Injustice For All

by Robin Caroll

  Nick shook his head and grabbed the transfer paper. He slapped it in front of Rafe. “I hope Darren appreciates your friendship.”

  “Let it go, Nick.” Rafe lifted the pen, hovering the ink over the signature block.

  Oh, God, give me the strength to go through with this. It was the right thing to do—the only thing—but Rafe felt the prospect of his career advancement slipping from his grip.

  Images of her bright smile flashed across his mind’s eye. Guilty heat spawned in his veins as he drew in a shaky breath, then scrawled his name on the line before passing the sheet back across the desk.

  His boss took the transfer paperwork, glowered, tossed it onto a stack, and let out a heavy sigh. “I guess that’s done then.”

  Rafe stood, his legs weaker than when he’d stormed into the SAC’s office. “Thanks, Nick.” He thrust his hand across the desk. “For everything.” His voice thickened heavier than the tension.

  “I hate to lose you. Especially like this.” But Nick’s timbre shook along with his hand.

  Rafe couldn’t let himself get too emotional. Wouldn’t. This was a job. Wasn’t like he was changing careers. He was still FBI. Still doing what he loved and what he was gifted to do.

  He’d just do it in Little Rock instead of Memphis, and probably never be promoted.

  Clenching his jaw, he gave Nick a curt nod and hustled out of the office before he changed his mind and ripped up the transfer request.

  Back at his desk, he resumed packing his personal effects into a box. Framed snapshots of Darren and him in the academy. At their graduation. Darren’s wedding. Rafe’s certificate of commendation went in, followed by the paperweight of Savannah’s handprint at age two.

  Niggles of doubt poked at Rafe’s conscience. He ignored them and closed the box. Hoisting it, he took a final glance over the space he’d called his second home for eight years, then turned and marched away.

  His stride didn’t falter until he reached his truck. His muscles bunched as he placed the box in the passenger’s seat. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to run back and tell Nick it’d all been a mistake. A huge mistake.

  But he couldn’t.

  Wouldn’t. He’d sacrifice his own dreams because of his promise. His vow.

  His guilt.

  Rafe forced himself to slide behind the steering wheel and turn over the engine. The truck roared to life. He stared at his reflection in the rearview mirror. How had he aged so much in mere weeks? Even the gray strands at his temples had multiplied.

  He slammed the truck into gear. Frustration pushed his foot harder on the accelerator. The tires spun on the loose rocks in the parking lot. Rubber squealed against pavement.

  Less than twenty minutes later found Rafe whipping into his driveway. His neighbor had placed three more political signs in his front yard, bringing the total to eleven. There should be a property owners’ association rule on how many signs could litter a yard.

  His lawn, on the other hand, had a more formidable presence. The forlorn FOR SALE sign flapped in the wind. The Realtor said it might take several months for the house to sell, considering the economy. Probably a good thing. He could do the paperwork from another state. Would make it easier on him. Signing away the home he’d come to love would make his moving all too real.

  Too permanent. Too final.

  No, he’d made up his mind and wouldn’t look back. This could be an adventure. The start of a whole new beginning. It’d be fine. It’d be great.

  Once inside the house, he finished packing the last of the boxes. He capped the permanent marker after labeling, then stood back and glanced around his home. Everything was set for the movers tomorrow morning. Eight o’clock sharp, the salesman had warned.

  The house already had the stuffy smell of empty.

  The doorbell chimed.

  He maneuvered around stacks of boxes and wrapped furniture to the door and swung it open.

  “So, when were you planning on telling us you were moving?” Riley stood with her hands on her hips.

  He sighed. “I told you weeks ago that it was a possibility.”

  She pushed her slight form past him, barging into the house. “A possibility doesn’t put your house up for sale.” She spun in the middle of the living room. “A possibility doesn’t have all your possessions packed in moving boxes.”

  He shut the door, then leaned against the back of the couch. Yeah, he should’ve told Riley and Maddie, but the image of his sisters’ faces had stopped him cold.

  “Well? Don’t you have anything to say? Were you just going to leave without saying good-bye?” Her penetrating blue eyes undid him.

  “Oh, Ri.”

  In an instant she was in his arms, clinging to him as if to root him in Tennessee. Her sobs ripped apart his conscience. “Shhh.”

  “But . . . but you can’t move. You can’t leave us.” Her voice was so much like Mom’s: hoarse, throaty. Her words clawed against his heart.

  “I have to.” The words inched past the lump of emotion clogging his throat. “I don’t have a choice.”

  “What about me and Maddie?”

  “Y’all will be fine. Better than that.” He gave her a final squeeze, then shifted to put about a foot between them. “Just think of how much trouble you can stir up without me breathing down your neck.” He forced a smile.

  She sniffled and gave a snort. “I like you breathing down my neck.”

  He laughed. “No, you don’t.”

  Riley grinned up at him. “You’re right. I don’t.” Her smile faltered. “But that doesn’t mean I want you to leave.”

  “It’s the right decision, Riley. It was down to me or Darren, and you know he can’t move. Not until Savannah is older.”

  “You don’t have to be so noble all the time, you know.” She threw a soft punch that grazed off his arm.

  He raked a hand across his stubble. If she only knew the truth. “It’s not a matter of being noble—it’s about keeping my promises.” Even the ones no one else in the world knew about.

  Riley’s eyes filled with moisture again. “I’ll miss you.”

  “Hey, it’s Arkansas. That’s not exactly a foreign country.” At least he prayed it wasn’t. “It’s not that far of a drive. I’ll even start texting.”

  “No, you won’t.” Her smile returned, lifting some of the weight from him.

  “I will. And you’ll have to come help me decorate my place.”

  “True.”

  He held open his arms again. She stepped back into his embrace. Rafe hugged her, inhaling the pure, innocent scent that was his baby sister alone.

  “I love you, Rafe.”

  His throat closed over his response.

  Day 3

  I heaved air in and out, letting the steam from the shower cloud my lungs. What was the big deal? It was just a change of hair color. Considering the more permanent, and definitely more painful, steps I’d taken to change my appearance, the hair color was nothing.

  It wasn’t that I was vain—I’d never paid much thought to my looks. In all of my thirty-two years, I never did the whole makeup thing, the tailored clothes.

  So why was I so hesitant to take this last step? What did it matter what color my hair was? It was such a minor thing . . . petty. Silly to have tears building over something so meaningless in the big scheme of things. Women changed their hair color all the time. Why was this hitting me so hard?

  Because something deep inside me screamed it would be the final step in erasing who I was. Just another form of death . . .

  No . . . my former self. I could no longer be that person.

  I liked who I was. Not many people can say that, but I could. Honestly. I enjoyed my life. And now I had to change everything.

  Like I’d had a choice
? This wasn’t some random decision I made just for kicks. Something to do because I was bored. This change could save my life.

  Would save my life.

  I tightened the belt of my robe although it wasn’t loose and exhaled, keeping my eyes closed. My hands trembled as I reached for the thick towel covering my hair. I yanked it off but refused to look.

  The wet terry cloth hit the hotel bathroom’s polished floor with a muffled thud. It seemed to echo off the walls decorated with modern-art paintings. I sucked in another breath.

  Touching my hair, I noticed it wasn’t as soft as normal. Yeah, it was wet, so how could I really tell? Maybe it was only my imagination. Maybe I was freaking out over the menial stuff so I wouldn’t have to deal with reality.

  Oh-my-stars. Quit being a baby. Just deal with it.

  I opened my eyes, and my breath caught in the back of my throat. Gone were the golden blonde tresses I’d stared at for thirty-two years. I swallowed. Stupid tears burned my eyes.

  No! I was disappearing. My bottom lip quivered.

  Stop it. I was alive for the time being and had to do this to stay that way. I was rather partial to breathing.

  Licking my lips, I surveyed my hair with a critical eye. It wasn’t bad. Just different. But no more drastic than the changes I’d made to my face.

  I wiped the ornate mirror over the bathroom sink and took stock. The Botox injections had caused some redness and swelling, but that disappeared yesterday. My lips were left fuller, my cheekbones less pronounced. Now that I’d gotten used to wearing the green-tinted contacts covering the natural blue, my eyes took the color of a bright aqua. I leaned closer to the mirror. The caramel hair dye with coppery highlights brought out the freckles sprinkling the bridge of my nose.

  All in all, not too bad.

  I’d been blessed with good bone structure, or so my father always claimed. I couldn’t do much about my slight build at the moment, but I’d start eating food to add on empty pounds even though that went against my natural grain. To actually eat meat—gag. But being a vegan was too telling.

  And telling could get me dead.

  Grabbing the comb from the counter, I pulled it through my hair. They would expect me to change its color, but I had to. The blond was too recognizable. Too distinct. But they’d also expect me to cut my long hair, so I wouldn’t. Not yet, anyway.

  So much to keep track of. All the little particulars. But those minuscule details were what they’d find most telling.

  And I didn’t want to be heard. Couldn’t afford to be.

  I set the comb back onto the counter, slipped the 9mm into the pocket of my robe, and crossed the carpet of the suite to the bed. As I passed the hall door, I checked to make sure the security latch was engaged. I glanced under the door—no shadows from someone standing on the other side.

  If they followed protocol, and I was pretty certain they would, the airport and bus station would be swarming with agents on the lookout for me. They’d check all the places I was known to frequent. Then they’d check every dive hotel in a hundred-mile radius. When there was no sign of me, they’d assume I’d slipped right past them before they got the word out.

  I felt pretty safe in the downtown Peabody Hotel. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t keep my firearm with me at all times.

  Reaching the window, I yanked the curtains shut. Unless someone was Spider-Man, I was safe on the twentieth floor. But I didn’t want to gaze at the darkening sky. An Arkansas January was about as bleak as my life at the moment. Cold and depressing.

  Letting out a sigh, I set the gun on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the luxurious down comforter, clenching and unclenching my fists. The situation I found myself in was deplorable. Horrible.

  With shaking hands, I lit a cigarette. I held the smoke in my lungs. Wasn’t certain, but after many years of smoking, I thought I could feel my anxiety dissipating like the steam in the bathroom. I exhaled as slow as I could, letting the enjoyment linger. I’d really miss smoking.

  Visions of my godfather tiptoed across my mind. I pinched my eyes shut, refusing the tears access. I couldn’t afford to wallow in grief or anger. Or confusion.

  But what I’d found in his safe befuddled me. I thought I’d known Daniel. He’d been my guardian since my own father had been murdered when I was a little girl. I’d loved him without condition. All but hero-worshipped him. Yet, if what I suspected from the documents I’d taken were true, I hadn’t known him at all. And that ripped me to the core.

  Staring at the attaché case on the room’s desk brought me no comfort. The documents I’d taken from the safe sat inside, tormenting me with their secrets. Along with a lot of cash and an atlas.

  I took another long drag off the menthol. The coolness soothed my throat.

  I had a plan. Something Daniel had taught me—always have a backup. For years I’d followed his example and kept a good sum of cash on hand in the event of emergency. Nothing like what he’d kept in his safe—over fifty thousand—but plenty to run. Combining both stacks of cash would let me start over with ease.

  But I’d rather have Daniel to laugh with me. To toss me his special sneer when I said something he found amusing. To give me a hug when I needed it most.

  I took a final puff off the cigarette before crushing it into the ashtray. Maybe now my fingernails would whiten up.

  Falling back across the bed, my fingers automatically scraped against the comforter. The scratching sound echoed in the silent room. Once again tears threatened to overtake me. I’d had to leave Whiskers behind. I missed her. Missed her tickling my nose. Missed her rough tongue bathing my fingers. Missed her purring. Someone would take care of her. No matter how much I longed to have her feline self with me, I’d have to get a dog.

  Every single action I took would have to be weighed. Considered. Even down to what pet I owned and what type of soft drink I consumed. I couldn’t take the risk of some minor detail outing me.

  I rolled onto my stomach and buried my face in the pillow, everything inside me screaming. In rage. In mourning. In fear.

  Curling into the fetal position, I allowed myself to . . . feel. The tears washed over me. Poured out of me. Ripped from my heart.

  I’d pull it together and get on with what I had to. In a minute, I’d dress and get ready to meet Smitty to pick up my new identity. From there, I’d embark on this new life of mine. I’d follow the paper trail Daniel had left in his safe to a state I’d never visited. Unfortunately my godfather had failed to leave direction of what he wanted me to do with the information. I’d have to play that by ear.

  But, for now, I’d just let myself feel.

  And mourn what was, and what could never be again.

  Chapter Three

  “All mankind is divided into three classes: those who are immovable, those who are movable, and those who move.”

  BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

  “You come highly regarded from SAC Hagar.” Alphonse Jackson pinned Rafe to the hard-back chair with a penetrating stare. “Says he hated to lose you.” He arched his brows, creasing wrinkles across his forehead. “Says you were one of the best agents he’d ever worked with.”

  The clear invitation to explain why he’d requested the transfer, which obviously the paperwork stated had been a request, stood gaping like a wide yawn. But Rafe didn’t want to go there. Not yet. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I’m excited about the opportunity to work in this office.”

  Jackson narrowed his black eyes, then laughed. “That’s a diplomatic reply if I ever heard one.” He crossed his designer suit-covered arms over his massive chest.

  “Yes, sir.” Rafe dared not smile.

  The Special Agent in Charge of the Little Rock field office stopped laughing and cocked his head. The man was, in a word, intimidating. Built like a middle linebacker, Jackson had hard lines et
ched deep into his face like a stone wall. Unmovable. “I hope you understand we didn’t request any transfers. Our unit is doing just fine. The bureau is leveling out the number of agents based upon jurisdictional coverage.”

  The SAC didn’t want him here—Rafe got the message loud and clear. But what could he do? “Yes, sir.”

  Silence ricocheted off the walls adorned with certificates of achievement and merits of commendation. Rafe’s racing pulse echoed inside his head as the hint of his new boss’s cologne wafted in the closed office.

  Jackson clapped his hands together. Rafe sat rigid, refusing to show his unease to his new boss.

  “Well, let me get my ASAC in here and introduce you. He’ll show you around.” Jackson lifted the receiver, growled out an order, then slammed it to its cradle. “We’re a tight group. Like family.”

  “I understand, sir.” Rafe’s hope plummeted to his knees. He knew it’d be hard to fit in but hadn’t expected such animosity. Especially from the boss. Everyone else would look to Jackson as an example of how to treat the new guy.

  Rafe was sunk.

  The door swung open before Jackson could finish his lecture.

  “Good, good.” Jackson stood. “This is our new field agent, Rafe Baxter.”

  The fifty-something man who stood about two inches shorter than Rafe’s own five foot ten extended his hand. His suit, while not designer, was clean and crisp and draped appropriately over the agent’s bulky frame. “Lars Hartlock.” His husky voice indicated many years of smoking.

  Rafe rose to accept the offered palm. The man’s handshake was firm, oozing confidence. “Nice to meet you,” he managed to mumble.

  Jackson grunted. “Hartlock’s been around this office for a couple of decades. Hope to keep him around for at least one more.”

  The Assistant Special Agent in Charge grinned at Rafe. “Don’t let Alphonse fool you—he knows I’m itching to take the bureau’s offer for early retirement.”

  “Don’t blame you. The incentives the bureau’s offering makes a man sit up and take notice.” Especially with an ASAC rank. Made the difference of several thousand on the retirement package.