Stealing Justice (The Justice Team)

by Misty Evans

  Jennifer snorted. “Cindy, you need to get with the program. Sooner or later, you’re gonna need to give it up.”

  Oh, no I won’t.

  “Sure,” Jennifer continued, “I’ve dealt with my share of bite marks and sore muscles, but this is what these pervs pay for. You get used to it. At least with Ahmed he doesn’t hurt. He may like it rough every now and again, but he doesn’t hurt.”

  “But you could get out, right? If you wanted to.”

  She shrugged. “Why would I want to? I live in a condo overlooking the Potomac. Every shoe I own is designer. This is the life I want and if putting up with the pervs gets me there, you can be sure I’ll do it.”

  Syd shook her head. “I don’t understand that. Is the money worth it?”

  Finally, Jennifer turned to her and their gazes locked for three long seconds. “Yes. It’s worth it. A few more years of this and I’ll be set for life. That’s what I’m holding out for.”

  Unless she got killed in the process. Stupid woman. “I don’t see how putting yourself in that kind of danger makes it worthwhile. No amount of money is worth that.”

  Believe me, I know.

  “Then what are you doing here?” Jennifer asked.

  Syd would have liked to tell her she was trying to save her ass, but that would really send Fed Boy to the looney bin. Hell, maybe he could be neighbors with her mother and she could visit both of them on Saturdays.

  She shook off the nastiness of that thought. “So, you’re just going to keep doing what you’re doing? Letting these men hurt you if they feel like it?”

  “They don’t all hurt. Just a few. Those are the ones who pay big, though. I’m used to it.”

  Used to it? Syd shook her head and stared out the window. This misled woman allowed herself to be used by these men. For money.

  And who was Syd to tell her she couldn’t do that? Legalities aside, what right did she have to tell another woman how to live her life? Or how to achieve her independence.

  Maybe she and Jennifer weren’t so different. They were both women who supported themselves rather than relying on a man to do it.

  Didn’t that just scare the hell out of her.

  Jesus, he was losing it. Cracking up.

  His head pounded. His throat was tight. Gripping the edge of Sydney’s kitchen countertop, Grey wanted to rip the damn thing out.

  Sydney. She’d nearly blown everything. The mission, his cover, her own safety.

  Yes, she was smart and tough and fearless. She was also reckless, running on self-righteous indignation and her own sense of right and wrong.

  He’d done that for years and look what it had gotten him.

  But he was a trained agent, an ex-soldier. If the mission went critical, or his life was in danger, he could handle it.

  If anything happened to Sydney…

  His heart thumped like a bass drum, pressing up into his throat and cutting off his air. He felt like he was walking on a high wire during a hurricane. Any second he’d tumble off and Sydney would get hurt. Or worse, die at the hands of a killer.

  History repeating itself, the damned voice inside his head added.

  Jesus.

  Leaning over the sink in the dark, he tried to calm his emotions, to expand his lungs. Control. He had to control his emotions.

  Sydney isn’t Molly.

  His sister’s face swam into his vision. So young. So innocent.

  So dead because of him. Because of his inability to protect her from a predator.

  Grey hit the countertop with a fist, making the coffee pot jump and a dirty plate in the sink clatter. I’m so sorry, Molly. I won’t let my guard down again. I swear.

  “Grey?”

  He wheeled around, saw Sydney standing in the doorway. She flipped the wall switch, flooding the kitchen with light. Her eyes had shadows under them, her lips were pinched.

  A hell of a night for both of them.

  Facing the sink again, he ignored the defensive look in her eyes. She might be wrung out from her hours at the Panthera, but she was obviously ready to argue him into the ground for his reluctance to interfere with The Lion and Jennifer. For his riding her to maintain her cover. For his refusal to let her go off script, even though she’d chucked his carefully crafted script into the garbage the moment she walked into the place.

  Grey didn’t want to argue with her. Strangle her? Yes. Hug her to him and never let her go? Yes. But, argue? They were two trains about to collide and the result would be a tangle of hurt feelings and destroyed trust. He could never explain the crazy-assed emotions rolling through him, fucking over his mind and making him mute. Couldn’t even sort out and explain them to himself. How could he possibly explain what he was feeling to Sydney? A woman who trusted no one.

  The shrinks had tried to convince him that Molly’s death wasn’t his fault. Pointless exercise, that. It was his fault and he could never make up for walking out on the patio that day to take the call from JSOC. Could never take back the fact he’d welcomed a predator into his house, against his old man’s wishes, and turned his back on the bastard.

  “I know you’re pissed.” Sydney tossed her purse—a tiny silvery thing that matched her heels—on the small table and shrugged off her jacket. “I didn’t follow your plan and blah, blah, blah, but I’m not apologizing. What was I supposed to do? Look the other way? You’re convinced this guy is a murderer and you’ve got me all crazy with thinking Jennifer could be the next woman on his radar. Well, you were probably listening, but here’s some breaking news for you; he’s a decent guy and treats her well. He doesn’t abuse her like some of the others. She actually enjoys him. And I walked in because you have me all churned up. You need to stop, dammit! I don’t know what I’m doing. All I have are my instincts and you can’t expect me not to intervene if I think someone is in danger. And this time, I was wrong. I’ll admit that, but it’s partially your fault because of this obsession you have with The Lion.”

  Knowing he’d lose the thin control he had on his emotions if he so much as grunted, Grey clamped his teeth together and stared out the window into the dark night.

  She brushed by him to grab a glass out of the cabinet, then filled it with orange juice from the fridge. “You were blathering in my ear, that Jordanian diplomat was grabbing my ass and The Lion was ignoring me and going after Jennifer. I had to do something to make sure she was okay and you were no help at all. I told you I’d try to do things your way, but I have to trust my intuition. Sacrificing an innocent woman to keep from blowing my cover is out of the question. I won’t do it.”

  He gripped the edge of the counter, ground his teeth.

  Leaning a hip against the counter on his left, her gaze bored into him. She sipped her juice. “You’ll be happy to know Jennifer isn’t interested in my help. She likes the money enough to let these men get rough and demean her.”

  Her perfume teased his nostrils and he wanted to pull it into his lungs, but he still couldn’t draw a deep breath. This was his fault. He’d wanted a renegade like himself to work this mission and now he was paying the price.

  “Grey?”

  Knowing it was a bad idea, he glanced at her. Confusion knit her brows as she searched his face. “Are you sick or something?”

  His roiling stomach and throbbing head certainly fit the sick ticket. But he couldn’t hide behind lame excuses for what he was feeling.

  He also couldn’t untie his tongue to answer her. The system wasn’t working. Not for him, not for her. He had two choices: pull the plug or break down the system and rebuild it.

  Logic reasoned that they were closer to The Lion than any law enforcement had ever been. Tweaking the system was all that was needed.

  His gut rejected the thought. Sydney’s in danger.

  She’d been in danger since the beginning, but now it was personal. He cared too much for her, no matter what arguments he told Monroe or his stupid heart.

  Sydney wasn’t one to be ignored. She touched his arm, gripping
it and forcing him to turn toward her. “What the hell is wrong with you? You haven’t said squat since I came home.”

  If she’d just touched him, he would have been gone, total putty in her hands. The irritated annoyance in her tone, though, sent his anger spiking all over again.

  Jerking his arm out of her hold, he stepped back, his voice low and husky from the control he was trying to maintain. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

  She blanched, whether from the look on his face or the dangerous edge to his voice, he wasn’t sure. Instead of turning away again, he advanced on her, towering over her even in her heels. “What the hell is wrong with me? I’ll tell you what’s wrong with me. I picked a woman who wants to save the whole goddamned world to be my partner on this black op mission and she’s determined to throw herself into the flames of hell no matter how hard I try to keep her safe.”

  Her shields went up the moment he invaded her personal space. Her stormy blue-gray eyes shot missiles at him. “I don’t need saving. I told you that before and I’ll keep telling you that until you finally stop with the knight-in-shining-armor crap. I was doing just fine before you showed up with this stupid mission and I’ll be just fine when you pack up your flashy suited ass and leave. You picked me for a reason, and if you want my help, then deal, but don’t you dare tell me to turn my back on a woman who’s being abused.”

  He knew better than to touch her, but gripped her upper arms anyway. “I won’t let you jeopardize yourself for someone else.”

  “Why? Because I’m female? Because you have some hero complex? You wouldn’t treat Monroe like this, would you?”

  “Oh, please. Don’t turn this into some kind of feminist bullshit.”

  “Feminist bullshit?” She fought to get free of his hands. “How dare you.”

  “How dare I what? Give a shit? Want to keep you safe?”

  Whack! She slapped him. Just like that. One second she was struggling to get free of him and the next, because he said he cared for her, she nailed him.

  He deserved the slap. He’d invaded more than her personal space. He’d manhandled her, and invaded her heart as well.

  Walk away. Cool off. Give her some space.

  Releasing her arms, he stepped back. He was out of bounds on all counts. “I’m sorry.”

  Give yourself some space.

  He started to walk away and got as far as the table when Sydney tackled him. She locked onto his suit jacket and jerked him backwards. “Oh, no, you don’t get to walk out in the middle of a fight. I don’t do passive-aggressive, in case you haven’t noticed.”

  Passive aggressive? He’d show her passive aggressive. Facing her, he wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her up against his chest. Before she could say a word—God, she was a talker—he bent down and kissed her. Hard.

  Her pinched lips softened under his. He lifted her off the floor, placed his other hand behind her neck and bent her backwards, continuing to kiss her as he held her in his arms.

  He waited for her to kick him in the nuts. When she didn’t, he slid his hand from her waist to the small of her back, massaging the tense knot there. She moaned into his mouth, grabbed hold of his shirt collar and pressed her breasts against his chest.

  The tightness in his throat released. He breathed deep, drawing Sydney’s perfume into his lungs.

  The kitchen table was right there, waiting for him to lay her down and possess her. But no one possessed Sydney Banfield. All he could hope for was a peek into her soul. For a chance to show her how much he wanted her. How much he appreciated her. To show her why he worried about her.

  It wasn’t enough to fix the problems between them. In fact, it would complicate things further. Logic dictated he break off the kiss and set her down.

  But her hands were inside his shirt now and apparently frustrated with the limited access they had, she fisted her hands in the fabric and pulled. Buttons flew. Sydney laughed.

  Table, here we come.

  Shifting both of them around, he sat her on the table and shoved a half-empty box of cupcakes to the side. He almost knocked them to the floor, but she said, “Don’t waste those, Fed Boy,” as she jerked his jacket down his arms.

  The jacket dropped to the floor. “Or what, Sydney? You’ll shoot me with your girly gun?”

  Her eyes danced, fueled by his challenge. She clasped the back of his neck and brought his mouth to hers. Their teeth banged together but she laughed again and kissed him thoroughly, both of them breathing hard when she broke it off. “Don’t make fun of my gun or you’ll be sorry.”

  Gripping her thighs, he pushed her legs apart with his own. Her dress was tight and she couldn’t accommodate him the way they both wanted.

  Until the fabric ripped.

  Her legs spread wide, making room for him as he shoved his hips forward seeking the sweet spot he longed for. The dress ripped a little more, but instead of freaking out, Sydney grabbed his ass cheeks and slammed him home.

  Sweet Jesus.

  Their eyes locked and he couldn’t resist goading her. He lifted the lid of the box, grabbed a cupcake, and tossed it over his shoulder. “Idle threats.”

  She narrowed her eyes, undid his belt buckle, and ripped the leather belt out of the loops. “Reach for another cupcake.” The belt made a soft snick as she smacked it against the tabletop. “Go ahead. Just try it.”

  “I don’t need a cupcake,” he said, sliding a hand inside her dress’s top and cupping the soft flesh cocooned there.

  Her eyelids fluttered closed and she arched into his hand, the expression on her face priceless. Heat, lust, desire. Her hair was mussed and her lips were swollen from their kissing. When she spoke, her voice was soft and sexy. “What do you need, Fed Boy?”

  Her. He needed her.

  And the condom in his wallet.

  But he was past talking. Need burned in his veins and his erection pushed painfully at his zipper. Sydney shoved off his shirt and went after that zipper, and although he’d planned to take their first time slow and easy, she had a different idea.

  Dog on a bone.

  A minute later, they were both naked, her legs wrapped around his waist as he pounded into her. She guided his fingers into another place to create additional friction, the table squeaking on its legs and slamming into the wall over and over again as the rhythm they created built to a frenzy.

  Her first orgasm came fast and hard and she called out his name, her fingers digging deep into his flesh. He held her through it, checking his body’s reaction, and trailing kisses over her jaw and down her neck as she pulsed around him and then drifted in weightless abandon.

  Before he knew it, she wiggled her hips against him again. Captured his mouth for one of those soul-sucking kisses. He started a slow, teasing motion, pushing forward and drawing back, enjoying the tightness he encountered, but Sydney didn’t want to go slow. In another burst of motion, she grabbed his ass cheeks and took over their pace.

  Her second orgasm came a few seconds later, taking him over the edge with her. He let go of everything—his anger, his frustration, that god-awful guilt that ate him alive every day—and just let himself disappear in Sydney-induced ecstasy.

  In the aftermath, the two of them lay across the table breathing hard, limbs entangled, and the cupcake box perched precariously on the edge. His body in a happy fog of sexual release, he grabbed a cupcake and showed it to Syd. “Guess you won’t have to shoot me now.”

  She smiled lazily but her eyes were filled with mischief. “Don’t count on it.”

  “Oh, yeah?” He peeled off the paper, offered her a bite. “I can think of some pretty interesting ways to waste some cupcakes if it makes you act like this again.”

  She laughed a full-belly laugh, jiggling him with it. “I can think of some pretty interesting ways not to waste those cupcakes and still have this kind of fun.”

  He nibbled her lip where frosting was stuck to it. “Show me.”

  Her eyes flashed at the challenge. “You’r
e on.”

  And sweet Jesus on a stick, she loved a challenge as much as he did. An hour later, the cupcakes had been put to good use and Grey knew he’d never find another woman like the one using angry sex as a weapon and licking frosting off of him on her kitchen floor.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After her weekly visit with her mother and that bitch-on-wheels Number Seven, Syd stepped through her front door and found Fed Boy sitting comfortably on the sofa.

  Again.

  Was nothing in her control anymore? Not even her own space? Still, the man was a sight for sore eyes. She glanced at the bakery box sitting on her battered coffee table. Hopefully he’d brought extra they could make use of while she took her frustrations out on him in a purely carnal way.

  “Hey, fella. You need to stop breaking into my house.”

  He smiled, all white teeth and the sexy stubble on his unshaven face. Oh, baby. She wandered to him and pointed to the box. “What did you bring me?”

  “It’s a surprise. Figured you could use them after your visit to the hospital.”

  This man might be perfect. In a psychotic sort of way.

  He sat with his hands resting at his sides so she straddled him and rolled her hips into him. “Are they for eating? Or licking?”

  He looked down at her hips. “Uh...”

  How she loved to rattle him. Such easy prey. As irritating as he was, he was also sweet and generous and someone she knew, knew, would watch her back—among other things—when needed. When she decided this, she wasn’t quite sure, but after that monster fight last night, he’d proven he didn’t scare off easily. Whether that was a good thing for the lockdown she’d put on her emotions, she didn’t know. What she did know was she liked being with him. Even when he drove her crazy.

  And she liked screwing his brains out.

  A double win.

  For all involved.

  While rolling her hips, she slid her hand under his golf shirt and twirled her fingers into the soft line of chest hair. “You’re casual today. I like when you’re casual.”

  He set his hands on her hips to still them. “Talk to me, Syd.”