Stealing Justice (The Justice Team) (14 page)

“Good morning, Sydney.”

She smiled. “Good morning, Grey.”

“What? No Fed Boy, today? Does this mean I’m in?”

“Oh, honey. You’re in all right. I just need to figure out how to deal with that fact.”

He shifted the car into park and turned to her. “Does it bother you? That I know?”

“No.”

He raised his eyebrows. A non-believer.

“Really. It doesn’t bother me. I thought it would, but it’s...well...freeing. There’s finally someone who knows the absolute worst about me and you’re still here. It scares me, but I feel…lighter.”

He opened his mouth, closed it again and stared out the windshield a second before looking back at her. “Holy hell. That has to be the best goddamn thing anyone has ever said to me.”

She grinned and gently ran her fingers over his smooth cheek. A fresh shave. She wouldn’t tell him she liked the bit of stubble he sometimes wore. At least not now. Later though, she’d admit that tiny secret. She’d told him the King Kong of secrets, what harm could the little ones do? “If you think you’re shocked, imagine how I’m feeling. It’s a new day in the life of Sydney Banfield. Now, take me to see my mother.”

A few hours later, Grey watched Sydney’s long legs eat up the sidewalk as she walked out of the hospital’s main entrance. Her body language suggested it had been a difficult visit, but her steps were lighter, freer. That unconquerable spirit he loved shone in her eyes.

This had been a good idea. Getting her to face her demons. To face the past. She still had a boatload of guilt, but Grey had learned that guilt was the hardest demon to put to rest. He was his own example for that.

Sydney hopped in the Challenger, blew out a deep breath and stared out the windshield, seeing something other than the brick building in front of them.

Grey started the car. “How’d it go?”

She held up a finger. “Give me a minute, okay? I’m not used to sharing details. I need to process.”

He drove in silence, a small smile playing around his mouth. It was a simple thing, driving her to the hospital and back, and yet it ranked up there with the other high points in his life. Even if she didn’t want to discuss the visit, he’d won the lottery. He’d gotten her to trust him.

Sydney was so lost in her thoughts that when he took a left on Melrose, he was amazed she noticed. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

A curious light lit her eyes. “I like surprises.”

“I know you do.”

For the next five minutes, she badgered him, but he held firm and refused to give her a single hint or confirm or deny her guesses. He liked seeing her squirm. He only hoped their destination wasn’t too much of a letdown.

When he pulled into Polka Dot Confection’s tiny parking lot, she squealed.

“Guess you’re not disappointed?” he asked, shutting off the car.

“Are you kidding? You read my mind.” She batted her eyelashes. “I’ve been craving your cupcakes for the past two days.”

He laughed. “Nice innuendo. You have a dirty mind.”

She laughed with him. “Moi?”

“The sign says the flavor of the day is mocha frost. I wonder if that’s any good.”

Opening her door, she bailed. “Let’s find out.”

Inside, the woman behind the counter greeted Grey as she would one of her regulars. Which he was these days. The owner, a woman in her late thirties with a sunny disposition, had been patient with him on his previous visits while he’d hemmed and hawed over what Sydney might like. Now that the object of his indecision was there with him, the owner’s cheerfulness took a nosedive. Her smile was forced and the look she shot Sydney didn’t escape Grey’s attention. Jealousy? How…interesting.

“What can I get you?”

Grey opened his mouth to answer, but Sydney stepped forward, paying no attention to the owner’s chilly attitude. She pointed into the glass case filled with the bakery’s signature polka dot confections as well as the advertised mocha frost cupcakes. “We’ll take half a dozen of the special and half a dozen of those pink and white swirl cupcakes. Are they raspberry?”

The owner gave a reserved nod and went about filling the order. Grey paid while Sydney snagged napkins and a plastic knife, and before they were back inside the car, Syd was hauling out one of the raspberry cakes and slicing it into four sections. “We should have grabbed coffee, too,” she said, placing a piece of cupcake in front of Grey’s lips.

He took the proffered bite. Enjoyed the explosion of raspberry and lemon on his tongue. “I know a place that makes better coffee than here.”

Driving two miles down the road, he pulled into a McDonald’s drive-thru.

“Come on.” Syd said around a mouthful of cupcake. “Mickey D’s has better coffee than Polka Dots?”

“’Fraid so.” He ordered two large coffees and they hit the road again.

“It’s such a beautiful day.” Syd blew on her coffee. “We should take a drive.”

He wasn’t due at Front Range for a couple of hours. Most of his clients worked days and wanted lessons in the evenings or on weekends. “Where would you like to go?”

She thought it over. “Your place. I want to see where the great FBI agent lives.”

“Not much to see.”

“Are you holding out on me? After the day I’ve had?”

He pointed at one of the mocha cupcakes. “Give me one of those.”

She did and he kept driving, out of the city and into the burbs. “If you’re not going to take me to your place, how about showing me where you work?”

“Front Range?”

“Unless you’re taking me to see Quantico.”

FBI headquarters was definitely out. “They won’t let me in.”

“Why not? I thought this whole off-the-books mission was for them.” She gave him an appraising glance. “You never did make good on your promise.”

“What’s that?”

“You said you’d tell me the whole story once you were sure the people who screwed you wouldn’t screw me. I assume you got them to pony up some kind of deal, or I wouldn’t be working with you right now.”

She had him there. Plus, she’d ponied up the goods on her mother. He owed her one. If nothing else, just to even things out in this twisted game of who-trusts-whom. Even if he only provided a watered down version of the truth. He took the off-ramp for Front Range. “My partner and I were working a case. We stepped on some toes, took some nasty heat. Things went bad with our boss and Monroe challenged him. Went rogue. I covered for Monroe instead of kowtowing to our boss and got myself fired.”

She studied him a moment. “I get the feeling there’s a lot more to that story.”

“Women’s intuition?” he teased, trying to throw her off his scent. He didn’t like being the bone Sydney chased.

“And now you’re stuck with me. Another renegade partner.”

“Yeah, but you’re way cuter. Better legs, too.”

They shared a laugh and Grey wondered when he’d felt so at ease with a woman. He took a drink of coffee, angled the Challenger into Front Range’s parking lot. “Here we are. But I’m warning you, there’s not much to see. A couple of different gyms where we teach self-defense lessons. A gun range for weapons management. A conference room for security seminars.” At Sydney’s raised brow, he explained. “Companies pay a lot of money for seminars for their employees. They’re a waste of time in my opinion. No one’s going to learn self-defense techniques in a classroom, but that’s what the bigwigs want.” He made air quotes “A total package.”

“You’re good at your job.” It was a statement, not a question.

He shrugged. “I guess.”

“Do I get to meet your ex-partner?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Dog on a bone. “Because he doesn’t want to meet you. Yet.”

“He knows about me?”

Grey nodded.

“Oh, my God. That’s so not fair.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is he part of this undercover gig with The Lion? Is that the case you two were working before you screwed the pooch?”

“Perceptive as always.” He got out of the car, looked around at the wooded acres behind Front Range. The trees had just begun to turn the usual colors of fall.

Sydney joined him, coffee in hand. She breathed a sigh of wonder. “That’s beautiful. Peaceful.”

“Did you bring your gun?”

She squinted a look at him. “You know I did. What are you up to, Fed Boy?”

He was back to Fed Boy. This time, though, he didn’t mind. “Someone needs to show you how to handle that thing.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Are you a betting man? I’ll wager you twenty bucks that I can shoot as well as you. Maybe better.”

He held out a hand. “You’re on.”

Inside, he signed her in, suited her up with earplugs and protective goggles and brought up a new paper target. “We’ll start with something easy. Hit him anywhere inside the lines.”

Sydney, her face set with determination, stuck her tongue out at him, put her equipment on and raised her girly .22 revolver. Grey put on his own equipment and backed out of her space.

She fired off three rounds, all of them hitting the paper target in the central body. A satisfied smile stretched over her face. “You owe me twenty.”

He gave her an encouraging nod, the same one he used on most of his qualifying students. Then he lifted a finger and tapped his heart. “Put one here,” he mouthed.

She screwed up her mouth, faced the target again. Another three bullets hit the target, only one of them in the heart range.

One was enough. She made a face at Grey again. He smiled, enjoying her success.

Then he tapped his head with his finger.

Her eyes narrowed but she was up for the challenge. She fired off a round at the paper man’s head. Missed.

The bullet traveled right, completely outside of the paper, not just the lines. It sunk into the rubber wall behind the target.

Without a word, Grey eased up behind Sydney. She couldn’t hear him anyway, even if he did give her verbal directions. With his prestigious—a.k.a.
rich
clients—they used two-way mics to talk. Something about this nonverbal teaching lesson was more appealing.

She stiffened the moment his larger body wrapped around hers, then relaxed into him. A strand of her hair tickled his nose and his groin tightened at the way she fit perfectly against him. Struggling to keep his thoughts in line with what they were doing, he covered her hands with his. Repositioning the .22, he motioned with his free hand to explain the site line to her without having to remove her ear protection. She nodded her understanding, took a deep breath.

But he wasn’t done yet. The small handgun wasn’t much for distance. It was better for up close and personal protection. To get the most distance from it, she had to stop jerking the trigger and ease her finger down on it.

Her hair continued to tickle his nose and he drew a covert breath. Her hair smelled like strawberries again or maybe that was the bakery smell. Either way, he wanted to eat her up.

Using his finger, he pressed hers against the metal trigger, then eased back, slowly pressed again to give her the idea. She gave him a quick nod. Together, they aimed, took a breath, and held it. Then he pressed her finger and she pressed the trigger. Smooth, effortless. Bingo. Headshot.

Grey released Sydney’s hand on the .22 and stepped back. She laid down the gun on the shelf in front of her, raised her hands Rocky-style, and did a celebratory hip swing. Being the man he was, he ogled all the jiggling parts of her body and gave her a high-five.

She tore off the goggles and set her earplugs on the shelf next to the gun. “Pay up, Fed Boy. You owe me twenty.”

Grabbing her, he pulled her close and kissed her. Long and deep and slow and Grey’s world tilted on its axis. Game over. He couldn’t blame his horny ass though. Not many men could resist Sydney Banfield and her sassy, lush mouth. They were both breathing hard when he broke the kiss. “How’s that for payment?”

“That’s a bonus.” She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him again. Nothing too sexy, just a light peck. “How about the next bet, we up the stakes?”

He liked a woman who could kiss soft or kiss hard and knew when to use the right one to gain his full attention. “What kind of stakes?”

Expecting her to say something dirty, she surprised him when she said, “I want to meet Monroe. I bet he’ll tell me the whole story about you and the FBI.”

Damn. Dog on a bone again. “He’ll tell you a story, all right. One embellished so he sounds like a hero. How about I drive you home and tell you my version, the real version?”

“All the scandalous details?”

He raised three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

Ten minutes later, they were back in the Challenger cruising along a few miles over the speed limit. “Fess up, partner,” Sydney said, shifting in the seat to look at him while he drove.

Grey kept his attention on the road and worried the steering wheel with his fingers. “We were on the trail of The Lion, but he didn’t fit any of our profiles. Serial killers in this country are typically male, white, middle-aged. By percent, they live in suburbia, have a wife and kids, keep a low profile. Their neighbors think they’re good citizens. They go to work every day, pay their taxes, and occasionally, they kill. The flip side of that is the serial spree killer who travels a lot, takes his prey without much premeditation. Our killer didn’t fit either profile.

“So we came up with a new one. The first two girls were murdered in their apartments, and they had long client lists. Several of the clients matched, so we started in-depth investigations on all the clients. The FBI wasn’t excited about pouring manpower and resources into the deaths of a couple of call girls, but I discovered the false identities and the fact that both of the women were from out of state. I also found a second client list, this one full of political implications. Monroe and I knew this was going to be a problem, so we kept it hush-hush. Did our own personal investigation of several of the men on it without okaying it with our boss, Harold Donaldson. A lot of shit came out of those investigations, stuff about our darling congressmen and other officials no one knows about. Forget The Lion. This was career-ending stuff. Some of them could be sentenced to federal prison. Should be brought up on charges.”