by Misty Evans
“He’s the one who was on the bridge with the Chief.”
Not bothering to wait for Hawk’s response, she kicked the passenger door of the truck open and hopped out. Thank goodness for flat shoes. She scooted around the front, pushing a wayward hair out of her face. “Hi. I’m Hope. Sorry we’re a few minutes late. Traffic was rough. I hate D.C. rush hour.”
Officer Gerard jerked his chin at Hawk. “Who’s this?”
“This is…” Whoa. How should she introduce him? Based on the fact that she was sitting in his house before Hawk admitted his real name, she guessed he didn’t want her advertising it. She turned to him, held her hand out. “Your call.”
Hawk held his hand to the officer. “Hawkeye.”
“Code names. Great.” He offered a brief handshake that bordered on rude and turned to Hope. “You want to tell me why a car belonging to an employee of the Public Information Office of the Supreme Court is parked near where the Chief Justice was killed?”
The man was running on pure emotion. Hope sensed it in the tightness of his stance, the way he pointed at her car. The harsh tone.
Refusing to be intimidated—they were on the same team here—Hope threw her shoulders back. “I don’t know what the big deal is, but you need to know I received a tip last night.” She glanced at Hawk but he stayed mum. “A tip that led me to think perhaps Justice Turner’s death might have extenuating circumstances. I spent all last night chasing it down.”
“What are you, an investigator now? The police are handling it.”
“The police are handling what they think is a road rage incident,” Hope said. “I think it may be more based on the tip I received.”
Even with his eyes hidden behind sunglasses, she felt the death glare. “What’s this tip?”
Hawk finally stepped forward. “It came from me. I run the First Amendment Patriot blog. I have a reliable source who has me looking into a few inconsistencies.”
By the sudden scowl on Anthony Gerard’s face, this didn’t seem like welcome news.
“Shit,” he said. “You’re the one who broke the story about the deputy AG?”
Lookie here. Hawk was famous. She held up her hand. “Don’t panic. Hawk and I have made a deal and my boss signed off on it. He won’t print anything regarding the Chief Justice’s death until we vet it.”
Officer Gerard shifted the death glare to Hawk. “And what do you get out of it?”
Hawk didn’t seem to realize he was about to be incinerated. He glared back. “I get a thirty minute jump on the next big story coming out of the Supreme Court.”
“Right. And you’re gonna stick to this deal?” Gerard waved that away, let out a huff while doing so. “I don’t believe it.”
“I don’t care what you believe. If this tip pans out, this big story is about to get bigger.”
“He’s right,” Hope said. “The tip was about the Chief Justice delivering a ruling on a big case. I started digging last night. I can’t tell you my source, but it’s a good one. We think the Justice was about to rule on whether or not Kenton Labs would get a hearing on extending their Donazem patent.”
Officer Gerard’s jaw locked and a muscle jumped and how about that! If his body language were any indication, she’d hit a nerve. A giant one. Whether he was grieving, shaken up from a traumatic experience, or her Kenton Labs theory might be solid—all of the above maybe—she couldn’t know. But this particular member of the Chief Justice’s security detail was not unaffected.
Hawk seemed to realize it too. “What the hell happened up here, yesterday, man?”
Officer Gerard’s jaw muscle jumped again. “I can’t talk about it. Ongoing investigation.”
Driving by the spot twenty-four hours later had a chilling effect on Hope. She hadn’t noticed the blood stains last night in the dark. This morning, they seemed to stand out like beacons. “I’m so sorry, Officer Gerard. I know this must be hard on you as well as Justice Turner’s family and friends.”
“Just tell me why your car is parked here.”
What was the deal with the car? Whatever. “I came back to the bridge last night because Hawk and I both checked with DDOT,”—she nodded toward Hawk—“and we were given different reasons from two different sources for the lane being blocked yesterday. That, in conjunction with some of the other information we’ve discovered, is suspicious to me.”
“Routine maintenance,” Gerard said. “The cops already cleared that detail.”
Hawk waved a hand. “That’s what my source confirmed, but Hope’s source said a pothole needed repairing. Seems they don’t have their shit together.”
“So,” Hope said, “out of curiosity, I came back to the bridge around midnight last night to look for this supposed pothole.”
“And?”
“No pothole.”
“Instead,” Hawk said, “someone tried to plow her over.”
The officer’s head jerked back. “As in, tried to hit you? On this bridge?”
“Yes. I was walking in the right lane, swinging a flashlight. I’d parked my car behind me with the hazards on.”
“So they saw you.”
“They had to,” Hawk said. “She was shook up so I parked her car here and we left.”
Hope nodded. “And that’s where we are. Hawk here has promised me he will not print anything to damage the Chief Justice’s reputation.”
“Uh, correction. You had twenty-four hours and you’ve used most of them already. You now have another forty-eight, but that’s it.”
Gerard’s body posture screamed defiance. “Don’t fuck with me. He was a good man. An honest one. Make sure you’ve got it straight before you print one goddamn thing. I’ll come after you with everything I’ve got.”
“I’m not interested in wrecking the reputation of a Supreme Court Justice. The story about the deputy AG? That needed to be told. A dedicated agent is dead because of that man’s greedy ambition. The son of a bitch didn’t care who he sacrificed to put himself in power, and I know what that feels like. I lived through a similar experience with a man I trusted at one time with my life. Right now, I think the Chief Justice might have been murdered and I’m trying to figure out why and by whom.”
“Officer Gerard,” Hope said, “you spent a lot of time with the Chief Justice, does any of this make sense to you?”
He ran a hand down his face, let it drop to his side like it weighed too much for him to hold up any longer. The sun peeped from behind a cloud, illuminating the telltale dark circles under his eyes. Obviously he hadn’t slept.
Exhaustion would only fuel his distrust of them. Probably should. She wouldn’t trust them either. Not yet.
Hope stepped forward but stopped when he folded his arms across his chest, closing himself off. “I can see you cared about Justice Turner. You have no reason to trust us. I know that. But someone tried to run me down last night. I’d like to believe it was a drunk driver. Hawk is convinced I’m wrong. That scares the hell out of me. It also tells me someone doesn’t like me chasing down leads on this story. And honestly, we want to control this. Since Hawk called me yesterday, I’ve done nothing but try to control it and protect the Chief Justice’s name. Soon enough, though, something about this will break and we won’t be able to stop it. Let’s get ahead of it. Let’s control the flow of information. If you can help us with that, great.” She stepped back, held up her hands. “That’s all I can say.”
The officer turned away and took long, purposeful strides to his car. What? After that speech he was leaving? “Are you leaving?”
He hesitated for a moment, looked up at the now beaming sun. “You’re right. I have no reason to trust you. But I’ll vet you. Both of you. If I like what I hear, I’ll be in touch. For now, sit tight.”
“Understandable,” she said. “But trust me when I say, we don’t have time to sit tight.”
Chapter Eight
When Brice’s doorbell rang at three-twenty that afternoon, he almost didn’t answer. He didn’t
want to buy Girl Scout cookies or magazines to support the local youth group. Not that he hated Girl Scouts or youth groups, he just didn’t need the distractions. Or the cookies.
But then it rang again. Either it was a persistent Girl Scout, or it was Mitch Monroe, stopping by to be his annoying self and “hang out.”
“I do not want to hang out, Mitch,” Brice said as he threw open the door and found Hope standing there. She looked like she was two parts her normal cheerleader self, and one part wrung-out public information officer. “Oh, hi.”
She pushed passed him, not waiting for him to invite her in. “Hi Hawk. How was your day?”
He simply stared at her, soaking her up. No matter which part was which, they all looked good. Really good.
She raised her brows. “This is where you say, ‘Hi, Hope. My day was awesome. How was yours?’”
Normal conversation. Right. Jeez, Bri, get it together. “By the look on your face, I don’t need to ask how your day was. It was a repeat of yesterday. Brutal.”
“Ding, ding, ding, give the blogger a cookie.”
At least her usual sarcasm was there. “Why are you here and not at work?”
“Officer Gerard called. He wants to meet at the Washington Monument at four o’clock.”
“Does he?” Brice had spent the day researching Kenton Labs and trying to get someone there to answer questions. So far, they’d shut him out. He’d started researching the board and upper management and had turned up zip. “You really think he can help us?”
“He was close to Turner. Had been his security detail for almost five years. He probably saw and heard a lot. Plus, maybe he can give us a more accurate accounting of what happened on that bridge yesterday. Can’t beat going directly to the source.”
True. He reached out and jabbed her in the bicep. “You didn’t go on your own this time and leave me behind?”
She jabbed him back. “I thought about it.”
“That a girl.”
She smiled. “Officer Gerard said he only wants to meet with me—he didn’t like what he discovered about you, I guess—so I probably shouldn’t be here, but after last night…”
Her voice trailed off and big, blue eyes begged him not to judge.
“It would be irresponsible for you to go alone to meet a source you don’t know.”
“I did what you told me.” She paced to his curtains, peeked between the panels and looked out at the street. “I’ve been watching to make sure no one’s following me and I’ve been extra paranoid at home and at work. I haven’t seen anyone unusual around. Maybe what happened last night really was just a fluke.”
And the three files Grey had sent him to work on contained nothing but fictional crimes by people leading the good ol’ U.S. of A. “If we’re going to meet Gerard, we better get going.”
When Brice helped her into his truck a minute later, she shook her head. “You’re setting feminism back fifty years.”
“By opening a door for you?”
She only smiled at him, and he tried to ignore the hot flush under his collar as he went around to his side and slid in.
“I didn’t have time to do much research on Kenton Labs,” she said around a yawn as she slid down in the seat and closed her eyes. “Amy, my boss, had me sending out memos and press releases all day.”
“I read through about six hundred pieces on them posted on the internet.”
“Did you find anything interesting?”
“Most of the articles were the usual propaganda about their amazing drug and the studies Dr. Martin Block has done with it. He’s their leading R&D scientist. Quite the star in the drug development world. There were a few facts that could be damning if you look hard, but won’t hold much weight unless we can find a smoking gun.”
They hit the highway, merging into traffic. Brice kept an eye out for anyone following them. When Hope didn’t ask any more questions, he glanced over.
Was she sleeping?
A loud snore ripped through the cab. Yep, Miss Brat needed more beauty sleep.
He longed for ear plugs, but didn’t disturb her until he’d parked as close as he could get to the National Mall. They were a few blocks away, but the day was clear. A walk wouldn’t be so bad.
The thought stopped midway out of the truck. Not only had he broken almost every rule he had about sources, he was about to take a walk with one who didn’t exactly have his best interests at heart.
And then there was the fact that they were meeting a guy who didn’t want Brice around.
Good thing he never ran from trouble, ’cuz he was about to put his foot in some, he could just feel it.
Hope emerged from her side of the truck, stretching. The paranoid side of him said he should have found her a hat and made her wear sunglasses.
Too late for that.
He would have to be her camouflage. Locking up the truck, he grabbed her hand. “Follow my lead. We’re just a couple of tourists out sightseeing, okay?”
Her eyes lit up. “Ooh, cloak and dagger, here we come.”
“It’s simply a security measure. Especially after last night, we can’t be too careful.”
She squeezed his hand with hers and swung them together like a kid as they started walking. The next thing he knew, she leaned into him, playing the part of his girlfriend with an ease he found slightly terrifying.
And yet, his traitorous body enjoyed it.
“You should probably tell me more about yourself.” Hope hugged his arm against her side. “If we’re a couple and all. Like who is your favorite journalist of all time?”
“Can’t we start with something easier, like ‘what’s your favorite color?’”
“Your favorite color is red, you like Bruce Willis movies, and you’re addicted to chocolate chip cookies, if the stack of homemade ones sitting in a jar on your kitchen counter is any indication. You don’t strike me as the type who bakes, so I’m assuming your girlfriend made them? Won’t she get jealous if she finds out you were meeting me at Starbucks and holding my hand in front of the Washington Monument?”
For a journalist, she had the eyes and nose of an investigative reporter. And she was on a fishing expedition into his love life. Interesting. “The cookies were made by my mother who lives in the attic, remember?”
“I checked your attic. There were no women up there, so you’re a closet cookie baker, aren’t you? I bet you even wear an apron.”
They were near the reflecting pool. Brice scanned the area, keeping his eyes peeled for Gerard, and trying not to sweat with Hope’s body so nicely pressed against his side. “You found me out. No secrets are safe with you.”
“Actually,” she said, gazing up at him and smiling, “I’m very good with secrets and confidences.”
Sunlight reflected off the water, making little stars appear in her eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
She stopped, forcing him to as well. “Brice?”
“Hope?”
“What are you grinning at?”
“You used my real name.”
“And that makes you grin like a geek in Game Stop?”
“Coming from you, the woman who kept calling me Mr. Hawkeye, yes.”
She shook her head and grinned back. “Thanks for coming with me. Hawk.”
Before he could respond, she went up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. She stayed there for half a second, then slowly slid her face around so it was lined up with his. “Are we still pretending to be lovers?” she whispered, her breath soft and warm against his lips.
Something came over him—a silence in his head he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
Kiss her.
He was no longer looking for Gerard, no longer watching out for suspicious characters who might be stalking Hope.
Kiss her.
All he could see, all he could think about, were those luscious lips of hers right in front of him.
Kiss. Her.
Her gaze dropped from his and landed lower, watching
his mouth, as if she were waiting for exactly that.
He swallowed hard. “I, uh…”
He didn’t get anything else out. Hope grabbed him by the cheeks, closed her eyes, and planted a full-frontal right on him.
Soft, warm, sexy as hell.
Damn if his legs didn’t go weak.
She stopped abruptly and broke away, but he was just warming up. He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her back. Don’t think.
It was his turn to kiss her.
He teased her lips gently, and when she responded, he deepened the kiss. Her hands went into his short hair and she stroked the back of his head, pulling him in even closer.
Hope, Hope, Hope…it was all his useless, empty brain could focus on.
He parted her lips ever so slightly with his tongue and she responded, a wild cat, giving him full access and demanding the same from him. She arched her supple, little body into his and he held her tight as he explored her mouth with his tongue.
They stayed like that for long seconds, maybe a minute or more—Brice lost track of time—until he felt the solid presence of a large man standing off to his right.
The man cleared his throat with an annoyed-as-hell edge to it. “Miss Denby? Can we get down to business sometime this century?”
Hope jumped like Gerard had prodded her with a branding iron. She leapt back, touched her lips, and ran her hands down her trench coat. What he wouldn’t give for her to show up naked under that trench someday…
“Hawkeye!”
She was talking to him.
He snapped out of his vacant mind, and straightened his shoulders, giving Gerard the evil eye. “You called us down here. What do you want?”
He pointed a finger at Hope. “I called her down here. Not you.”
“Didn’t like what you found out about me, huh?”
“Not particularly.” He jerked his head. “Beat it.”
The adrenaline coursing through his system from Hope’s kiss egged him on as much as Gerard’s pissy attitude. “No can do. Miss Denby asked me to accompany her.”