by Misty Evans
“Don’t hog that soap,” she said. “I’ve got about ten layers of grime.”
“Oh, that’s romantic.”
Caroline snorted. “Do you want a smelly girl?”
The look he gave her—mischievous and playful—should have been her first warning. He snatched his arm out again, grabbed her around the waist and tossed her sideways. She hit the water in a splash and came up sputtering.
“Really?” She wiped water from her face. “You want to play?”
“I do,” he said.
Then she was on him, trying—and failing—to push him under.
“You’ll never win, Caroline. I’m taller. I can stand here.”
“Damn you, Mitch Monroe.”
She shoved away from him, gave a little splash, and continued to soap up, a relentless happiness buzzing inside. This is no time to be happy. “I like starting the day like this. When this is over, we should become adventure travelers. See the world. Hop from country to country.”
He handed her back the soap. “And live on what?”
“Look at you suddenly all Mr. Technicality. I’m the one usually being the spoilsport.”
He grinned. “You must be rubbing off on me.”
What a tragedy that would be. She soaped up her legs, scrubbing as hard as she could. What she needed was a loofah. “Donaldson’s meeting is at eight. We’ve got some time to kill. Let’s look through the rest of that thumb drive. How much was on there?”
“I went through a few files, but there are a bunch more. We need a printer. Something tells me they’re all part of a timeline we need to build.”
“God, I love when you talk like that.”
“I know you do. It’s all part of my grand plan to brainwash you into being my love slave.”
Little did he know the brainwashing might already be complete. She glanced back at the morning sky, the sun glinting off the still water. If she could stay here for another hour, life would be perfect. Her, Mitch, the quiet—Mitch quiet?
She laughed at that. Maybe quiet was overrated.
“What’s funny?” he asked.
“Nothing. Let’s get to work.”
Minutes later, she slipped into jeans and her red tank top and stuck her still-wet hair into a ponytail. Mitch stood by the table, his gaze on her, creating heat that made the temperature outside look like an arctic freeze.
“Damn, you look good,” he said.
She glanced down. “You might need glasses.”
“I’ve never seen you like this.” He motioned his hands up and down. “Jeans.”
“Oh, stop it. You’ve never seen me in jeans? That’s ridiculous.”
“No, Caroline. I haven’t. You’re always in Bureau-wear.”
She stopped, thought about that a second. As much as she hated to admit it, he could be right. In their time together, she’d been so uptight about being seen as a professional—one of the guys—she’d never considered wearing anything but work clothes around Mitch. Particularly around Mitch. With him, her goal had always been to keep her clothes on. Her business suits insured they kept things on a professional level.
At least until they hadn’t.
Sigh.
She walked to him, tugged on his T-shirt, and kissed him quickly. “Well then, I suppose you’ve broken me. Now, let’s get to work, Studly.”
He winked. “There’s only one chair. We’ll have to share.”
“Fine with me, we shared a hell of a lot more than that last night.”
Mitch laughed as he sat, pulling Caroline onto his lap, the movement so casual like a couple who’d been practicing for years. She smiled at him, enjoying the moment of lightness before they dove into the hell that had been Tommy Nusco’s life. Or at least what was left of it.
Mitch was already clicking files though, focused on the screen. “I left off here.”
A scanned email popped on the screen and Caroline sat forward. “Okay, we’ve got an ATF document. Looks like an internal memo.”
Mitch leaned in and the two of them silently read. Department of Justice. Strategy. Straw purchases of assault weapons. Allowed.
Whoa.
“Holy shit,” Mitch said.
Holy shit was right. Caroline went back to the top of the document and read it again. Her shoulders and chest locked and stinging prickles shot up her neck. Bastards. According to the memo, the Department of Justice was on board with the taskforce strategy. Which meant George Atkinson, the New Mexico U.S. Attorney and an arm of the Attorney General and the Justice Department, knew about the taskforce’s activities.
“They knew,” Mitch said. “The sons of bitches knew and they let it happen.”
Something nagged at her, poked at her about some report she’d read—was it a report? Her mind went back a few months. Was it only a few? Maybe more. They let it happen.
“Oh, Mitch.”
“What?”
Can’t be. She swatted Mitch’s hand off the mouse and started clicking. When was it? Spring. Maybe late winter.
“What?”
“I’m looking for something.”
Scanning her directory, she sorted the files by date and started clicking, opening multiple files at once. If she saw it, she’d know it. She closed the top file then the next. Nope. Next one. There. The email from Donaldson. His weekly round-up. Third paragraph.
She pointed to the screen. “There it is. Son of a gun.”
Mitch read the document and grunted. “So, during a briefing, the president said his administration has been directed to take aggressive steps to stop the flow of illegal assault weapons.”
“Yes. That was in April. When did Tommy become part of the taskforce?”
Mitch shrugged. “Maybe June? I remember it was warm. We went fishing one day and he told me he’d be going to New Mexico. He couldn’t give me details.”
“Talk about a timeline. Unless we are way off base, which we could be, the president knew about this taskforce in April. Whether it was his idea or someone else’s, my guess is he knew something was in the works.”
“Jesus,” Mitch said. “This could go all the way to the top.”
Caroline angled sideways and lunged off of Mitch’s lap for her burn phone sitting on the strip of counter next to the tiny sink.
“Who’re you calling?”
“Donaldson. I want some answers.”
“He won’t tell you anything.”
“He will if I threaten to go to the Judiciary Committee.”
“Whoa. Let’s think about this a minute.”
“Oh, now, this is a first. You’re telling me to take a breath? No, Mitch. Judiciary is the way to go. If New Mexico’s U.S. Attorney knew about this operation, it stands to reason his ultimate boss, the Attorney General of the United States, did too.”
“And since the Attorney General is responsible for all things Justice Department, including ATF’s fuck-ups, well, our options are limited on who we can go to for help. And where’s the deputy AG in all this? He’s the filter for his boss. He has to know.”
“Even if the AG and DAG didn’t know, the minute an agent wound up dead from a gun used in a federal investigation, they’d be brought up to speed. In Tommy’s case, this makes sense. The AG and DAG are told Tommy died from a gun traced back to this straw buying operation and suddenly we have a sealed case file.”
Mitch propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his head in his hands. “This is fucked up.”
“Mitch, we have to move on this.”
Finally, he sat up, shoulders slumped. Where was the Mitch Monroe Warrior King she knew? Buried under a mountain of grief, that’s where. She squatted in front of him and rubbed her hands over the sides of his thighs. “It’s okay. We can do this. I know what I’m doing.”
“You’re wrecking your career. You know they’ll all say you blew it for me. A woman destroying her career because she couldn’t keep her legs closed. It’s the one thing you never wanted. And now you’re going to walk straight into it. Caro
line, slow down and think about this. What about your father? His company has government contracts. You don’t think the government will retaliate by cancelling those contracts?”
Her father. She hadn’t considered that. For once, she’d let her emotions rule and had ignored the obvious. Mitch Monroe strikes again.
But really, she couldn’t blame him this time. This time, the responsibility sat with her. Outside of Mitch initially asking for her help, he’d done nothing but remind her of the risks.
Risks she’d willingly accepted.
She lowered her head to his knee, rolled it side to side and breathed in. The clean, fresh scent of his jeans made her think of the lake right outside this broken-down camper and the quiet pleasure she’d experienced that morning.
I want that life.
Risks be damned—her father would want her to do the right thing.
She brought her head up and studied Mitch’s face. His hair was loose around his face, his jaw sporting a couple days’ worth of stubble, and his eyes…tired, disheartened, worried. Did he really want her to back away from this? Or was he saying that to relieve his own guilt?
Either way, his bland expression—the relaxed mouth, the slightly raised eyebrows, the steady gaze—gave away nothing. Nope, this was all up to her.
“I’ll call my father and give him the short version. I guarantee he’ll tell me to go for it. A good man is dead and he won’t stand for that.”
Mitch ran his hand over the top of her head, then tugged her ponytail. “Just be sure. I don’t want this to be my fault. That’s all. I couldn’t stand that. This has to be your decision.”
“It won’t be your fault.” She stood, but bent over to drop a kiss on him. “I promise. This time, it’s all me.”
Caroline—God bless her secret rebellious, scheming heart—had lost her fucking mind.
Mitch sat back in the cheap chair and stared up at the ceiling while Caroline was outside talking to dear ol’ dad. If this went bad for her, the guilt would kill him. All this time, he’d been obsessed with what could have been with Caroline and now here they were again, taking a shot. The way his luck was running, that shot would wind up severing his balls.
To that, he laughed. “Damn, Monroe, you’re a magnet for bum luck.”
But hey, there was no time for this boo-fucking-hooing. He jumped out of the chair, gave his ass-dragging body a good stretch, and listened for the sound of Caroline’s voice through the camper’s vinyl walls.
Silence.
Maybe she was done with her Dad. He swung the door open, ducked out and scanned the area. She stood by the lake, arms at her sides, staring out at the water. The morning sun skittered across the surface leaving glistening peaks where fish—or whatever else—disturbed the surface.
He made sure to give the door a good slam and she angled back.
“You finished?” he asked.
She gave the lake one last look then marched back to him. “I am. Talked to my Dad. I told him I was working a sensitive case and couldn’t share details. He wasn’t happy that I lied, but he understands. He also told me to do what I needed to do. He’ll support me.”
“Does he get what we’re up against here?” Caroline rolled her eyes and he held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just making sure you’ve outlined it for him. That’s all.”
“I did. He’s aware we’re about to piss off the federal government.”
“Now I know where you get it.”
She smiled. “What are you talking about?”
“No gray areas with you. It’s right or it’s wrong and you have no problem acting on it if it’s wrong. I guess you get it from him.”
“Pretty much. I also left Donaldson a message. If he doesn’t give me answers I go to Judiciary. It would help if we knew someone connected to either the committee chair or ranking member. I think the chair is Senator Colson.”
A bird whipped by and cruised above the lake’s surface. Right then, standing on the shoreline taking in nature, Mitch decided in his next life he wanted to be a bird and fly around all day. Helluva life.
“Mitch?”
Laughing at himself, he shook off contemplations of reincarnated birds. Senator Colson. “The one from Pennsylvania?”
“No. Arkansas.”
Mitch thought about it. “Grey knows someone on Oversight. It came up after The Lion case. I’ll call him.”
“All we need is a contact. It doesn’t have to be the chair or ranking member. That would help though.”
Mitch pulled his phone from his back pocket, ran his thumb over the screen. This was it. If he made this call and Grey knew someone, there’d be no turning back. He glanced at Caroline.
She stepped closer, set her hand on his chest, her palm flat against him and the realization that everything had changed hit him. Before last night, she’d never have touched him like this. For that alone, he should be thankful.
“It’s okay,” she said. “All for one, remember?”
Tommy’s face, laughing and happy, flashed through his mind. Kemp’s followed, his last jabs at Mitch that night at Rock Creek making him smile through the fist squeezing his heart.
One for all. He scrolled his contacts and hit Grey’s name. Voicemail. So, okay, that would buy them some time to see if Caroline heard from Donaldson.
Once again, they were rolling, he just wasn’t sure where they were heading.
Chapter Twenty
At 10:30 Caroline’s burn phone rang. She checked the ID. Donaldson’s number. She glanced at Mitch, once again behind the wheel of the truck as they headed to the motel to relieve Brice. The poor guy had been awake all night, and with Maria safely at work in a hospital with massive security, he’d gone back and crashed in her room.
At least he’d get a real shower. Caroline might have to make use of that bathroom herself because, despite rinsing her hair in the lake, it wasn’t clean.
“It’s Donaldson,” she said tapping the button. “Foster.”
“Foster, if you were a man I’d say you stuck your dick in the wrong hole.”
That set her back some. Donaldson was an idiot, but he’d never—ever—used that kind of language with her. Later, she’d thank Mitch for insisting on driving—and forcing her to relinquish control—because after hearing Donaldson’s crude statement, she’d have run them off the road. “Sir?”
“My meeting is over. The Deputy Attorney General joined us via video. I was not aware he’d be attending.”
Caroline snapped her head sideways and Mitch gave her his what the hell face. “The deputy AG?”
“Shit,” Mitch muttered.
“Foster, you might as well put me on speakerphone. If Monroe will hear this, I want him getting it straight from me. No miscommunication.”
Caroline put the call on speaker and held the phone between her and Mitch. “Yes, sir. We’re both here.”
“You are in the shit now. The deputy AG ripped us all new ones for allowing this operation to get so far out of control.”
Mitch made a left into a supermarket parking lot and parked in the nearest spot. “I need to concentrate.”
Caroline nodded and went back to Donaldson. “So, the DAG and the AG knew?”
“I don’t know how much they knew, but on some level, they did. Now they’re scrambling.”
Mitch rubbed his eyes. “Well, yeah. They don’t want this shit-storm connected to the White House.”
“What are they going to do?” Caroline asked.
“They’re going to start by issuing a warrant for the arrest of Jesse Lando. They need to do something to save face.”
Caroline gasped.
Mitch banged his open palm on the ancient steering wheel and the thump vibrated inside the truck cab. “Knew it.”
“But, sir,” Caroline said, “Jesse was Tommy’s informant. He was cooperating.”
“Well, that cooperation might have just bought him a life sentence.”
Oh, the damned politics of it all. Caroline squeezed her eyes cl
osed. The big-shots, as Mitch suspected, were about to tidy this mess up. “Sir, that’s not right.”
“I know, Foster. I know.”
“We need to do something.”
“Hold up here,” Mitch said. “Where is Tommy in all of this?”
Donaldson went silent.
“You son of a bitch.”
Caroline stared at Mitch, once again gawking. He’d definitely lost his damned mind. “What?”
Without looking at her, he pointed. “Go ahead, you motherfucker, tell her.”
“Mitch!”
“No, Caroline. They’re going to do exactly what we thought. They’re going to fuck Tommy over to save their own asses. Goddammit, I hate politicians.”
Well, she wasn’t willing to let that happen. Not when any agent, like herself, could have been in Tommy’s position. “Thank you for this information, sir. I’ll be sure to keep you out of this.”
“Look, Foster, I’m a lot of things, but I protect my agents.”
“I know that, sir. We may disagree on certain things, but I know you go to bat for good agents.”
“Damn straight. This is bullshit. But I don’t know how much I can do.”
Could they trust him? She didn’t know. Honestly didn’t. But simply having this phone call could get him fired and he, being the SAC of the D.C. field office, was acutely aware of that. And he still chose to have this conversation. Which meant she might be able to nudge a bit more from him.
“There’s one thing.” Mitch shot her a look and she made a slashing motion to shut him up. “We could use a list of all the agents involved in this taskforce. The agent we’ve been in contact with…well, I don’t need to get into it. We need to find another agent.”
Silence streamed through the phone line, but Caroline waited. Mitch shifted in his seat and if she knew him at all, she suspected he was about to say something. She held her finger to her lips. What Mitch had failed to learn about Donaldson was, that in the war of silence, he always flinched.