disconnected, feeling his anger subside a bit. Jackie started handing out orders before he could sit down.
“Finish up, Chessie. We’re going back to talk to Dikko. Then tomorrow, I want you to look into Annabelle’s relationships—family, friends, coworkers, the whole ball of wax. Beck, you talk to Ms. Pasche and stop that reporter completely or find a way to spin that story, got it?”
Beck picked up his sandwich. The last thing he wanted to do was talk to Fallyn Pasche, but it was his family and he had to do what he could to protect them from this.
He didn’t want to get hurt by their life choices yet again, especially with something as huge as a murder case hanging over his head, but he also didn’t want reporters sniffing around and making their lives hell either. He’d given them plenty of grief over the years to clean up their acts, but the press would be merciless and go after them for no other reason than to sensationalize a story.
Beck bit into his sandwich. Once again, right or wrong, he had to protect his family.
Nine
Before heading back to Travathian’s to rip that conniving weasel a new one, Jackie and Chessie detoured to Byron Lockhart’s condo, a cushy place on the Potomac where the doorman informed them the Director was unavailable.
Forever.
Wasn’t he just the smartass?
His refusal to cooperate didn’t shock her. She had, in fact, planned on it. Which didn’t stop her from leaving Lockhart a message about speaking with him regarding his wife’s murder.
And their impending divorce.
Especially since the deceased had no next of kin.
She left out the part about him leaking Beck’s personal information to the press. Eventually, the bloodhounds would have sniffed that out anyway. All Lockhart had done was give them a head start.
“Now,” she said to Chessie as they strode along the sidewalk on the way to the parking garage, “we’re on part two of this mission.”
“How’s about I drop you at the office? I’ll handle Travathian.”
Ha. Good one. Not a chance. She wanted to tear that guy to shreds. In or out of a courtroom.
“No,” she said. “I’m going.”
Chessie did a hard stop in the middle of the sidewalk. The sun glinted off the streaks of silver in his dark hair, and that, combined with a pissed-off-Dad vibe, brought Jackie to a halt beside him. “Problem?”
“What are you doing?”
“Aside from walking to your car?”
One of Chessie’s eyebrows hitched. “Cut the crap. You know what I’m talking about.”
Beck. That’s what he was talking about. And Jackie’s sudden interest in accompanying her investigator while he kicked a bunch of tires. She met his stare, but kept any other body language to a minimum. The problem with Chessie was how good he was at his job. Which made lying to him nearly impossible. “Last I checked,” she said, “I’m defending my client.”
Slowly, his head moved back and forth. Back and forth. He wasn’t buying it. Leave it to her to hire smart people whose Spidey-sense never failed.
“All due respect,” he said, “I’m calling bullshit. When have you ever gone with me to question people? Why now?”
“It’s an important case.”
“So was the Senator.”
Damned Chessie. The stare-down continued while Jackie sorted possible arguments. Chatter from a young couple walking toward them broke the tension and Jackie stepped back, allowing them to move through.
All the while, Chessie kept his eyes pinned to her. The man had spent a career weeding out liars – or breaking them. Over the years he’d perfected the art of asking questions that may have seemed random but were part of a carefully crafted interrogation. Eventually, he’d trip the suspect up and force an admission. Precisely why, when he’d retired from the force, Jackie snatched him up before another savvy attorney could. Now, he worked for her and only her.
“I know you,” he said. “This case seems different. Like you have more than a professional history with him.”
She sure did.
“Jackie,” Chessie said, “are you doing this guy?”
Of course. Right to sex. Men.
She made a show of huffing out a breath, her feigned exasperation evident. “First of all, that’s none of your business. Second, no, I’m not doing him.”
Not yet anyway.
“All right. Then what? And don’t give me a runaround. If we’re gonna clear this guy, I need to know what questions to ask. The more I have the better. Is it something with his family? We know his record is clean. The feds wouldn’t have hired him otherwise. I’m ruling out a drug problem. He’s too into that holistic shit for that. And, if he hired you, at your hourly rate, he must have money.”
He held up a finger. “Family.” Another finger went up. “Drugs.” Third finger. “Money. They’re all out. You know what that leaves.”
Chessie had a theory. In his opinion, all crimes stemmed from family squabbles, drugs, money, or sex. And, damn him, she’d built a career on all of it so his theory was sound.
“Sex,” she said. “It leaves sex.”
He touched the tip of her nose with his index finger and his gold bracelet jingled. “Bingo.”
No way out. For three years Chessie had been her go-to investigator. Over that three years, they’d become friends as well as co-workers. They’d shared war stories, not to mention bottles of scotch, after grueling, mind-melting cases. She’d discussed with him her problems and insecurities, her dreams, her goal to be the top criminal attorney in DC. All of it laid bare for him.
In short, he knew her.
She tipped her head back, closed her eyes and a soft breeze tickled her face. Could she do this? Confide in him once more. Actually say it out loud when doing so would bring back painful memories. And secrets. Ones she’d never revealed. Not to her family, not to her girlfriends.
Not to Beck.
Maybe it was time. If nothing else, Chessie provided neutral territory. She opened her eyes, stared into her friend’s dark eyes. Do it. “You’re right. There’s history with Beck.”
“What kind?”
“We met in college. Spring break in Ft. Lauderdale. I was with some friends who were into the bar scene.” She sighed. “That had never been my idea of fun. All I wanted was the beach, but I figured it was spring break so why not. I met Beck and well...”
“Shit,” Chessie said. “You picked him up.”
She gave him a half-hearted smile. “I like to think he picked me up.”
And, oh, the man had rocked her wo
rld. She drifted back, dragging the memories from her vault. He’d worn jeans that night and a T-shirt and his body – dear Lord – no man had the right to look that good. It was the perfect V of broad shoulders and lean hips and there she was, a brainiac so focused on acing her LSATs that she’d been without male attention for months.
“One night stand,” Chessie said, bringing her from her mind travel.
She shook her head. “More like a weekend stand.”
The only one of her lifetime. Never before and never after. Especially after.
She couldn’t say it had been worth it, but he’d brought out something in her. Something wild, passionate, and...freeing.
With him, she wasn’t Marianna DelRay’s kid. She didn’t have to win every debate or prove she could tough it out.
She was simply a woman wanted by a man.
And, even now, she’d never quite gotten over him. “Afterward, we both went back to our lives. No exchanging numbers, no emails, just sex.”
But they’d talked a lot. Gotten to know each other some in between doing other things.
Other things that had landed her in a heap of trouble. Dammit. She looked away, her eyes tracking the vehicles moving along the street. Anything that gave her time to let the humiliation pass before facing Chessie again. For years, she’d kept the six weeks after her fling with Beck to herself. Silently dealing with what would turn out to be a moment in her life that changed everything.
A moment that devastated her.
“So,” Chessie pressed, “what happened then?”
She met her investigator’s steady gaze. She should tell him. Just spill it and be done with it. Finally free herself of it. Three little words. So easy, yet so...what? Difficult? Heartbreaking? All of the above?
“I got – ” she froze. The word stalled on her tongue, refusing to be freed. After all this time, telling anyone but Beck seemed a betrayal. One he didn’t deserve.
“You got what?”
Pregnant.
“I got...back to school and never saw him again until five years later. I’d been promoted to violent crimes and was in court for a hearing when in walked Beck. Not for my case, but the one after mine. Imagine the shock when he strolled in.”
“You weren’t interested?”
Oh, she was. Had been ever since that weekend in Ft. Lauderdale. Heck, when the assistant state’s attorney position in DC came open, she’d jumped at it, wondering if he’d ever fulfilled his dream of working at FBI headquarters.
“It’s...complicated,” she said. “And I didn’t need complications. It didn’t matter anyway. He came to my office one day wanting me to sign off on an arrest warrant. He’d been working a case, a murdered child, and had a suspect but not enough evidence. The case would never have stuck. Never. And I wasn’t about to go into court and get my rear handed to me. I told him we needed more. That he didn’t have it yet.”
“Great,” Chessie said. “We investigators love when prosecutors tell us we haven’t done our jobs.”
“That wasn’t it. He’d done great work. It just wasn’t enough and I wouldn’t risk double jeopardy.”
What Beck had given her amounted to a circumstantial case that wouldn’t be enough to convince a jury. Not the full jury. Having a career prosecutor for a mother taught Jackie a determined stealth juror could sway the rest. And if they’d come back with a not guilty? Forget it. No second chances. Not on that case, with that same evidence. Acquittals meant freedom, otherwise known as double jeopardy. So, she’d sent Beck on his way.
“Which,” Chessie said, “pissed him off.”
“He went over my head to my boss, who stood by my assessment, which pissed Beck off even more. We were never able to charge the suspect. To say things were frigid with Beck would be an understatement. I believe he hated me for that.”
Chessie waved a hand. “So this – you defending him, is what? You making it up to him?”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
In truth, she didn’t know. This might be the Jackleen DelRay dream scenario. Another sensational case to catapult her to the top of her field and an opportunity to make things right with Beck.
“Chessie,” she said, “I owe him.”
* * *
An hour later Jackie found herself once again at Dikko Travathian’s doorstep. This time armed with copies of his and Lockhart’s tax returns for the year Byron cashed out of DTC – short for Dikko Travathian Corporation. How very original.
The front door opened and the uniform-clad housekeeper stood there, a welcoming smile plummeting when she realized who was calling.
Again.
“Hello,” Jackie said, “we’d like to speak with Mr. Travathian.”
“Please wait,” the woman said.
She made a move to close the door, then paused, obviously not wanting to be rude. Rather than invite them in, she left the front door hanging open and disappeared somewhere behind it. A compromise for a flustered employee.
Craning his neck to see around the door, Chessie let out a snort. “I think she went into the room across from where we were this morning.”
Having not been invited in, they stood on the doorstep while Chessie hummed his favorite Sinatra tune. He tended to do that when killing time. He was accustomed to waiting. Jackie? Not so much.
Annoyance had started to set in when Travathian swung into view. He wore track pants and a T-shirt with nary a wrinkle. Probably had the housekeeper iron them. His casual attire, however, was overrun by his stiff posture and locked jaw.
“We’re back,” Jackie chirped. “We have a few more questions.”
“Which I won’t answer.”
Before Travathian could slam the door, Chessie set his hand on it. “Don’t be too hasty.”
The two men exchanged a look that screamed pissing match. Such shenanigans.
“Oh, Chessie,” she waved a hand. “Let’s forget this nonsense. I’ll release the tax returns to WJTA. Maybe then Mr. Travathian will realize he should have spoken to us.”
Jackie wasn’t sure if the name drop of the local news affiliate or the phrase tax returns got Travathian’s attention, but the man’s slivered gaze moved to Chessie and back. “What are you babbling about?”
“WJTA. You know, the news channel. Imagine our shock when Debra Johansen was waiting outside my home earlier. She’s digging around for information on Special Agent Pearson. It seems she’s received a tip from an anonymous source. And given the, shall we say, personal nature of that information, I can narrow down the source. Or sourc-es.”
“You think it was me? What the hell do I have to do with it?”
“I’m not sure, which is why I’m here. You failed to mention Byron Lockhart was an early investor in your company.”
“You never asked.”
Please. This guy couldn’t be that dumb. Could he? Realistically, yes, he could. God knew she’d seen her share of idiots.
“Tsk-tsk-tsk,” Jackie waggled one finger. “Given the contentious divorce between the Lockharts, obviously their wealth would factor in. Maybe they were fighting over money.”
Chessie let out a long whistle. “She had to be taking his ass to the cleaners.”
“I would,” Jackie agreed. “All these years she’d been the upstanding FBI wife, left alone constantly while her husband quite literally tried to save our country. I’d imagine all that lost time is worth big bucks.” She snapped her fingers. “You know, it would be so easy to prove in court. All I’d have to do is show Byron made a bundle from Mr. Travathian’s company. Which, of course, might mean the Travathians being subpoenaed.”
“Oh, yeah,” Chessie agreed, “that’s a given.”
“Huh,” she said. “Now that I think about it. I’m not sure we need to be here after all.” She tugged on his sleeve, guiding him down the steps. “Let’s leave Mr. Travathian alone, shall we?”
“You’re bluffing,” Travathian said. “You don’t have my returns. How would you have gotten them?”
N
ow she had him. She squeezed Chessie’s elbow and fought a smug smile before turning back. “Mr. Travathian, this is a murder case. Do you really think it matters how I did? Believe me, I can prove you and Mr. Lockhart were in business together. Byron made a bundle as a result. And if that fortune was at risk, I’d say we have motive for murder. So, unless you want your finances spewed to the entire DC area, you might want to answer my questions.”
The look Travathian gave her should have knocked her into next year. Obviously, he didn’t appreciate her machinations.
Too bad. Sometimes life sucked that way.
Travathian propped his hands on his hips, his fingers tapping. “What do you want to know?”
Better. Now they were getting somewhere. “How long were you partners?”
“He was my first investor. I needed seed money and he had cash from an inheritance. He gave me 50K to get off the ground.”
“And then?”
“I brought in a spec ops guy with an idea for a safer, more lightweight helmet. We took it to market, landed a few big contracts with law enforcement agencies and started making money. It took years, but we got there.”
“When did Lockhart cash out?”
Travathian didn’t bother to think about it. “When he got promoted to assistant director. He had his eye on the top job. By then, we’d gone public and I was bidding on government contracts.”
“Conflict of interest,” Jackie said. “If you got the contract, he didn’t want people thinking he greased the wheels.”
The man didn’t nod. He didn’t shake her off either. He simply lifted his chin in a non-committal way that Jackie took as agreement.
“Look,” he said, “it wasn’t a big deal. He sold his shares. No harm. No foul.”
At least until his estranged wife was murdered.
Ten
The eyes of the FBI’s ten most wanted hung on the walls of headquarters, watching Beck as he made his way to Taylor’s office first thing Monday morning. Security hadn’t stopped him at the entrance, so apparently, he hadn’t been labeled persona non grata yet.