by Misty Evans
He nodded. “I’m fine.”
“Brasich,” Jackie said, “please provide my client with an ice pack. And, given the department’s complete lack of control when it comes to protecting Mr. Pearson, I want him in a private cell tonight, with a guard. No one goes near him. And get him a damned shirt.” Now she invaded his space. “If anything happens to him, I’ll put your ass in a sling.”
Four
Ten minutes later, the interrogation room door opened and Brasich handed Jackie the ice pack she’d asked for. After this whole cluster, one would think the detectives might want to hop on aiding their recently attacked prisoner. Go figure.
“Thank you,” she said.
No sense in pissing the guy off any more than she had to. Brasich nodded then closed the door again, leaving Jackie and Beck alone. She waved her handcuffed client to a chair, waited for him to sit then passed him the ice.
He lifted the pack to his face, wincing at the contact. “Damn, he popped me good.”
“It doesn’t look...horrible. Sorry about the cuffs. I’ll see if I can get them taken off.”
“Forget it, not worth the fight. Let’s pick our battles. Besides, they’ll be taking them off to process me.”
Jackie nodded. “You’re the client, assuming you’re hiring me. Or did you want me to call Fleming?”
A reward came by way of a quirking smile from Beck. The man was under arrest for murder and still managed to find humor in her twisted joke.
And what was she doing? The easier question – the one with a simple answer that didn’t require her already battered and exhausted brain to think – was what wasn’t she doing? Which would be telling Beck she’d get him arraigned, but he needed to square up another attorney. One he didn’t have a personal history with.
One he hadn’t put his extremely male and private part inside.
Total mess.
He tossed the ice pack on the table and dropped his hands to his lap. “After the show you just put on, I’m hiring you. You’re not afraid to push. Or piss people off.”
“Oh, heck no. Where’s the fun otherwise?”
“You realize I’m pretty much screwed, right?”
Jackie clucked her tongue. “With that attitude, you sure are. Listen up, glamour boy, you’re not going down for this. We’re barely two hours in and I already have a laundry list of screw-ups. As soon as I get you situated, I’ll leak that I’ve been retained by you. Believe me, my phone will blow up with press inquiries. At which point, I will joyfully give them a literal blow by blow of what went on here tonight.”
“No, I’m not trying this thing in the media.”
Of course not. She’d win it on skill and good investigative work. The press could help though. Jackie slid into the chair opposite Beck and set her hands on top of the table. The camera, no doubt, recorded everything so she’d keep this brief. “That’s not my intention, but you know how this works. The prosecution will use the press. They’ll feed them little bits of circumstantial evidence that will make you look guilty before you even see a courtroom. We have to get ahead of that.”
“I agree, but find another way. For Christ sake’s, Jackie, I’m an FBI agent who’s been accused of killing the FBI Director’s wife. My career with the Bureau is over, which means, if I’m not locked up, I’ll be looking for a new job soon. Who’s gonna hire me?”
She held up her hands. “Whoa. Settle down. We’re on step one and you’re pushing ahead to ten-thousand. It’s way too early to speculate. We don’t even know for sure what evidence they have. Let me do my thing. You, of all people, know I will tear their case apart. I have an excellent investigator and a brilliant – and highly aggressive – junior partner. We’re good. Really good. So, when you’re acquitted, don’t worry, a lot of people will hire you. Don’t give up on me, glamour boy. I’ve got this.”
He blew out a hard breath and shook his head. “I’m not giving up, believe me, but I’m a realist and this,” he held up his handcuffed hands, “doesn’t look good.”
The door opened and Muldoon jerked his chin. “Let’s go, Pearson.”
Jackie shot out of her chair. “Private cell?”
“Yes, counselor. It’s just short of a suite at the Ritz.”
“With a guard?”
Muldoon rolled his eyes. “As much as it pisses me off, yes. He’s not getting hurt on my watch.”
Jackie grinned, all I’m-a-sarcastic-bitch. “Well, at least not again, right?”
That may have been a cheap shot, but they deserved it. Lockhart should never have been allowed near her client.
Muldoon didn’t bother answering. What could he say? He knew she was right. He stood in the doorway, waiting for Beck who – bless him – took his time getting to his feet.
Jackie set one hand on his arm, her fingers not making it around the rock hard biceps. “You’ll be fine tonight. I’ll have you out tomorrow.”
“Thank you. I apologize for my bad manners earlier.”
“Not wanting me for your lawyer? Forget it.”
“Not that. The remark about your dating life. That was low and uncalled for.”
She waved it off, laughing. “But not far from the truth.”
He stepped into the hallway, but paused. “One more thing.”
Jackie moved next to him. “What is it?”
He leaned in, got right next to her ear, and his warm breath tickled her skin, sending tiny electrifying shocks right to her core.
“Don’t,” he said, “call me glamour boy.”
* * *
Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars bail. Jesus, he was worth more as a murder suspect than as an upstanding FBI agent.
An FBI agent with a dozen commendations in his personnel folder and a near-perfect close record for finding the missing. Of course the one he never found was related to the Donlin case. Before he’d been allowed on Taylor’s team, he’d had to prove himself with criminal investigations. He’d found it easy to understand the perps and figure out ways to bring them down. Only Jackie DelRay had stood in his way, claiming there wasn’t sufficient evidence.
Taylor hadn’t seen it as a failure, liking the way Beck had pursued the conviction and gone over Jackie’s head to do so. Taylor liked aggressive agents on her team. After the showdown at the precinct, Beck now understood why Jackie had gone defensive lineman on him and he’d loved it. Byron Lockhart was no small man and he’d obviously been on a tear. While Beck couldn’t blame him, he had to admit disappointment that the Director immediately jumped to the same conclusion the cops had – that Beck was guilty. What he hadn’t expected was that Jackie DelRay, all 5’6”of her, would jump in front of Lockhart’s 6’2” bulky frame and defend him.
Crazy woman.
At least she’d gotten him out on bail. Most murder suspects in DC sat in jail until their hearings, but not him. Not even with the circumstances of the high-profile victim and all that went along with Beck being a strong flight risk. As an agent, he had vast resources and the knowledge and skills to disappear in a heartbeat.
He actually did have a bag ready to go in his closet. Every good agent did. Not because they anticipated going on the run, but due to the fact they could be called up at any moment to fly across the country on an assignment.
Gingerly touching his bruised cheek as he opened the door to his place, he called out for Tink. It had been storming for the past few hours and she was probably hiding under the bed. A muffled meow echoed from the living room and he let out a small sigh of relief as the stray came running.
His phone was full of text messages and voicemails, but he needed a shower to wash off the jail stink. A nap and copious amounts of food were on the to-do list as well.
But first, he needed to do something normal, like feed his cat. He scratched her behind the ears as she weaved around his ankles, purring. Her happiness at seeing him was most likely due to the fact he’d missed feeding time, but he didn’t care – being back at his home, taking care of the cat, was what his fr
eaked-out brain needed more than anything.
Once Tink was well fed and showing her appreciation by rubbing against his ankles again, he prioritized what he needed to do: shower, shave, eat, call Taylor, call the other team members, since his caseload would need to be divided between them, and then he needed sleep. His new attorney had ordered him to stay in, keep his head down, and prepare for her to be all over his business like a tick on a coonhound.
Jackie had been the star of the show at the bail hearing, just like she had been during his interrogation and processing. Him being a law enforcement agent, her cutting, efficient manner mostly made him insane. Today? On his behalf, she’d been a rockstar who’d told him to keep his mouth shut and follow her lead. Not something he was used to being told, but he kind of liked it. He could see the judge liked her and Jackie was efficient but respectful. They were in and out in minutes.
Ball busters usually turned him off. He wasn’t a profiler, but he knew most were simply overcompensating. Jackie was a different animal. She knew her stuff and her confidence made her a true force of nature, not just a bunch of bravado hiding an insecure woman. He’d sensed that in her the first time he’d met her and nothing had changed.
The fact he’d been assaulted by Lockhart had helped him land bail, thanks to Jackie’s ability to spin anything and everything her way.
She was so damn sexy he got a hard-on just thinking about her smart mouth and those dangerous curves. Her body was born for tight skirts and heels. After going into private practice, she had to be making plenty of money and should have been carrying designer handbags, not creased up, old leather briefcases. No other woman had ever irritated him more in his career, or made him hornier. Her breasts alone were a thing of beauty, not to mention her legs.
He enjoyed fantasizing that she secretly wore sexy lingerie under those conservative suits. Red? Hot pink? Or was she more of a satin girl? Back in the day, on their one spring break together, it had been lace.
Lots of it.
While he continued his dance with normalcy, he kept images of being in prison out of his mind by putting his hot attorney in his own personal photo shoot, full of sexy pouts and daring displays of cleavage.
Ah, yes. Jackie DelRay was a sex kitten in all his fantasies.
Even if he hated her.
After cleaning up and stuffing his face, he started in on the calls he needed to make.
Of course, everyone on the team already knew – not much escaped the hallowed halls of the FBI – and he had actual threats from several of them because they also knew Jackie was his lawyer and he was out on bail. They all wanted to know why hadn’t he called them straight away. Why was he letting DelRay anywhere near him? Had she kidnapped him? Was he delusional? He was likely to end up with one or all on his doorstep in short order if he didn’t make contact.
First, he called Taylor who answered on the first ring. “What the hell is going on?” she barked at him.
“Hi, boss. How’s your vacation?”
“I leave you in charge of the group and you end up arrested for murder? When Janiece called and told me you were in jail, I figured you’d finally had enough of the Golden Boy and you forgot to call me to help you bury the body.”
Said Golden Boy was a profiler named Leo Wellington whom no one in their cold case unit liked but had to tolerate. Leo liked to steal cases from them right before they were about to find a missing child or bring a criminal to justice so he could ride their coattails and appear to be the best agent inside the FBI. In reality, he used everyone else’s hard work to pad his successful close rate, as well as his ego. They’d often joked about offing him, but the weasel wasn’t worth the jail time. “You know I live to make your life easier, but I’m afraid you have to keep working with Leo for now.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Tink curled up next to him as he ticked off the high points like it was someone else’s case. He had to figure out who would take care of the cat if he ended up in prison.
“Don’t worry, I’m fine,” he told Taylor after he’d filled her in on the details, knowing full well she was probably already on her way to the airport, cutting her vacation short. “I’ve got everything under control.”
“Liar. I’ll be there in three hours, four tops, depending on the crap-hole weather you’ve got there in DC. They’re already rerouting planes because of the storms from what I understand. Are you sure about DelRay? I can get you someone else. Justice Greystone knows everyone and between him, me, and the Schock sisters, we can find you the best lawyer on the east coast.”
“I’m good. DelRay, as you know, is a pit bull. Pretty sure I already have the best lawyer, but thanks. And don’t cut your vacation short. Mad Dog will never let me live it down and I don’t need him bitching at me all the time.”
His doorbell rang and Beck looked up. Had the press already figured out where he lived? Was Byron making a follow-up play? Was it possible his trench coat fantasy about Jackie was possibly coming true? The one where she was buck-naked underneath?
“Look, I’ve gotta go. I love you and I’m in good hands. I’ll make sure my current cases are distributed among the others. I won’t let any balls drop, I promise.”
“Forget about delegating your cases, Beck. Janiece can handle it. Whatever you do, stay out of Lockhart’s line of fire, okay? I’ll be there by tonight and we’ll make a plan of attack.”
She hung up and his doorbell dinged again. Tossing the phone on the couch, he patted Tink’s head and went to see who was beating up his doorbell.
It wasn’t the press or Lockhart. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Jackie in a sexy trench coat either.
He opened the door, knowing he was about to take the same beating his doorbell just had. “Sydney. Grey. What are you two doing here? I’m guessing it’s not a personal invite to the next bachelor auction.”
Sydney narrowed her eyes and motioned for him to get out of her way. “Quit being flippant. Why do you think we’re here?”
He really had no idea, except oh, yeah, Annabelle’s donation was probably an issue for Syd now that the woman was dead.
God, he was tired. Totally blown. At this rate, prison might actually be the only way to solve his sleep deprivation problem. But he opened the door wide and waved them in. “Come on in. No point in standing out there in the rain.”
They both stepped inside, Sydney looking like she might just rip him a new one. “I don’t even want to know how you got yourself into this situation, but if you need help, we’re here for you.”
Okay, not what he’d expected. “You’re not mad?”
“Of course I’m mad.” She pointed a finger at him, and yep, here it came. “Do you know how long it took Fallyn to talk me into doing a bachelor auction in the first place? Months! I hated the idea.”
Fallyn Pasche was known as the Washington fixer – she knew how to cover up scandals and promote causes she felt were worthy of her time.
Syd tapped her foot. “But I caved and then it took months for us to design it, even with Caroline and Mitch’s help. I had to grovel at people’s feet and do all kinds of social media nonsense that I absolutely hate. But I did it, and everything went great. We raised thousands for the shelter, and I thought, gee, Sydney, maybe it was all worth it, and then bam!” She smacked her hands together, the sharp sound echoing in the room. “My biggest donor ends up murdered and her bachelor is the prime suspect.”
Hoo, baby. The fire sizzling in her eyes and the smoke coming from her ears made Beck take a step back. “Can I get you guys something? Coffee? Hot tea? I have a really nice organic chai.”
“This is not a social call,” Grey said. “In case you haven’t figured that out.”
The defensive lineman in Beck rose to the surface, but he’d learned a long time ago it was better to appear calm, cool, and collected no matter the odds. “I’m sorry this reflects negatively on St. Agnes. If there’s anything I can do…”
Sydney took a step toward him, her coat dripping
water on his floor. She curled a handful of his shirt in her fingers. “I’m sorry you’re going through this. It’s horrible. And, I want to be mad at you, but I can’t seem to manage it. Not with what you’re facing. But know this, hotshot, when your name is cleared, you will be doing many, many hours of community service at the shelter. Hours and hours. Your ass is mine.” She gripped the shirt harder. “Do you understand?”
He raised his hands in submission. At least she seemed to believe he was innocent. “Whatever I can do to make this right, I’ll do it.”
She huffed slightly, expecting a fight. When he didn’t give it to her, she released him and stepped back, resuming her place next to Grey who, if Beck wasn’t mistaken, might be smiling.
“Good,” Syd said. “Glad that’s settled.”
Beck met Grey’s eyes. “I didn’t kill Annabelle and whoever did is still out there.”
Grey nodded. “Any ideas on our perp?”
Our perp? Hmm. “Only the most obvious one.”
“Lockhart?”
Beck shrugged. “I know almost nothing about Annabelle, but with the divorce, he’s the first person I’d take a hard look at.”
Grey cocked his chin at Beck’s face. “He give you that?”
Touching his cheek, Beck noted the swelling had gone down considerably. “Harvard may have prepared him for leading the FBI, but he hits like a Volunteer.”
Sydney frowned. “A volunteer?”
“The Tennessee Volunteers, ma’am. The Tide sends them packing every year.”
Syd rolled her eyes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but okay.”
Grey smirked. “You’re in good hands with Jackie DelRay. My team will help in any way we can, but I expect a cigar when you’re cleared.”
Cigars were a tradition with Crimson players every time they beat Tennessee. Beck held out a hand. Here was a man who understood tradition. “You got it.”
They shook and Grey hustled Sydney out into the rain. Beck headed to bed, sending off a few texts to his FBI teammates to let them know he was okay and for them to stay far away from him. Byron would no doubt be breathing down all their necks.