Protecting Justice (The Justice Series Book 4)

by Adrienne Giordano

  Her mouth was dry, her tongue thick. Were the sirens getting closer or was the ringing in her ears getting louder? Agony in her back, her chest. “Tony?”

  He brushed hair back from her face with his free hand. “I thought I’d lost you,” she heard him say over the hissing in her ears.

  She turned her face up to his and smiled past the pain. “You’ll never lose me. I’m yours.”

  That’s when she saw the blood print, like a flower blooming on his shirt. Her blood.

  The bullet had torn straight through her.

  “I…love…you…” The words were hard to form. She couldn’t get enough air. But she needed to get them out. “Tony, I love…you.”

  His hands were on her, pressing something into her chest. He stared down into her eyes, anguish on his face, in his voice. “Fallyn, don’t you dare. Swear to God, don’t you dare die on me.”

  This man. He was like no other. She loved him to her very core. He’d made her feel whole again, like she belonged after a lifetime of always feeling like the odd man out. Rejected by her mother, neglected by her father. “…not…dying…” she managed to whisper.

  But she felt incredibly cold, the light around Tony’s face dimming. “…just…need…sleep.”

  “No.” He shook her. His voice broke as he spoke. “Keep your eyes open, Fallyn. For me. Please, honey, keep your eyes open.”

  She wanted to, but the darkness seemed to want her more. Her lids were heavy, her body a lead brick. She couldn’t move her fingers, couldn’t feel her feet. Another man’s face swam into view above Tony’s. Matt.

  His face was screwed up in an oh, shit look and Fallyn knew exactly what that meant.

  She closed her eyes.

  Tony shook her again. “Fallyn, fight it.”

  She blinked open her eyes. There he was. Her man. The love of her life.

  Not enough time. Don’t close your eyes. Every second with him counts.

  But then people in blue uniforms came in behind Tony and Matt, pushing them aside and hovering over her. She knew they were touching her but she couldn’t feel it.

  Fighting the sensation, she forced her eyes to stay open, but she couldn’t help it. Without Tony to pin her gaze on, she drifted away.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Fallyn was half dead.

  Tony stood in the hospital hallway outside the surgical waiting area, his back against the wall, his shoulders back, his body tall in his typical all’s fine here stance. Anyone walking by wouldn’t blink at him. Just an average guy waiting.

  That’s what they’d see. That’s what he wanted them to see.

  Inside?

  Fucking train wreck.

  Another one. He’d left her and now… Jesus.

  Matt stepped out of the waiting room, swung his head left then right, his gaze landing on Tony. So much for wanting to be by himself after an hour of questioning by the PD. Plus, staring at Fallyn’s father wasn’t helping.

  Escape.

  That’s all Tony could think because the man’s broken expression, the sunken eyes and hollowed cheeks, only reinforced the misery.

  Total failure.

  Matt met his eyes and started toward him. “Tony, holy Christ, I feel like an asshole. She walked right by me. I thought she was clear.”

  They all thought that. That’s what Tony had told him. She’s good, he’d said. A pain in the ass, but safe.

  Tony looked away, focused on the bland white wall across from him and a picture flashed of Fallyn, on the floor, her long hair fanned out around her, her face dangerously pale.

  Bleeding out.

  Something in his brain broke loose, snapped at him. Just like the judge, she’d bled out in front of him.

  Almost.

  “Not your fault, Matt. This one’s on me.”

  Gaze fixed on the wall, his heart slamming hard enough to break a few ribs, he inhaled, sucking enough stale air to make him gag.

  He ran both hands over his head, the full weight of what he’d done landing on him.

  Fallyn nearly dead.

  And he’d shot Jordan.

  An off-duty Supreme Court police officer had just shot a woman. The first time he’d discharged his weapon in an emergency and he’d hit her center mass.

  Matt propped an elbow against the wall. “Any updates?”

  “No. Both still in surgery. Jordan’s father is here.” Tony jerked his head. “He’s in the waiting room.”

  His phone rang. Grey. Who was down in the ER getting checked out and waiting for a bed. What a fucking cluster.

  “What’s up?”

  “Don Fox. He’s in DC.”

  Tony boosted off the wall. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Teeg is texting you his address. We need to turn that video over to Agent Bronco. Then, my guess is Bronco will haul ass to Fox’s. I’m kinda busy here in the hospital. Can’t get to a phone to call Teeg and tell him to send that video. You get what I’m saying here?”

  He got it. “You’ll give me a head start?”

  “At least an hour.”

  Ha. Had to love Grey.

  “Any word on Fallyn?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You want to stay here?”

  He should. He should stay right here and wait for Fallyn. Wait for her to come out of surgery.

  Dead or alive.

  He should be here.

  But…what?

  She’d want him figuring out why her sister had to die. And Grey was giving him a one hour free pass at the man who could tell him.

  Standing around like this? Fallyn would hate that. Like him, she wanted action, result-oriented action. Constantly.

  “No. Send me that address.”

  He hung up and turned to Matt. “You wanna run shotgun on something? Help me question a witness before the feds get to him.”

  “If it’ll help you, yeah. Let’s do it. Whatever you need.”

  A doctor pushed through the double doors, made eye contact and turned into the waiting area. “Pasche?”

  Fallyn’s doctor. “Give me a sec and we’ll roll.”

  He hustled over to the doorway leaving Matt still leaning on the wall. Fallyn’s father jumped from his seat and the doctor strode up to him, pulled him to the side. Tony took two steps. Wait.

  Not my business.

  Family matter. Who the hell was he in this? Busting into the middle of it wouldn’t score him any points with the old man. Particularly since he’d let his daughter get shot.

  He’d wait. Give them privacy and hopefully Mr. Pasche would update him. If for no other reason than he’d stayed. After calling Mr. Pasche from Fallyn’s phone, upon his arrival at the hospital, Tony had introduced himself, given her father a decidedly scaled down version of what had happened and helped the man to a chair.

  Where he’d asked to be alone. Tony couldn’t blame him. The recent days, after losing Heather had been enough of a blow. Now coupled with Fallyn?

  The man was wrecked. Flat-out destroyed. First Heather and then Fallyn.

  Now he stood, taking in whatever the doctor was saying and—oh, shit—his shoulders dropped and Tony’s stomach squeezed.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  He couldn’t hear. Even in the agonizing silence of the room. Not a damned thing. So he watched, studied Mr. Pasche’s body language. The partially open mouth, how he rubbed one hand over his forehead. What did it mean?

  Horror?

  Or relief?

  He said something to the doctor who spun away angling around Tony and nodding, his expression lacking any telltale.

  Another one he couldn’t read. Terrific.

  Mr. Pasche looked over at him and Tony waited. But, dammit, he needed some answers. Inappropriate or not, he needed to know.

  He closed the distance between them, stopped a foot in front of Fallyn’s father and squared his shoulders. “Mr. Pasche how is she?”

  “She’s…alive. Thank God.”

  Alive. Tony looked down at his feet, closed his
eyes a second, let relief—finally—squeak a victory. Alive. Good. That was good. He huffed out a breath, met Mr. Pasche’s gaze. “She’s in recovery?”

  “Yes. The doctor said she’ll be out for a while. Hours probably. He said I should go home. Get some rest and come back in the morning.”

  Go home. Ha.

  The man rubbed his hands over his face, then plucked at his stained shirt. “I was at work. I stink like garlic.” He laughed. “My Fallyn hates that. I’ll go home and shower. Get cleaned up and come back.”

  Tony nodded. “Do you need a ride?”

  “No, son. Thank you.”

  Son. Wow. That knocked him a little sideways. Hundreds of men had called him son. Somehow, this time, coming from Fallyn’s father, it meant…something.

  “Sir,” Tony said, “I want you to know, I care for Fallyn. Very much. She’s…special.”

  The side of Mr. Pasche’s mouth quirked. “I figured that out. I didn’t expect a business associate to stay here.” He waved at the chair behind him. “I’ve been sitting here wondering just what my daughter means to you.”

  What she meant to him? Good question. “A lot,” he said. “Beyond that, I don’t want to comment. You’re her father and she and I have things to talk about. If I’m going to tell someone how I feel about her, she should hear it first.”

  Because, damn, he’d blown it. His only job had been to keep her safe and he’d fucked that up good. And then that blowout they’d had didn’t help. How would she ever trust him again?

  Mr. Pasche clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Go home. Get some rest.”

  Rest?

  Forget that. What he needed was to find Don Fox and pin a murder on Jordan. That scheming, deceitful, traitorous bitch.

  If she survived, by the time Tony got done with her, she was gonna wished she’d died.

  * * *

  Tony strode up the walkway to Don Fox’s door with Matt in tow. The interior of the home, a cushy brownstone in one of the finest neighborhoods in DC was dark. Not a surprise at nearly midnight but the man was about to be woken up.

  “I’m gonna badge this guy. Get him to open the door.”

  Matt shrugged. “Works for me.”

  Tony pressed the doorbell. Inside, a chime rang out. “Fancy.”

  Under the glare of the streetlight, Matt nodded. Tony waited another few seconds and gave the door a couple of solid raps.

  “Coming!” a man yelled from inside. “Who is it?”

  Tony held his badge to the pane of glass next to the door. “Police, sir. We need to speak with Don Fox.”

  After a few seconds, enough time for Fox to study Tony’s badge and decide, yes, this might be important, the door whooshed open. A skinny guy in his thirties, short reddish hair, nodded at them. “I’m Don Fox.”

  Tony didn’t wait to be invited and walked right in. “I’m Officer Tony Gerard.”

  He didn’t bother to introduce Matt.

  “Come inside.”

  A brunette—maybe mid thirties, maybe younger—wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe appeared at the top of the curving staircase. “Donnie, what is it?”

  “Business, hon. Go back to bed.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Now. Go back to bed.”

  Fox led them toward the back of the house, through the kitchen to a family room and waved them both to chairs.

  “What’s this about?”

  “Heather Pasche,” Tony said.

  Fox’s shoulders tensed, the movement so slight Tony had almost missed it. Nice try, Ace.

  “Sorry,” Fox said. “Can’t help you.”

  Oh, what the fuck? Tony sat forward, rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. “You don’t know what we’re going to ask. Or do you?”

  He had Fallyn laying in a hospital bed because he couldn’t protect her and he wasn’t about to let this asshole skate. Fox knew something and with any luck, he could tie Jordan to Heather’s death.

  “Mr. Fox,” Tony said, “are you familiar with a woman named Jordan Lomax?”

  Fox shifted his gaze to Matt, then back to Tony. “Again, what is this about?”

  Tony sighed just as Matt’s phone chirped. He checked the screen, grunted and stood. “I gotta take this.” He pointed to the back door just off the adjoining kitchen. “Can I go out this door?”

  Fox nodded then rested his head back, closing his eyes for a second. Yeah, buddy, the shit’s hitting the fan.

  Tony dove right in. “Look,” he said, “I work for Fallyn Pasche. Who, as we speak, has just gotten out of surgery due to a bullet that shredded her back. After she started poking around about her sister’s death and”—he held his hands out—“guess what? Found you.”

  Still with his eyes closed, Fox rolled his head from side to side.

  Okay. If this guy wasn’t going to pony up, Tony would help him along. “Dude, don’t be stupid. We got one hell of a mess here and I can help you. Fallyn can help you. But you need to be straight with us.”

  Fox opened his eyes, met Tony’s gaze. “What do you know?”

  Now they were getting somewhere. “You contacted Heather Pasche regarding the cover up of the disappearance of that CanAir flight. In about twenty minutes, the feds will know it too. Heather Pasche outlined it all in a video that’s on its way to FBI headquarters. If Fallyn Pasche dies, you’ll be implicated in two murders. And one of them was a United States Senator. If you’re straight with me, I might be able to help you. Fallyn, if she survives, will be able to help you.”

  Fox sat forward, dug his fingers into his scalp and gripped hard enough to make the veins in his hands pop. This guy had some serious guilt. And Tony was an expert on that. “Now is the time to talk. You talk now, you might have a shot at staying out of prison.”

  The back door came open again and in stepped Matt. “I had someone from my office at the hospital. Jordan Lomax is dead. She died on the operating table.”

  Fox lowered his hands, focused on Tony with dark eyes more than a little spooked.

  “Now we got two people dead.”

  And Tony had killed one of them. Shit.

  Matt reclaimed his seat, shot Tony a look and Tony raised his eyebrows. The we’re-almost-there-don’t-fuck-this-up look.

  “I didn’t think it would go this far,” Fox said. “It was just information being passed along.”

  Come on, come on.

  “What information?”

  “My boss. Barnard Shaw. He’s aiming for a White House run. He wanted me to find him someone who could dig up damning information on the president. He wanted the skeletons. I hired a political operative. The guy has major contacts at State and in Congress.”

  “Name?”

  Fox shook his head. “If I have to give up the name, I will, but I’m not doing it yet.”

  Tony nodded. “Okay. Fair enough.”

  “The operative stumbled into some interesting coincidences.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the president’s son flying out of MacDill hours before the CanAir flight was shot down. Like, a maintenance guy taking a photo of the president’s son climbing into the cockpit of his plane that same night. Our operative pieced it together with the CanAir disaster and ran with it. He assumed the President ordered the mission. The cherry on top was his son firing the missile that took the plane down. He didn’t have proof though. Not rock solid.”

  “How does the senator play into this?”

  “My boss needed proof and our operative couldn’t get it. We needed someone inside Foreign Relations and he’d made hefty donations to her campaign.”

  “Foreign Relations? Because they were doing the investigation into the crash?”

  “Yeah. My boss figured if he could buy off a senator, he’d be privy to whatever they had.”

  If all this legwork led to them finding out Heather Pasche was on the take, Fallyn would be devastated. The best spin-doctor in the world couldn’t manipulate into something usable.
<
br />   But he had to know. Had to. “He bought off Senator Pasche?”

  “He tried. She wouldn’t bite.”

  Jordan.

  “But her assistant did.”

  Fox shrugged. “I don’t know who. My boss never said. It was someone in her office though. I couldn’t stand the whole setup. Hiring an operative to investigate was one thing, nothing illegal about that. But this whole CanAir thing involved the deaths of hundreds of innocent people. The collateral damage was off the charts. There were Americans on that flight. All to get one terrorist? No way. I didn’t like it. Any of it. I resigned and called Senator Pasche to let her know she had a mole. I also gave her copies of the reports and the photos the operative had given to us. I felt it was my duty. She was on Foreign Relations. I figured she’d know how to deal with it all. She assured me she’d protect me. That was the day before she died.”

  Tony sat back, somehow not believing that Heather Pasche was handed evidence that her boyfriend had shot down a plane filled with Americans.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  One day later

  Fallyn ran a comb through her hair and tried to get her thoughts together. Her team was due at the hospital any minute. She’d told them not to come, but they wouldn’t listen, insisting on driving down from New York City.

  She hated them seeing her like this, in a hospital bed, barely able to move. Her compact mirror showed her skin was vampire white accentuating the dark circles under her eyes. One jaw sported a bruise from her tussle with Jordan.

  But as long as her team was coming to see her, she planned to put them to work.

  “Ms. Pasche? Fallyn?”

  Fallyn snapped her head up. A tall, handsome man with light blue eyes and a military buzz cut stood at attention just inside the door, a cap in his hands.

  “Ryan.” Lowering her compact, she motioned at him. “Please come in.”

  He rolled the cap in his hands. “I’d like to speak to you about a couple of things, but if this is a bad time…”

  The hair, the eyes, the ramrod straight posture. The bachelor article she’d buried for the president had it right. Ryan was a catch. Oh, Heather. No wonder you fell for him.