Exposing Justice

by Misty Evans

  “I’m Woodward. You’re Bernstein.”

  Brice held up his hands in surrender. “Whatever makes you happy.”

  She tapped the end of his nose with one slim finger. “Another thing you should never forget. Keep me happy and you can have your way with me anytime, anyplace.”

  He smacked her bottom playfully and went for his laptop. “That’s a deal I can’t refuse.”

  Two hours later, Brice read the blog post, read it again. It was the third one he’d written and it still wasn’t right.

  He hit delete.

  “Hey!” Hope punched his arm. “I liked that one.”

  He rubbed a hand through his hair for the hundredth time. “We can’t use names but using all these random sources makes the piece come off sounding like…like…”

  “Amateur hour?” she supplied.

  “Yeah.” He slammed his hands on the table. “And using ‘texts’ and ‘emails’ without actually printing what they say is bogus. It sounds like we’re making it all up. We need a legitimate sounding source.”

  “Like Deep Throat.”

  He tore his eyes from the screen. “What did you say?”

  “Deep Throat. You know, Watergate? The source Woodward used?”

  A wave of excitement rolled over him. “Sources,” Brice corrected. “Woodward claimed later that Deep Throat was the FBI Director, but some other investigative reporters figured out it had to be multiple sources Woodward combined into one to make it easier and more…marketable, let’s say, to the general public.”

  “Yeah, cuz being nicknamed a porn movie title like Deep Throat is much easier to remember and a whole lot racier than saying ‘my source’.”

  “Exactly. People ate it up.”

  “You never told me who your original source was,” Hope said. “Does he have a sexy undercover name? Or is it a she?”

  “Lodestone is male.”

  “Lodestone? Really? Not exactly a sexy code name.”

  “He’s been my confidential informant on a few cases. I don’t know his real name or how he gets these leads and tips, but I suspect he’s inside the government at a high level with access to a lot of shit. His use of code names suggests NSA, and he’d kill me if I used his in my blogs. He seems to be one of the few people around this town with a conscience.”

  “And he works for the NSA. Go figure. Is there any way you could talk to him about what we’ve found out? See if he knows anything else?”

  “He contacts me. I don’t have a number for him. I’ve tried tracing the numbers he calls from but they’re dead in the water as soon as he uses one. Most likely he has a pile of burn phones.”

  “Sounds like your kind of guy.”

  “I’ve wondered about that—if he was burned by the NSA or CIA like I was at ATF, or if he’s just a good guy trying to make sure the scum in Washington don’t take over.”

  “You never told me about what happened, back when you were in the ATF. What made you quit them and become what you are now?”

  It was a long story and not one he relished rehashing. He hadn’t talked about it to anyone. Not all the sordid details, anyway.

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” Hope said. “I know it must be very personal.”

  This woman. She accepted him for who, and what, he was. No pressing, no pushing to lay his past out on the table. Getting to the bottom of this case had pulled her into the hazardous and ugly depths of his world. She was certainly going to lose her job—a job that meant everything to her—because of him.

  Seemed like the least he owed her was an explanation for his often odd and irritating behavior.

  His skin itched. His eyes burned. He rubbed them and took a steadying breath. “I met Wes Colton in the Army. We were both intelligence officers. After we got out, we both joined ATF. He was my partner, like a brother to me, for seven years. We were inseparable.”

  The blank computer screen of his laptop stared back at him, the cursor blinking, waiting for him to type. “His brother was a rapper and actor who went by the moniker, Nasty Playa, living the life in Hollywood. Behind the scenes, he was running cocaine and heroin from L.A. to Chicago. The drugs were originating south of the border. A DEA agent contacted me on the down low, asked me about Wes and his brother. Were they close? Did Wes have any idea about his brother’s involvement in the drug ring?”

  He shook his head. Even after everything that had happened, he still couldn’t believe Wes’s deception. “I blew up in the guy’s face, told him there was no way, he had the wrong guy. If Wes suspected his brother was a criminal, he’d be all over it. Later, I found out I was wrong.”

  Hope’s voice was soft. “What happened?”

  “Wes not only knew his famous brother was running a drug ring, Wes was setting up contacts for him. I only found out after Wes received a promotion to unit chief of our team. The whole time, even in the army, he was working with his brother. Once he was in good at ATF, Wes expanded the business to include guns. Wes had the gun cartel contacts and his brother had the drug contacts.”

  She was quiet for a second, then said, “He betrayed you. That had to be horrible.”

  Brice’s fingers twitched. “He didn’t just betray me, he used me and the rest of our team to cover his ass.” Slowly, he turned his head to look at her. “I tried to talk to him, tried to get him to turn himself in. He refused… And then, he came after me.”

  Her brows scrunched. “Was this part of the gunwalking scandal?”

  Those days were far behind him now, but the sting of Wes’s betrayal burned like acid on the back of his neck. “The beginnings of it, and because Wes’s brother was famous and had plenty of high-priced lawyers, his role in the initial operation was never revealed. He walked, as did Wes—after he destroyed our unit.”

  Brice looked down at his hands. At one point, when everything had gone to hell, and Wes had threatened Brice’s life, Brice had considered taking him out. In the end, however, he’d held the gun to Wes’s head, but couldn’t pull the trigger. “Some of the men in my unit died mysterious deaths while undercover. Others, like me, had their careers destroyed for trying to blow the whistle on Wes, and in turn, on the ATF.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “The only concrete evidence I had I gave to that DEA agent. My mistake that I didn’t make backups. He and the evidence disappeared shortly afterwards. His body was found in an alley in Mexico. An undercover op gone wrong, they claimed. So in the end, I had nothing, the DEA had no hard evidence either. Wes hid behind his brother and his fleet of lawyers. Last I heard, Wes is living in Palm Springs. He changed his name, grew a beard, and works for his brother, who won a Grammy last year, I believe.”

  “Bastard.” Hope rose and went to the kitchen. He heard her moving around, slamming cupboards and clanking cups. She returned a moment later, setting a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. “Sorry I don’t have something stronger, but the safe house isn’t stocked with hard liquor. You should talk to your friend, tell him to pony up the good stuff.”

  Brice almost smiled. Thank God, she didn’t reach for him or give him the look. The one filled with emotions like pity and sympathy. He couldn’t stand anyone feeling sorry for him.

  His hand shook as he wrapped it around the warm mug, so he didn’t lift it just yet. He preferred Hope didn’t see that he was still a basket case over what the fucking ATF, and a man he’d considered his friend, had done to him.

  Not just to me.

  The DEA agent, Henry Eno. ATF agents, Jeff Bekker and Cal Koch.

  And eventually Tommy Nusco, who had no idea that Wes and the deputy attorney general were the two biggest players behind the gunwalking scandal.

  “So this Lodestone guy called you and told you to look into Justice Turner’s death?”

  Back to business. “He suspected foul play and it looks like he was right on the money.”

  Her lips kissed the edge of her own mug as she blew gently on the liquid to cool it. “Even if we can�
�t call him, there is a way we can contact him.”

  “How?”

  She pointed at the blank screen. “Write the blog and ask him to contact you.”

  Brice smiled for real this time and saluted her with his coffee mug. The shakes were gone and a new confidence steadied his hands. “You’re pretty smart, Woodward.”

  “What can I say, Bernstein?” She turned one hand palm up and gave him a smile back. “I didn’t land a prestigious position with the Public Information Office of the Supreme Court on my good looks and sunny disposition alone.”

  He sipped his coffee. God, I love her.

  The thought caught him right in the gut. He nearly spewed coffee across his keyboard.

  Coughing, he set the mug down and beat on his chest.

  “You okay?” Hope asked.

  “Couldn’t be better.” He placed his hands on the keyboard and started typing. ”And just for the record, your sunny disposition is growing on me.”

  His hands flew over the keyboard, this version of the blog post taking him only minutes to write. Hope came over, leaning against his back as she draped her arms around his neck and down his chest, reading the column as he typed.

  Which was distracting as hell. She smelled like sex and coffee and that hint of flowery perfume she always wore. Her fingers teased his rib cage, strands of her hair tickled his cheek.

  He wouldn’t have had it any other way. Shifting his head, he kissed the inside of her elbow, and finishing the blog with a subtle invitation for Lodestone to call him, he hit Save.

  “Last chance to back out,” he told Hope, the cursor hovering over the Publish button.

  “I told you.” She nibbled at his earlobe. “I’m all in.”

  A sexy woman who knew his story, telling him she was all in when it came to exposing a cover-up. What was a whistleblower like him supposed to do?

  He hit Publish.

  “Now what?” Her breath was warm on his ear. “I guess all we can do is wait?”

  Normally, that was exactly what he did.

  Tonight wasn’t normal.

  He grabbed her, lifting her off the floor and settling her in his lap, facing him. As if reading his mind, she parted her lips and kissed him, raking her hands through his hair and grinding her pelvis into his lap.

  Ah, yes, that sunny disposition was definitely growing on him.

  They were heavy into the makeout session, the blouse she’d been wearing now lay on the living room floor, and one of her luscious breasts was in his mouth, when a phone rang from somewhere deep inside the house.

  His burn phone. Damn it. Where had he left it?

  Bedroom.

  Releasing Hope’s breast and hating himself for it, he tried to disengage her from his lap. She didn’t comply.

  Brrrring.

  “Hope, I have to get that. It could be Lodestone.”

  He stood and she wrapped her legs around his waist, kissing his neck.

  And...oh, yeah. That felt good.

  Too good.

  So he carried her…past the couch, down the hall, into the bedroom.

  Brrrring.

  Hurry.

  There. On the nightstand.

  Brice sat on the bed, Hope still in his lap, fumbling for the phone. She nipped at the top of his shoulder and he accidently sent the phone rocketing off the nightstand. “Shit.”

  He should join Cirque de Soleil with all the maneuvering he had to do to keep hold of Hope as he went for the phone on the floor.

  Dropping back to a sitting position on the bed, he huffed out, “Patriot Blog. This is Hawkeye. Go.”

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Lodestone. Good thing he’d answered.

  Brice put him on speakerphone. “I’m at a dead end with this. I need more.”

  “You’ve ran with less and still nailed the bad guys.”

  At the sound of the man’s voice, Hope stopped undulating on top of him and met Brice’s eyes. “Lodestone?” she mouthed.

  He nodded and put a finger to his lips to signal her to stay quiet. “If you read my latest article, you know that since the murder was ruled road rage, and I have nothing on the real killer, the circumstantial evidence means shit in this case.”

  There was a long pause. So long, Brice wondered if he’d hung up.

  “Aunt Minnie.”

  The line went dead.

  Hope blew air out her lips, lifting the hair hanging over her forehead. “What does that mean? Who’s Aunt Minnie?”

  Brice tossed the phone aside, his mind whirling. “It’s spy talk. An Aunt Minnie is a photograph, taken by an amateur in most cases, of a place of interest. The photographer includes a relative or a friend to make it look like an innocent picture, but to a spy or government scoping out a target, it’s invaluable ground-level intelligence.”

  “I saw that once on a cop show.” She ran her hands through her hair, creating a ponytail but had nothing to hold it with and let it fall again. “Some sleeper cell terrorist gal was taking pictures of a D.C. monument her fellow terrorists were going to blow up. She posted the pics on Facebook so the head of the terrorist group back in the Middle East could see the security setup.”

  Brice was still trying to make sense of how a picture could help them when Hope jumped off his lap. “Barbados. That’s it! Joel’s girlfriend. Maybe she took pictures.”

  “We don’t know her name.”

  Hope snatched his shirt off the bedroom floor and yanked it on over her head. “Trust me, no girl goes to Barbados with a hottie Supreme Court clerk and doesn’t have an entire photo album somewhere on the internet. Snapchat. Instagram. I bet she has accounts with both, and by golly, Miss Molly, I will find them with a more detailed Google search of our friend Joel. Charley and this anonymous “my guy” might be in one of those pictures.”

  “You think Joel’s a hottie?”

  “Really?” She had her slacks in her hand and swatted his leg with them. “Don’t be ridiculous. I know he’s an asshat, but that girl sees Mr. Trust Fund and future Washington power player. That makes a lot of girls look past the truth.”

  “But not you,” he said, trying not to sound jealous.

  She crawled into his lap again and kissed him. Just bam, a solid, quick kiss on his lips. “Maybe once upon a time I might have been suckered into believing a guy with a future in politics was my cup of tea, but not anymore. I like my men a little more…” She nipped his bottom lip and looked at him with her big blue eyes and he melted right there. “Dangerous.”

  Then she kissed him deeply, her tongue doing all sorts of amazing things in his mouth. She shoved him backward on the bed, one hand undoing his zipper. Apparently, Hope Denby had a healthy sexual appetite.

  He grabbed her butt cheeks and squeezed, kissing her back. She was solid in his hands, her presence a balm to his heart.

  Her hand went inside his underwear and he broke the kiss. “You keep doing that and we aren’t leaving this room for a while. We have a lot of research to do. You on Instagram and me locating the charter company Charley used to fly him and Joel to Barbados.”

  “True,” she said, licking her lips. “Could be a very long night. But first…”

  Her hand hit pay dirt and she gave him a little squeeze. “Oh, my. Seems to me we can make this fast.”

  All thoughts of Joel, Kenton Labs, Charley, charter companies, and pictures went right out of his head.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Instagram is a bust,” Hope said.

  Still wearing Hawk’s shirt, she set her laptop on the couch next to her and slouched back, propping her feet on the crappy coffee table.

  From his spot across from her, Hawk glanced up from his own laptop. “Nothing? At all?”

  “Well, there are photos from Barbados, but it’s just him. No bimbo in sight.”

  “What bimbo?”

  “The woman Joel took to Barbados.”

  Hawk waggled his head as if trying to clear it. “Oh. It sounded like you knew her. The w
ay you called her a bimbo.”

  “No. I...hmmm...I guess that was rude of me. She could be a highly intelligent woman. I’d just think if she were, she would have questioned why a Supreme Court law clerk was flying to Barbados with a lobbyist. I mean, she has to know that’s not copacetic. And if she knew that and didn’t show some outrage, in my mind, that makes her a bimbo.”

  “Jesus. You got all that from a photo?”

  She shrugged. “Sure. Well, not really the photo itself, but the Barbados thing as a whole.”

  “All right. I’ll roll with this. We’ve checked Facebook and Instagram. What about Twitter?”

  “I’m heading there now.” She picked up her laptop again. “How’d you do on the charter company? I’m still going through his emails. So far, no mention of the company.”

  “Did you check the expense reports?”

  “Yeah. But I can’t find one for the Barbados trip. Not yet anyway. I still have an entire folder to go through though.”

  Hope yawned and let out a little sigh. At some point, she’d need a nap. Being a girl who couldn’t function on less than six hours of sleep, she’d given up late nights after graduating from college. And now, it was nearing midnight and she was most definitely about to turn into a pumpkin.

  “You’re getting tired.”

  “I am,” she said. “I want to check Twitter first though.”

  At the Twitter home screen, she did a search on Joel’s name and the list of his most recent tweets filled her screen. Mainly retweets of funny quotes and pictures. Nothing even remotely scandalous. At least he’d remained politically correct on social media. Still, she scrolled through the list, backtracking to December where she slowed her skimming. A trip to the zoo, dinner at the Capitol Grill, a visit to the Crime & Punishment Museum—how appropriate.

  Nothing on Barbados. Except, of course, the giant hole in the timeline of tweets that just so happened to match the dates of the Barbados trip.

  “Anything?” Hawk asked.

  “No. Just generic stuff and there are no tweets the week he was in Barbados. At least he was discreet.”

  She scrolled down further.

  “Whoa.”