Stealing Justice (The Justice Team)

by Misty Evans

His ex-partner huffed. “That’s the problem with your systems, Grey. You build them so they’re rock solid, but then the enemy goes and screws them up and you freak. That’s the art of war, buddy. You can’t control what happens. You dodge, he parries. You can’t keep everyone safe. The enemy will yank you around and do things you don’t expect, but you can’t retreat every time he does.”

  Retreat? Hell. “You don’t understand.” She’s all I’ve got besides you. “She’s not a trained undercover agent. And after last night? She’s got a big red target painted on her back. You want me to say, ‘oh, well’ and see what happens? I’ll tell you what’ll happen. He’ll kill her, that’s what.”

  “Or maybe he won’t. She’s smart and tough and you’re watching her back. I’d say The Lion’s met his match.”

  The toast popped. Grey snagged a piece and buttered it with too much strength, ripping the top. Grabbing the next piece, he tried again, only to rip that one too. Screw it. He tossed the knife, let it clatter on the counter. Molly. “If she dies...”

  “She’s not going to. Not on your watch.”

  He braced his hands on the counter. “She’d be crazy to want to go back in.”

  “If she’s willing, you’d be crazy not to let her.”

  Oh, she’d be willing. After all the years of profiling people, that was one thing he knew. She never backed down from a fight. “I’ve spent two weeks with her and I know her better than I know the killer after profiling him for a year.”

  Monroe slapped him on the back, refilled his coffee cup. “Sounds like love to me.”

  A stomach cramp brought him upright. “Just because she’s the first woman I’ve brought here...it doesn’t mean squat.”

  “If you say so.” Down the hall, Grey’s bedroom door squeaked. Monroe headed for the back door. “But remember, He-man, she makes the call about The Lion and this case. Not you. Art of war, buddy. Art of war.”

  His exit was as quiet as his entrance. Grey stared at the mangled toast, testing his mental strength over sending Syd, with that God-awful target on her, back into The Lion’s den.

  “Who were you talking to?”

  Her voice startled him. He swung around, looked into those beautiful eyes, and felt his heart pinch. How could he ever let her set foot outside this house again? “No one.” Holding up a piece of toast, he noticed she was wearing another of his T-shirts, the hem hitting her just above her sexy knees. “I was swearing at the toast.”

  Her eyes cut left, then right. She didn’t believe him. “You killed the toast.”

  “I’ll make more.”

  She laughed, grabbing the piece from his hand and sinking her teeth into it. “Tastes fine and I’m starved. Let’s eat.”

  The eggs were definitely overcooked, but she ate with relish. Meanwhile, he pushed the food on his plate around with his fork, wondering how to bring up the case and the fact he wanted to take her off it.

  She wiped her mouth with a napkin and brought it up herself. “I’m not quitting, Grey. I know you’re going to stroke out about this, but I’m bringing down The Lion. Period. No arguments.”

  Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he ignored his heart, beating hard and fast. He’d been kidding himself to think his new partner would let him pull her off this case. Now more than ever, after the torment and mental agony she’d endured, she was determined to bring Ahmed Khourey to justice. He’d have to deal with it. Or lose her completely.

  “Okay,” he heard himself say through gritted teeth. “Let’s talk about our next step.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Syd heard Ian’s voice in the shelter’s entry hall and closed her eyes. Barely nine o’clock and she had to face him already. She knew it would happen eventually, she’d just hoped it would be later in the day.

  But, here she was, seated at her desk waiting for her boss to rip into her because she’d refused to be degraded. Because she’d refused to let a man make her a sexual slave and defile her in any way he saw fit.

  Wasn’t that what Syd had been fighting for all these years? So women would respect themselves and not let horrid men abuse them?

  An image of Jennifer in the limo floated through her mind. Syd didn’t know any more. Days like today, it seemed a losing battle.

  At any moment, Ian would finish his usual greeting to the women in the common room. He’d head back to her office where she would be a good little soldier and fall on her sword. All in all, as much as she hated the idea, Grey might be right. Having The Lion pissed off at her wouldn’t help their investigation.

  Nope. She’d have to play the dutiful girl and apologize. A sour taste flooded her mouth. After what that sick maniac almost did to her, she’d barely be able to look at him, much less speak to him.

  The thud of footsteps sounded against the wood floor in the hallway and Ian appeared at her door. As usual, he wore one of his lean designer suits and his short hair was in perfect order.

  He stepped in, closed the door behind him, and set his briefcase on the edge of her desk. “Good morning.”

  “Hi.”

  After shooting his cuffs and giving his tie an adjustment, he dropped into the crappy metal chair across from her desk and sighed.

  The sigh weighed about five thousand pounds. Exactly how her subconscious felt at the moment.

  “What the hell did you do to Ahmed Khourey last night?”

  Time to face this and try to salvage all the work she’d put in. She made a show of breathing deep and pressed the fingers of both hands into her forehead. “Ian, I’m so sorry, but you told me I was going to have dinner with Nabil, not Ahmed. I wasn’t expecting…well…things got...out of hand.”

  “Apparently.”

  She dropped her hands to the desk. “What did Ahmed say?”

  “That’s just it. He didn’t say.” Suddenly, his whole face lit with a grin. “Whatever you did to him, he wants more of it. And fast.”

  Horror poured over Syd. Quicksand. Quicksand that would slowly pull her under and asphyxiate her.

  The man wanted more of a gun pointed at his crotch? “Pardon?”

  Ian laughed at her. “He called me last night and wanted to meet this morning. He’s utterly enchanted, Syd. So, whatever you did to him, do it again. The guy is goo right now.”

  I threatened to blow off his dick. “I don’t understand.”

  Ian snatched his briefcase—a ridiculously expensive one made of the finest leather—off the desk. From inside, he pulled a purple gift bag that had been crushed by his files. “He asked me to give you this. Sorry about the bag. I wasn’t going to walk around with a purple bag.”

  Gently, she reached for the gift, almost afraid to touch the thing because hell, after last night, it could have some kind of poison on the handle.

  Except, Ian seemed perfectly fine.

  A super spy she was not.

  “He sent me a gift?”

  “He did. I’m telling you, Syd. You hit the jackpot.”

  She reached into the bag and squeezed the white tissue paper. Something soft. Slowly, she unwrapped the tissue and spotted a flash of pink. Bright pink.

  Oh, crap.

  An urgency shot through her—fear, sickness, she didn’t know. All she knew was she had to be sure the gift was what she thought it was. If so, she’d supremely underestimated the level of insanity she was dealing with.

  And she had plenty of experience with insanity.

  She ripped the last of the paper away. Left sitting in the middle of her desk was a bright pink veil. The one she’d had The Lion tie himself to the door with.

  A freakish snapping shot up her arms. If she didn’t already think he was a madman, this might be the capper.

  “It’s a veil,” Ian said.

  “I know what it is.”

  “I think there’s a note.”

  Of course there was. The Lion wouldn’t miss an opportunity to taunt her. She dug the small envelope out of the bag and tore into it. Thinking of Grey and his never-ending lectures, she gr
ipped only the very edge of the note in case fingerprints were needed.

  Carefully, she slid the paper out and opened it, laying it flat on the desk next to the veil.

  For a most fascinating woman. Your beauty, inside and out, is unparalleled.

  I look forward to our next moments together.

  She breathed in, held it for a second, and let it out. Okay. Seriously screwy this guy. She had no idea what to think. Was this a threat? As in, their next moments together would be extremely perverse and painful for her? Or did the sick son of a bitch really enjoy having a gun pointed at his crucial man parts?

  “Ian, I walked out on him last night and now he sends me a gift?”

  Ian leaned forward and smiled that slick lawyer smile that worked on all the female judges. Most of them anyway. “I believe he enjoys the chase, Syd. Keep this up and you’ll be dragging a proposal out of him before the week is up.”

  My ass.

  In a swift move, she shoved the veil back into the bag. She’d take care of the note after Ian left. No sense touching it again when she could pick it up with a tissue or just slide it into a baggie from the kitchen.

  “Did he expect an answer to this gift?”

  Ian shrugged. “No. He’s a powerful man, Syd. He sends a gift and it’s accepted. End of conversation. He did say he’d like you to accompany him to a fundraiser tomorrow night. It’s in Georgetown. Private residence. Big shot central. Also huge money for you. Five grand. That’s the most he’s ever paid.”

  Syd sat back in her chair and blinked a few times. This was a first. She threatened to shoot the man’s penis off and he wanted a date. And he’d pay her five thousand dollars. Ahmed Khourey might want to rent the movie Fatal Attraction so he could see just how demented women could be.

  If that didn’t deter him, she’d be stuck accompanying the psycho to an event.

  Alone.

  She sat forward again and folded her hands on the desk. Not alone. Grey. “What about security? Can you get me the guy from the other night? He was good. He stayed out of the way, but was always in my sight.”

  “Syd—”

  “No, Ian.” She picked up the bag and dropped it again. “This guy is nuts. Do you know what this veil is?”

  No answer.

  “I tied him to a doorknob with it so I could run from him. That’s how terrified I was.”

  Ian’s lighthearted composure slipped a notch, and he opened his eyes a little wider. Cleared his throat, then did it again. “Let me see what I can do.”

  He didn’t even ask why she was so terrified. Hard to believe that just a few weeks ago she’d respected this man like no other. To her, he’d been a hero. Now, he was someone who thought it acceptable that women were put in jeopardy so he could make money.

  “And I’m not having sex with him. Make sure he knows that.” She pointed at the bag. “All his games are not leading up to the big bang. I will not have sex with him.”

  Ian stood. “Okay. Okay. I’ve got it. No sex and you want security. I’ll talk to him.”

  “If he agrees, I’ll go to the fundraiser.”

  She’d just have to make sure she didn’t wind up alone with him.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sydney’s next. Sydney’s next.

  Grey fired his Glock at the paper enemy in rhythm with the refrain. The Front Range training center was empty for a Wednesday morning. Only he and one other shooter were present at the shooting range.

  You didn’t save your sister. You won’t save Sydney either.

  When his cell phone rang, he almost didn’t hear it, what with the earplugs and the damned voice in his head hammering home the guilt.

  Once he’d laid down the Glock and pulled the plug from his right ear, he didn’t look at the screen, just answered “Greystone”.

  “Grey?”

  Sydney’s voice sounded different. Tense. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” Could have fooled him. “No. I’m not sure.”

  Grabbing the Glock, Grey headed for his office. The blowback from the previous night had started, he would bet his badge on it.

  If he still had a badge. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it. Did the dickweed fire you?”

  “Dickweed?”

  “Goldberg.” Grey entered his office and shut the door. “I assume he found out about what happened with The Lion.”

  “Um, sort of. Ian showed up today with a gift from Ahmed.”

  Grey’s blood went cold. “What kind of gift?”

  Sydney cleared her throat, struggling to sound composed. “The veil I made him tie himself to the doorknob with. There was also a note.” She read the note and assured him she’d handled all of it carefully in order not to damage The Lion’s fingerprints. Atta girl, but…shit. “He wants me to attend a fundraiser with him tomorrow night.”

  Double shit. Not the blowback Grey had expected, but the bastard was sick and there was an underlying threat in the words of the note. The trained professional half of Grey’s brain wondered if The Lion had given gifts to the murdered women. He’d have Monroe check into that.

  The dark voice dominating the other half of his brain chanted, Sydney is next and it’s your fault.

  “I said I would do it.” Once more, her voice sounded like the Syd he knew. Confident. Determined. “With you for security, of course. I’ll never be alone with him, and if you’re there, I’ll be safe. But if I keep playing it safe, we’re never going to make progress on getting that evidence you need.”

  Grey unlocked the gun safe behind his desk and extracted his Delta Force KABAR knife and two extra gun clips for his Glock. Locking the safe, he pocketed the weapons. “I’ll take care of making progress. You just sit tight and stay safe. I’ll call you later.”

  “What’s up, Fed Boy? You sound…off.”

  He was off alright. He was losing his flipping mind.

  Locking his office, he headed for the back door, the voice in his head egging him on. “The Lion’s playing a game, but he won’t kill you. Not yet. He likes to draw things out. If you feel uncomfortable at the shelter or at home, go to my house. Don’t take any chances. I programmed the camera at the security gate to recognize your car and you know the combination to get in the house. I’ll have my phone off for a while, so if you can’t reach me, don’t panic. On the off chance Ahmed comes near you, aim that peashooter at his face and pull the trigger. Got it?”

  “What are you going to do?”

  He stepped out into the employee parking lot. The early-morning sun was bright, but lacked heat. “I’ll call you later,” he said again and turned off his phone.

  Twenty minutes later, after disarming The Lion’s security system, he slipped inside the back door of the Georgetown brownstone. Monroe had told him the Khourey’s itinerary on Wednesdays. Both Ahmed and Nabil, accompanied by their security detail, were on Capitol Hill lobbying and schmoozing with their fellow Middle Eastern counterparts to sway American congressional representatives in various international diplomatic debates. Then they would swing by the Lebanese Embassy and send a report home to their ministry. After that, lunch. He had two to three hours before either man might return, and the Lebanese diplomats living next door were also gone.

  It was time to send a message to The Lion.

  Time to quiet the dark voice hammering at his brain.

  He started in The Lion’s bedroom. The KABAR knife made a sizable hole in Ahmed’s goose down pillow, and some of the tension left Grey’s shoulders as he imagined the man’s face in that spot. A little tug, and oops, feathers flew over the satin bedding. Too bad.

  A picture of Ahmed and Nabil with the rest of their family in Beirut ended up on the floor and crunched satisfactorily under Grey’s boot. Inside The Lion’s closet, the knife ripped through silk suits and premium leather shoes. In the bathroom, Grey’s gloved fist made contact with the mirror that the bastard admired himself in. Glass shattered, dozens of pieces raining down on the counter and tiled floor.

  Grey
fisted a towel and tossed it on the floor, picked up The Lion’s electric, self-cleaning razor and dumped it in the toilet. Why not?

  The office was next. The laptop sat on the desk in the same spot. Sliding the tip of the KABAR knife into the molding, Grey leveraged weight on the handle and popped the plastic case apart.

  “Come to Papa,” he said to the rectangular casing protecting the hard drive. It was tempting to destroy that case and toss the shiny disc into the toilet with the shaver, but smarter to take it with him. Disconnecting the case with careful fingers, he tucked the small black box inside a jacket pocket.

  The key he’d found before was still hidden under a file cabinet drawer. Again, he wondered if it went to a safe that contained the killer’s trophies. Removing the key, he slid it into his pocket and began tossing the office like a skilled criminal. He came up empty-handed in the safe department, but another level of tension eased. The voice inside his head grew quieter, if no less damning.

  Frustrated, but more clearheaded than he’d been in the past twelve hours, he started to head downstairs to check the basement. The yellow veil hanging on Nabil’s bedpost once again caught his attention.

  Ian showed up today with a gift from Ahmed. The veil I made him tie himself to the doorknob with.

  The veils. The Lion had wanted Sydney to wear one. She’d run out of the house with one clutched in her hand, and now The Lion had sent her one as a reminder of their encounter.

  Retracing his steps, Grey found the family picture on Ahmed’s bedroom floor and picked it up, brushing away glass from the frame. Sure enough, both The Lion’s wife and daughter were wearing veils, but their veils were black, in contrast to the pink and blue veils Ahmed was handing out. Where was he storing them? Not in the bedroom or office. Grey tore the picture in half, folding the half with the mother and daughter before sticking it in his pocket with the hard drive.

  Nabil’s room was a pigsty compared to his father’s. Grey picked his way through piles of clothes on the floor and dirty dishes stacked on every open surface to get to a high-end computer and a surround sound system most people installed in their home theaters. Bringing the computer out of sleep mode, he bypassed the password and looked at Nabil’s files. Most were the usual stuff, and there were a few files Nabil had hidden and password protected for safekeeping. Probably porn. Grey returned the computer to sleep mode and headed to the basement to hunt for trophies.