It was Erin’s turn to glare. “You did WHAT? You went over my head? How dare you do that! How dare you! You know the chain of command, Mangello. Do you expect me to overlook this?”
Mangello’s eyes narrowed. “Look, Erin, Judge Easter is one sharp lady. She doesn’t go the bullshit route. She’s also got some powerful friends. Friends attached to the media. If I had suggested she call you, she would have laughed in my face. She only deals with people of her own caliber. I made a judgment call, just like Joe did. I talked to her and got exactly nowhere. And, that was after she talked to Director Cummings. Just in case you don’t know this, let me be the first to tell you that Lizzie Fox is also her attorney of record. As she kicked me out, Lizzie was just arriving, and she threatened me. Said if I ever tried talking to her client without her being present, she’d cut off my balls and shove them up my ass. That’s a direct quote. Then she added that she’d call in the media so they could watch her do it. You know she’s a media darling. She loves the limelight. Like I need shit like that on my record. And the Bureau, as Director Cummings has said, does not need any more bad press. You’re pulling in negative points by the bushel, Erin.”
“You’re making that woman sound like some kind of avenger,” Erin snarled. “I want her in here as soon as possible. Joe, do you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Landos drawled.
Erin pointed to the one clean board hanging on the wall. The name Lizzie Fox was at the top in bright red marker. “Fill it in, gentlemen, and don’t leave anything out. I don’t care how inconsequential you might think it is. We do not need to be blindsided by some media-hungry sexpot.”
The men standing in front of Erin laughed. Bert laughed the loudest. Erin wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole.
Whoa! Bert blinked as he envisioned the catfight that was more than likely going to ensue the moment Lizzie Fox walked into the building for her Q&A. He almost pitied Powell.
Erin was halfway out the door when the phone on the desk rang. Being the nearest, Bert answered. He schooled his face to blankness and flattened his voice when he said, “Director Cummings for you, Erin.” He handed her the phone.
Erin’s heart fluttered in her chest. This was a call she wished she could take in private, but she knew that wasn’t going to happen.
“Powell,” she said curtly. She listened but was unable to hide the dismay she was experiencing. “Yes, sir. With all due respect, sir, I thought I was running this task force, meaning I’d make the decisions. Yes, sir, they were my orders. No sir, federal agents do not threaten…Again, sir, with all due respect, my people react to the situation they’re dealing with at the time. No, sir, Deputy District Attorney Emery has not been questioned as yet. I was on my way to speak with him when you called. Let him go! Did you just say let him go? I understand about the unfortunate circus atmosphere. That was beyond my control, sir. Surely you aren’t holding me accountable for what happened outside. I didn’t even know it was going on until after it had gotten out of hand. Yes, I am very quickly coming to understand just who Ms. Fox is. Yes, sir. I understand, sir. Yes, sir.”
Bert swiveled around. This was the part where he almost felt sorry for Erin Powell. He thought she was going to cry any moment. He understood her humiliation. “You might want to rethink your strategy, Erin. You’re dealing with some very powerful people, who know even more powerful people. They know how to play the game. You’re the new kid on the block. Their rules are not your rules. Do you want me to show Emery out of the building?”
Erin squared her shoulders. “I think I can handle it, Bert.”
The agents watched Erin leave the office, her back ramrod straight.
“She looks like she’s going to her own execution. I give her one more week,” Landos said.
“She’s in over her head,” Mangello said. “Two weeks, maybe three, but three is a stretch. She’s going to cave.”
“I can’t believe the director appointed her to head this task force. Some women’s group must have gotten to him,” Akers said.
“Jesus, it’s only her second day on the job,” Bert said. “Give her a break. You know what, Pete, you were out of line when you had Cummings call the judge. In case you don’t know this, women hold grudges, and they are sneaky. You know that old saying, ‘Don’t get mad, get even.’ Some woman coined that phrase. Everyone knows that. You got, what, nine more months till you retire, right? I’d start worrying if I were you.”
Mangello looked sick at Bert’s words. He looked down at his watch, and said, “I’m outta here, it’s almost ten o’clock.”
Joe and Charlie followed him. Bert was left standing alone in front of the blank board. Nothing like driving a wedge between all the team players, he thought smugly. His next big decision was, should he leave or wait for Erin to get back in the office? He looked at the blank board and—grinning—wrote, “femme fatale.” He reached for his jacket. If he was lucky, he’d meet up with Jack outside. As he packed up his briefcase, he wondered how old Jack was doing going up against Erin Powell. Jack knew how to dance his way around interrogations. Bert knew Jack could reduce Erin to a basket case without batting an eye.
Just as the thought entered Bert’s head, Jack Emery was doing exactly that.
As a show of courtesy, Jack stood when Erin Powell entered the room. He knew why she was here. She’d gotten orders to release him, but she wasn’t going to let him know that. He knew from past experience how the fibs worked. Astute at reading people, Jack knew she had her marching orders, and those orders were to send one Deputy District Attorney Emery on his way.
Jack shrugged his arms to settle the sleeves of his jacket more comfortably. He made his way to the door before Powell stiff-armed him. “You going somewhere, Emery?”
“As a matter of fact, yes, I’m going home. It’s late, and I’m tired. Please, I’m asking you nicely, drop the arm.”
Erin narrowed her eyes. “And if I don’t?” The challenge was there, but Jack just laughed.
“You want to go a few rounds with Cummings, be my guest. I’m outta here, and before I leave I want to go on the record as saying I do not appreciate the strong-arm tactics you and yours used this evening.”
“No one strong-armed you, Emery. You think you’re above the law, don’t you?”
“No. Actually, I am the law in this jurisdiction, and I take it very seriously. If you want to talk to me, call my office in the morning and make an appointment. I’ll be glad to comply, but only with my lawyer in attendance.”
“You do know what the penalty is for lying to a federal agent, don’t you?”
“You betcha. By the way, I am assuming you’re Special Agent Erin Powell. Aren’t you guys supposed to identify yourselves? We’re a lot more professional where I work. Good night, Agent Powell.”
The arm went back up. Jack gently slipped it aside and stepped through the doorway.
“Were you responsible for that circus out front? Remember what I said about lying to a federal officer.”
“Well, yeah,” Jack drawled. “I put in a call to my lawyer. That was it. You guys aren’t very good at crowd containment, now are you?”
“Get the hell out of here, Emery,” Erin snarled.
Jack grinned. “See, now you’re getting it. That’s what I’ve been trying to do for the last ten minutes. Give my regards to Director Cummings.”
Five minutes later Jack was breathing in the last minutes of the fresh October air. He was about to head for the curb, where he could smoke a cigarette until he could hail a cab. He heard the voice but couldn’t tell where it came from. Bert.
“Wait five minutes, walk around the corner, and I’ll pick you up.”
Jack nonchalantly fired up a cigarette, made a pretense of looking for a cab. He took a couple of deep drags until he was sure five minutes had gone by before he turned and walked to the corner.
Just as he turned his back to the front door of the Hoover Building, Erin Powell walked outside. Her gaze immediately
went to the figure walking toward the corner. Where was Emery going? It took her only a second to make the decision to follow the man who’d just made a fool out of her. At the corner she stopped and watched as Jack got into a black Mustang. The split second the door opened, and the dome light came on, she recognized Bert Navarro. Everyone on the floor knew Bert Navarro drove a restored 1965 Mustang. Her stomach crunched itself into a tight knot. “Crap.”
“My boss just saw you getting into my car, Jack,” Bert said as he put the car in gear and peeled out onto the road.
“So what? It’s late, you’re giving me a ride home. Let them make a federal case out of it. No pun intended. What the hell is going on?”
Bert laughed. “Harry took out Parks earlier, but you already know that. Seems it took almost an hour for him to be transported to the hospital. Snafus along the way. He’s out of the loop now. Harry’s people following orders. The director called Erin and told her to let you go. She bristled at that order and gave him an argument, for all the good it did her. She lost face in front of the guys, and she’s going to take that to heart. Nellie made short work of Mangello. Seems he threatened her. Erin read us all the riot act and was bellowing about chain of command. She’s in over her head. Right now she’s got a hate on for Lizzie Fox. We all know how that’s going to turn out.”
Jack grinned in the darkness of the car. “Someone should tell Ms. Powell she’s out of her league.”
“I’m not really sure about that, Jack. You don’t know Erin Powell. She might be temporarily, and I stress the word ‘temporarily,’ out of her league, but she’ll fall back and regroup. She’s a good agent. She’s got what it takes, but, unfortunately, this task force is a thankless job. If it can get off the ground, she’s the one to do it. Having said that, my money is on the Silver Fox.”
Jack started to laugh and couldn’t stop. “I’d buy a ticket to see that little meeting when it takes place.”
“No problem. I’ll record it for you.”
“Oh, if they only knew,” Jack said.
Both men laughed uproariously.
Sixteen minutes later, Bert pulled the Mustang to the curb outside of Jack’s house. “You want to come in for a beer? It’s late, and if you want to stay over, it’s no problem. Actually, it might be a good idea. I have to call Charles, and if we hustle our butts, we’ll make the eleven o’clock news.”
“You got anything to eat in there? I’m not talking about those weeds you call vegetables. Man food.”
“Got tons of frozen dinners and some leftover Chinese. Fridge full of beer.”
“Then I’m your man. Let me get my go-bag out of the trunk.”
The go-bag was a bag of supplies most agents kept in their cars in case they were directed to hop a plane or train on the spur of the moment. The bag contained shaving gear, clean underwear, and several shirts, along with a warm-up suit. The trick was to remember to repack the bag once it was used.
“Nice night, doncha think, Jack?” Bert asked, slamming the trunk.
“Winter’s coming. I hate winter,” Jack said, opening the door.
Down the block a car stopped, the headlights off. Erin Powell watched as Bert opened his trunk and took out a bag. “Well, well, what have we here?”
Bert turned around in the open doorway, then lifted his arm and waved in Erin’s direction. “You knew she was back there, right?”
“Oh, yeah. This will give her something else to spin her wheels about.”
When Erin saw Bert wave at her before the door closed, she wanted to spit. Instead, she banged her head on the steering wheel. I must be a piss-poor excuse for a federal agent.
There was no one around to dispute her assessment.
Chapter 10
It was four minutes past eight on November 1 when Lizzie Fox climbed out of a sleek black town car in front of the Hoover Building and told the driver to wait. She shrugged her elegant shoulders, gave a slight tug to a clingy skirt that could have been fitted into her ear if she was short of closet space.
Ted Robinson, with Joe Espinosa at his side, gawked at the ravishing woman walking toward them. Long legs that went all the way to her throat, Betty Grable legs if you were from a certain lascivious era, deep cleavage, a tan that was so perfect it had to have come from a tanning bed. Ted just knew the tan was a full-body tan. The luxurious mane of silvery hair was piled high on her head, making her five-eleven height even more impressive. The makeup she wore was so flawless as to be indistinguishable. She wore enough bling to light up a dark night.
“Now that’s one fine, Goddamn good-lookin’ woman,” Espinosa muttered under his breath. “What the hell is she doing here at this hour of the morning, do you suppose?”
Ted laughed, an unholy sound.
Ted and Joe weren’t the only ones admiring the long-legged beauty. People stopped, moved out of the way, then turned to watch the lithe figure cross the open area to the front door of the Hoover Building.
Ted jumped in front of her, and said, “Hey, Lizzie, remember me? Can I have a few words with you?”
Lizzie slowly and deliberately looked Ted over like he was a worm on a stick, one she was going to shake to the ground and stomp on. Instead, she smiled, stepped to the side, and offered up a dazzling smile that had made more than one sitting judge rule in her favor. “Anything for the press. Make sure you get me full face. I don’t like side shots.”
“Absolutely,” Espinosa leered, as he focused the camera.
“So whatcha doing here, Lizzie?”
Lizzie offered up another dazzling smile. “Actually, Mr. Robinson, I was invited here this morning.” She looked around, then up at the sky. “Do you think it’s going to rain today? And here I am without an umbrella.”
“Who invited you?” Ted asked as he flicked the small recorder into the ON position.
“Some…person…I can’t seem to remember her name. Emily, Emma, something like that.”
“Erin Powell?” Ted volunteered.
“Something like that. Whatever…”
“Why?” Ted asked bluntly.
Lizzie wagged a playful finger under Ted’s nose. “Now you know I can’t be telling you things like that,” she drawled.
“Does this command invitation have anything to do with the fracas that went down here last night?”
Lizzie winked and smiled. “You’re the reporter, Mr. Robinson.”
“By the way, where’ve you been, Lizzie? I’ve been trying to find you for months.”
Lizzie winked again, and Ted got weak in the knees. He wondered what it would be like to take this bombshell to bed.
“If I told you that, then I’d have to kill you. Now, if there isn’t anything else, I’m running late. I don’t want Ms. Whatever-her-name-is to get her panties in a wad. If I’m not out in an hour, send in the troops, okay?”
“Gotcha. Can I quote you on that, Lizzie?”
“Of course. Will you gentlemen be staying on when the sale of the Post goes through?”
Ted looked like he was sucking on a sour lemon. “I hope so.”
Lizzie leaned closer to the reporter, and whispered, “I can make it happen, Ted. I’m overseeing the final legalities. I have an idea. Let’s do lunch before you write this up. I like the Squire’s Pub. Oneish or thereabouts.”
“You shitting me, Lizzie? How’d that happen?” Excitement rang in Ted’s voice as he hopped from one foot to the other. “I’ll be there.”
Lizzie shrugged her elegant shoulders. Never modest, she said, “Because I’m the best of the best, that’s why. What other reason could there possibly be?”
Ted was in such shock he was speechless for the first time in his life. So speechless he didn’t make a move when he saw Jack Emery and Judge Easter walk through the doors behind Lizzie.
When he finally found his tongue, he looked at Espinosa, and said, “Holy shit! Did you just hear what I heard? I think we should buy some hip waders because there’s going to be a bloodbath around here sooner rather than later.
”
“Yep.”
Erin Powell saw her coming, and so did the others. She cringed inwardly while outwardly hoping the others weren’t picking up on it. That was wishful thinking on her part. She hated, absolutely hated, the smirks on her fellow agents’ faces. Except for Bert Navarro, who looked like he was studying the Mona Lisa with a critical eye. She had yet to deal with Bert concerning last night’s activities.
“Good morning, people,” Lizzie said in her best low, sultry, come-hither voice. “I understand you wish to have a dialogue with me. I’m here. Time is money in my business. So, I’d appreciate it if we could get right to it. Oh, yes, one other thing. Do not ever, ever, ever, ever pull crap like this on me again, or you’ll be in the Mojave stapling papers.” The voice was now so sensual and earthy-sounding that all the agents, Bert included, wore sappy expressions as they rushed to escort her to the conference room, to get her a comfortable chair, and make offers of coffee.
“Can I run out and get you a latte?” Landos asked.
Lizzie batted her inch-long eyelashes, and replied, “Agent…”
“Landos, Joe Landos,” the agent said, falling all over himself.
“That would be just lovely, Agent Landos. Thank you for being so considerate.”
Landos was out of the building faster than greased lightning.
Lizzie looked around and made a face. The room was spartan, folding chairs, long metal table that was scratched and scarred. In the middle was a huge coffee stain that no one had bothered to clean. The walls were blinding white, the floor battleship gray. She eyed the chair and made a pretense of checking for dirt so that her five-thousand-dollar Armani suit wouldn’t get dirty. She finally sat down but ever so gingerly on the edge of the chair. The minuscule skirt hiked up so far the agents looked away discreetly.
“How’s it going, Lizzie?” Bert asked with a show of familiarity.
11. Collateral Damage Page 8
