by Misty Evans
“You hacked into my emails?”
Gerard smacked the side of Bigley’s leg. “Hey, dumbass, you’re in deep shit. I’m a cop. You think I’d do something illegal and put my ass on the line for a pipsqueak like you?”
Bigley was silent, his gaze now focused on the mid-distance outside. Then he turned his stoic gaze on Hope. “Why would I tell you about Kenton Labs if I was accepting bribes from their lobbyist?”
“To deflect suspicion from yourself?” Brice shook him by the back of the neck. “Were you feeding information to Charley Winslow?”
Bigley blew out his lips. “It’s not what you think.”
Gerard gestured for him to go on. “Explain.”
The clerk went silent again, but not for long. Gerard angled sideways, grabbed him by the front of his collar. “I’m done fucking with you. You’ve got thirty seconds to convince me you’re not a criminal or I’m hauling your ass down to D.C. Central and telling them you have information on the Chief Justice’s murder. Hell, I’ll call the FBI too.”
Nice. Brice grinned behind Bigley’s shoulder.
“Okay, okay.” Bigley shoved Gerard’s hand away. “Winslow had tickets for a trip to Barbados. A Christmas gift for his wife, he said. Their youngest got sick, the tickets were nonrefundable, so he offered them to Turner. I overheard them talking in the hallway. Turner turned him down, said he wasn’t interested. Winslow insisted it wasn’t anything but one friend doing another a solid. Turner told him they weren’t friends and walked off.”
“And?” Hope insisted from the front seat. “Those tickets just happened to mysteriously fall into your lap?”
“It was December in D.C. I figured if no one was going to use them, what harm could there be if I took them off Winslow’s hands?” He shrugged. “I had a lady to impress and a trip to a warm island was just the thing. He was happy someone could use them.”
“Bullshit,” Tony muttered. “You had to know there’d be a price for them. You didn’t become a Court clerk because you’re stupid. You rolled the dice that you wouldn’t get caught.”
“And what did you offer Winslow in return?” Brice asked.
“Nothing!” Bigley looked shocked. Sweat beaded along his hairline. “There were no strings attached, and it was only that once. I swear.”
Brice squeezed his neck again. “I don’t believe you.”
“Neither do I,” Gerard added.
Bigley shot Hope another pleading look. “It’s the truth!”
“I believe him,” Hope said. Her mouth thinned for a second, then she nodded. “He may have loose lips around the office, but I don’t think he’d risk his future career as a politician or a Supreme Court Justice by taking bribes from a lobbyist in exchange for insider information. Especially about a case he’d know probably wasn’t going anywhere with Turner.”
Brice’s gut said differently. “Has Winslow given you anything else? Gifts of any kind? Fancy dinners? Hard to get tickets?”
“No, man. Nothing.” He shook his head. “Look, I may have made an error in judgment over that trip, but it was just that. A trip. Cut me some slack. Like you guys wouldn’t have done the same thing to impress a woman.”
Did you dress up as a vampire to impress her too? Brice kept that thought to himself. “So you haven’t had any further contact with Charley Winslow?”
“None.”
Hope stuck the email copy back in her pocket and switched off the overhead light. “Let him go. He can’t help us.”
Brice and Gerard exchanged a look. Brice could see the other man had doubts like he did, but getting anything else from Bigley tonight would be impossible.
“You better hope we don’t find out differently,” Brice said low and dangerous, close to the guy’s ear. “’Cuz if we do, your ass is mine.”
Gerard shoved open the door. “Not if I get him first.”
When they let the kid out of the truck, he took off so fast, he nearly tripped over his own shoes.
Brice stood next to Gerard, both men staring after the kid. “You think he’s taken bribes from anyone else?” Gerard asked.
“I’d bet money on it. We should keep an eye on him.”
“Roger that.” Gerard turned as Hope rolled down the window. “I’ll do a little digging,” he said under his breath as he walked a few feet away out of Hope’s hearing range.
Brice followed nonchalantly, kicking at a rock with his shoe. “I will too.”
“Did you find anything on the cab driver?”
One of the bar’s waitresses emerged from the noise, digging car keys from her purse. “My friend, let’s call him Batman, got his hands on the police report. Lamar Kostas has no criminal record and has a clean work record. He claims he didn’t know the guy, never saw him before. Says the man told him he’d had too much to drink the night before on his way home from a bar and called a friend to pick him up. He’d left his vehicle in the emergency pull-off spot on the other side of the bridge. Kostas said the guy wanted to get to it before the cops ticketed it and towed it off. He gave a vague description, and it conflicts with some of the other witnesses, but none of their descriptions are solid either. If anyone took a picture or video, they’re too scared to post it.”
Gerard rocked back on his heels. “After our little discussion with junior here, tonight, I’m thinking we should pay Kostas a visit. Just to make sure he’s clean.”
“Count me in, man.”
Gerard eyed him for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll be in touch.”
“Are you two going to stand there all night?” Hope called, eyeing them suspiciously.
“Nope,” Brice answered, heading back to the truck. “We’re going to drop Officer Gerard off at his place, and then…” he gave her a covert grin as he jumped into the driver’s seat. “You and I have some business to take care of.”
Gerard stayed where he was. “Actually, I’m feeling the need for some libations. You two go ahead. I’ll call a cab.”
He took off jogging across the street and entered the bar.
“Please tell me he isn’t going to hassle Joel more,” Hope said. “I have to work with the guy. I’d rather he didn’t hate me.”
Brice reached across the cab, about to stroke her cheek, when he drew his hand back. “No one could hate you, Hope.”
A grin flashed across her face. “What were you saying about taking care of business?”
It was nearing midnight, and she looked tired despite the grin. “I better take you home. You have to work tomorrow. What kind of security do you have at your place? For real? I know there are no motion sensors.”
“Is it really me you’re worried about?” She tilted her head, studying him closely. “Or is it you?”
He started the truck. “I’m used to staying up all night chasing a story. I don’t have to be at the office bright and early tomorrow morning. Security?”
She pursed her lips for a second. “You’re just scared of what happened on your couch.”
“Scared?” He chuckled, shifting the truck into drive. “You don’t scare me, Hope. I’m…cautious. You’re young and idealistic. I’m old and jaded. A relationship could be—would be—challenging for us.”
A twitch started under her left eye. “Opposites attract.”
She was beautiful in the half-light of the dashboard. And he was a fool for what he was about to say.
“I’m not opposed to trying, Hope. Hell, I’ve got nothing to lose. You, on the other hand,” he checked his rearview and pulled away from the curb, “better think long and hard about what you’re getting into. Now tell me about your security.”
Refusing to admit how far beyond—epically beyond—exhausted she was, Hope rested her head back and closed her eyes.
Fatigue dragged at her thoughts leaving the words circling each other in her mind but not quite forming a sentence. And if she couldn’t form a sentence she wasn’t about to say anything. Not to the sharp-minded blogger and definitely not when she might wind up looking like a fool.
A tired fool, of course, but still a fool.
“Security,” she said. “It’s a coded building. Everyone has a unique code to the outside door. It doesn’t stop people from giving their own code out though so I’m not sure what the point of a unique code is.” She waved it off. “Anyway, we’ve never had a break-in or criminal activity so I think I’m safe.”
“You think?”
He never gave up. She squeezed her eyes tighter, forced herself to focus, took a breath and faced him. “Hawk, I’ll be fine. It’s late and I need to be up in five hours. Nothing will happen—aside from me crashing into the sleep of the dead. Just take me home. Please. I need my own bed tonight.”
No response. Terrific. But he turned right at the corner going the opposite direction from his place so maybe, if he chose, for once, to be reasonable, in twenty minutes she’d be home. In her own bed.
“Okay,” he said. “I get that needing your own bed thing. I’ll just stay with you tonight.”
Ha. As if she’d sleep at all with him around, in her space, near her bed. After what had happened earlier and his...um...arousal, if he came anywhere near her bed there wouldn’t be much sleep happening.
Woohoo! Hormona sent up a shout.
At least she had energy. Too bad, Hormona. Rushing into a sexual relationship simply to...uh...fulfill a physical need would be emotional suicide for a girl like Hope. One who managed to convince herself she loved every man she slept with.
Nope. Not happening this time. She had a career to protect. A broken heart she could deal with. The loss of her career would decimate her.
She shifted sideways and set her hand on his shoulder to break the news that she wouldn’t be letting him within a hundred yards of her home.
He glanced at her, but quickly went back to the road. “I’m staying, Hope.”
So stubborn. “Let’s chat a second, shall we?”
“No chatting. I’m a man. Men don’t chat.”
“Then you can listen and I’ll talk. I love this protective streak in you. Even if it’s a borderline psychotic form of paranoia, I think it’s admirable.”
“A backhanded compliment. My favorite.”
She smiled. “It was a compliment. Trust me. The thing is, regardless of you telling me to think long and hard about getting involved with you, I’m okay with that. With trying. But I’m not about to rush into something. Not when we have this crazy deal between us. I don’t want my emotions confusing things. I know myself well enough to know that won’t be good.”
“I’m not sure I follow.”
“If our little deal goes bad, I don’t want to be in love with you when it happens.”
“Love?” He nearly ran off the road.
Yikes. Stalker, stalker, stalker. Blame it on the fatigue. Wasn’t this just like her though? To mistake kindness and friendship for love? She wanted her happily-ever-after as much as the next girl. Nothing wrong with that. Unless that girl was silly enough to see every man who befriended her as a possible candidate. Which, as hard as it was to admit, she often did.
This time she wouldn’t. This time she would see this as it was. A business arrangement. He needed her as much as she needed him. Maybe more. She was his link to the Supreme Court. And she wouldn’t forget that. That knowledge would keep her focused.
On her job.
Even if she did want to sleep with him.
Woohoo!
“Forget it, Hawk. I’m tired and rambling. I’m not sure I have it in me to argue.”
Anticipating the left turn that would lead them to her neighborhood, he switched lanes. “I won’t forget it. Don’t be so flip with me. I’m a guy, but jeez, I get it, Hope. I’m not going to use you. No more than you would me.” He held up a hand. “Wait. That sounded bad and not at all like I meant it.”
“Thank God for that. For the record, I don’t think either of us is using the other. We’re definitely attracted to each other. I’m not sure now is the time for us to be acting on that. Let’s just try to avoid incidents like what happened on your couch earlier. Okay?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Okay. But I’m still sleeping on your couch tonight.”
Chapter Eleven
After Hope left for work, Brice took off for home. A text from Anthony Gerard interrupted him.
Going to talk to our friend.
In the world of law enforcement, that was probably the best invitation Brice was going to get from the cop to go see Kostas, the cab driver.
Maybe if they leaned on the guy a little, like they had with Joel, he’d conveniently remember more than he had told the cops about the shooter.
He typed back, meet you there.
Thirty minutes later, he’d fought his way through morning traffic and found the house in a rundown area that wasn’t quite the hood but close enough. Rundown houses, yards populated by weeds instead of grass, chainlink fences, and broken windows greeted his eyes everywhere he looked.
Gerard leaned against his black SUV parked a block down. Brice pulled in behind him and rolled down his window.
Gerard sauntered over. “Guy left for work already,” he said, eyeing the block. “Something’s off. Kostas has been with the Prime Time Cab Company for ten years, no wife, no kids. Makes a decent income, doesn’t gamble or drink. Why does he live here, in this rat hole?”
“Is this where he grew up? Does he have family here?”
Gerard shook his head. “Grew up about forty miles north. His parents are still alive and living in the same town. I checked and the guy has a nice fat savings account, sends some cash home to Mom and Dad from every paycheck.”
Apparently, Brice wasn’t the only one with connections.
“I don’t like it,” Gerard said. “I’m going to take a look around.”
Brice wanted in on that. He had nothing better to do than read boring bios of Kenton Lab employees while Hope was at work. “Want some company?”
“If you’re up for it.”
He was up for it. Bailing from the truck, he locked up and followed Gerard.
The gate at the front was locked. Weeds and random bushes grew helter-skelter along the fence line. They followed it around to the back, out of sight from the street.
A line of trees on one side blocked the neighbor’s view. In this area, Brice doubted the neighbors paid much attention anyway. Most, he imagined, were still in bed nursing hangovers or camped out in front of their TVs.
The back gate was locked. The yard was littered with garbage, an old grill, plastic lawn chairs.
Gerard eyed the house through the chainlinks. “I’d like to see inside those windows.”
The fence was less than eight feet tall. So far, they hadn’t seen or heard any guard dog. Brice held up a hand. “After you.”
The cop hopped up, sticking a foot in the fence, then boosted himself up and over. For a big guy, he was almost graceful.
Brice followed, not quite as graceful, but still got the job done.
The yard debris was a challenge to walk through. A better security measure than the fence any old day.
Once he and Gerard made it to the back porch, they had to fight through more crap. Plastic tables, chairs, potted plants, an old porch swing that long ago had fallen from its chains.
Gerard took the window on the south side of the door, Brice took the north.
A low whistle emanated from Gerard. “And I thought the yard was bad.”
Kostas was a hoarder.
From his vantage point, all Brice could see was shit, shit, and more shit in what appeared to be a mudroom. Front to back, there were piles everywhere. One pile of garbage bags and broken appliances rose nearly the height of the wall. Another pile of junk came half way up the window Brice was peering through. Broken toys, stacks of newspapers, plastic clothes detergent bottles, random appliances, furniture…it made him want to haul out his antibacterial soap.
“None of this is new or in good shape,” Gerard said. “I think Lamar needs to lay off the garage sales and inv
est in better home décor.”
Brice had seen this type of thing before when working undercover with mafia boys and gunrunners. “He could be a legit hoarder, but few of them this bad hold down long term jobs.”
“Is he hiding something?”
“That would be my guess.”
Gerard blew air through pursed lips. “Related to our case, you think?”
“Doubtful, but we’re here.”
“You saying you want to take a look inside?”
“Only a crazy man would want to go inside this place.”
“You strike me as the crazy type.”
“Not crazy.” Brice grinned. “But I don’t back down from risky shit. If you’re not comfortable going any further, no problem. Head back to your vehicle and I’ll handle it from here.”
“You really think I’d let you have all the fun?”
Gerard was growing on him. “Let’s peek in a couple of other rooms from outside,” he said, making his way back off the porch. “Then decide if we want to drop in for a more exhaustive search.”
The two of them edged around the house, looking in all the windows. Most had some kind of blind or flimsy curtain, but they could still see through them.
The living room and kitchen were filled to capacity. But on the other side of the house, where a bedroom and bathroom rounded out the living space, they discovered both to be clean.
Spotless, in fact.
Definitely hiding something.
“How hard would it be to break in?” Gerard said.
The cop would have made a good undercover operative.
“Depends on the entry point.” Bathroom windows were usually smaller and harder to get through since they swelled with humidity. Brice latched onto the bedroom window and gave it a shove. No dice. “Let’s go back to the door.”
As expected, it was locked.
The nice thing was, the lock was probably the original. “Got a credit card?”
“For what?”
Gerard was a cop, but he was a bodyguard, not a street cop. “To unlock the door.”
“Use your own.”
“I don’t have credit cards.”