Stealing Justice (The Justice Team)

by Misty Evans

  So he’d continued pacing and planning and worrying. Grey’s fingerprints matched his cover name, but that combination only existed in the FBI’s files. According to the D.C. police, there were three other Jason Black’s on file, none of them with Grey’s fingerprints.

  The fact that he’d assaulted a diplomat was strike number two, causing a host of issues about jurisdiction.

  Strike number three, his bail hearing wasn’t scheduled until three o’clock tomorrow.

  At six that evening, he’d been escorted to Judge Tracy Lanier’s chambers where Donaldson sat drinking a soda. Up until then, he’d been convinced Donaldson had been leaving him to sweat in order to make him pay for Grey bloodying his nose and training a loaded weapon on him. But Judge Lanier had been FBI for ten years before running for district judge. She understood undercover missions and Grey knew he could tell her the basic facts of the case without endangering it. He and Donaldson had given her enough information to rile her about The Lion and then asked for her help. She’d agreed.

  To keep up appearances, Grey’s bail hearing—or rather, Jason’s—had been moved to that evening. Donaldson couldn’t, or wouldn’t, post bail, but Monroe had sent Teeg in with a cashier’s check an hour later and now he was free.

  First stop wasn’t Syd’s or Ahmed’s. First stop was the OCME.

  Even though it was late, Dr. Smith waited for him in her office. She’d left a message on his phone while he’d been locked up that she wanted to speak to him as soon as possible. All of Grey’s cells buzzed. She wanted to tell him something important. Something she didn’t want to say on a message.

  Something she hadn’t told Donaldson.

  The night guard escorted him into the building, called Dr. Smith on the building’s phone line. A minute later, the doctor met Grey at the receptionist’s desk and walked him to a row of offices on the south side of the first floor.

  She didn’t speak until they were inside her corner office with the door shut. She motioned him into a chair as she took hers. “I requested a priority analysis from our lab on the DNA retrieved from your last victim’s body. I happen to be friends—close friends—with the forensic lab chief where Special Agent Donaldson submitted the cup and cigarette butt you provided.”

  Which meant his evidence had been fast-tracked. Grey hung his jacket on the back of his chair and sat. He wasn’t the only one losing sleep over this case. “I owe you a cup of coffee.”

  “You owe me more than that.” She withdrew four glossy pages from a file and laid them on the top of her desk. “I’ll accept your word that no one outside this room, not even your boss, knows I used my considerable influence to do you a favor.”

  Grey held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

  Satisfied, she pointed at the first glossy page. Grey’s attention scanned over the identification numbers and medical jargon in the upper right corner, landing on a set of small red boxes bookended by similar black boxes.

  “This is the raw STR data of your vic. Her STR allele repeats five times.”

  Her finger moved to the next page. “This is the raw data from the cup. A male. His STR allele repeats four times. And this one,”—she pointed to the third page lined up like a soldier with the rest—“is the raw data from the cigarette. Another male whose allele repeats three times.”

  Grey didn’t ask what an allele was. He didn’t want to interrupt. Not yet. He sat forward in his chair, his focus drawn to the last page. “And this one?”

  “As you can see here,” Dr. Smith said, also scooting forward as she placed a well-manicured finger on the final set of boxes. “The DNA retrieved from the body cavity of your victim has a set of five and three, both.”

  Five and three. Kristin’s DNA and the DNA from the cigarette. Nabil’s.

  Shit. Grey tapped the page with Ahmed’s DNA. “So this guy isn’t the killer?”

  “He’s not the man who had sex with her that night. That’s the most I can confirm.”

  Which meant Nabil had.

  Grey’s mind flashed back to the brownstone. The veils. The double safes.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  Grabbing his coat off the chair, he stood and headed for the door. “Thank you, doctor. You may have just saved another woman’s life.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Syd backed away. Did she hear him right? His accent, combined with her fatigue, might have thrown her, but she’d swear he’d called her Sydney. Couldn’t be. Could it?

  The hammering inside her skull wasn’t a good sign.

  She shook her head to clear the fog. “Did you call me Sydney?”

  “That is your name isn’t it? Sydney?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He shrugged. “What’s to understand? I know your real name. I’ve been studying you.” He dragged his gaze down her jean-clad body. “I know you, Sydney.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’ve seen you. With that bodyguard? I watched in the window that night he came here.” Nabil leaned his upper body toward her and focused on her mouth. “The way he drove himself into you. The way he fucked you. You like it hard, don’t you, Sydney?”

  Syd steadied herself and rose from the couch. “Nabil, you should go.”

  Instead, he sat back and crossed one leg over the other while he stared at her chest. “I saw you. You liked it. The way your luscious mouth opened when he came? I’ll do that to you. I’ll take you so hard, I’ll make you scream. And then I’ll fuck you harder. I’ll make you beg for more. Would you like that?”

  You’ll beg for me. That’s what his father had said.

  “Nabil, I’m not sure what you came here for, but I’m sorry, I’m not sleeping with you. We’re friends and I’m quite fond of you, but it’s been a trying couple of days. Let me call you tomorrow and we’ll talk. You need to leave.”

  He nodded. “Of course, you must be tired. I thought maybe we could share some comfort. Perhaps I was mistaken.”

  He stood and marched toward the door.

  Thank God.

  Before he got there, he spun back to her. “One more thing before I go.”

  “What is it?”

  From his jacket pocket, he slowly and with deliberate care, withdrew a red veil.

  All at once, her brain exploded and a stinging panic surged into her limbs. Can’t be. She swallowed. “Nabil?”

  “Sit down, Sydney. We’re about to get better acquainted.”

  She wasn’t about to sit. Not when Nabil had that veil gripped between his hands. His dark gaze scoured her, a millimeter at a time as it slid from her face to her neck.

  Syd backed up a step as fear and anger slammed into her, rotting her flesh. Talk about bi-polar. Or schizo. The son of a bitch. How she’d missed the hate lingering beneath his facade, she had no idea.

  “Sydney, be a good girl and it’ll end quickly. The last thing you’ll remember is me inside you, giving you pleasure, and stealing your breath. You know you like it rough. For you, I’ll make it excruciating. And for once, I’ll get to you before my father. He always gets there first. Not this time.”

  Another step back. But Syd was going in the wrong direction. She needed to spin toward the door. “Jason is on his way, Nabil. You really should go.”

  He took two steps toward her, barely a foot away, and stuck out his bottom lip. “That creates a problem. I’d planned on taking my time with you.” He cinched the veil tighter. “I’ve thought of you, Sydney. Dreamed of all the things I’d like to do to you. My special prize.”

  For a split second, he closed his eyes and his features softened into an almost serene state.

  Knock him out.

  Too late, his hand shot toward her, gripped her left wrist tight enough that pain shot through her hand. Panic roared in her body, and all she wanted was to jam an elbow into Nabil’s nose, to bloody his fucking face for all the pain he’d caused those innocent women. Then she’d kick him in the balls until his eyes bled. She’d see him in agony before this was over
. She would not, would not, let this happen. Not after all the years of working to protect women. She would not die in her own living room.

  And if she did, well, she’d sure as hell die fighting.

  Chop to the throat. She straightened the fingers of her right hand and—

  Nabil opened his eyes, saw her about to strike, and blocked the chop with his free hand.

  The roaring inside her grew louder, stronger, more dominant. The sleeping tiger being poked.

  She landed a smack to Nabil’s cheek and the crack silenced the rage, brought it down to a usable stream of energy. Nabil’s jaw slid open. Clearly, none of the girls had ever fought back.

  He let go of her wrist and Syd shot toward the door.

  “No!” He tackled her and rolled her onto her back, that veil still clutched in one hand.

  Not on the ground.

  Palm strike.

  Syd opened her hand, exposed her palm, and let it fly toward his nose. He dodged right and the strike bounced off his shoulder.

  Pinning both her arms, he grinned at her. “You do like it rough. More fun. I brought an extra veil in case I had to tie you up. Looks like that’ll have to happen. No matter.”

  “You can try,” Syd said. “You’ll be bloody.”

  His dark eyes narrowed, all that venom and hatred and lust filling them. The eyes of a madman. She’d seen this for years.

  He raised his curled hand and—oh, God—slammed his fist into her left cheek. The force of it snapped her head sideways. Her vision blurred. Agonizing pain ripped across her face and then, suddenly, there was nothing. No pain, no thoughts, no Nabil. Just a blissful numbness. For once, she felt nothing.

  Head listing to one side, she closed her eyes. Let unconsciousness slide over her.

  Bliss.

  “I’ll have to hurry with you,” Nabil whispered.

  Something soft rubbed against her neck. She moaned, tried to force her eyes open.

  Too heavy.

  She eased out a weighty breath and for once in her misbegotten life, she didn’t fight. Instead, she allowed herself to be selfish. To fall into the comfort of oblivion.

  Something squeezed her neck and she opened her eyes, looked into Nabil’s, saw the ties of the veil clenched in his hands.

  He smiled.

  The pressure on her neck increased. She gagged, lungs straining for air. Nabil pulled the veil tighter. So much for bliss. Oblivion be damned, she wouldn’t die this way.

  She bucked under him, smacked at him with her now free hands. He squeezed tighter.

  Using a trick one of the mom’s at the shelter had taught her, she reached down, dug her hand between her stomach and his crotch, and gripped as hard as she could, nails driving through the fabric of his pants and into his balls.

  Nabil howled and heaved backward, releasing the veil. Syd rolled sideways, coughing, hacking, until she caught air. She scrambled to her feet, but—damn—he grabbed her ankle and jerked her back to the floor.

  She kicked out, her foot ricocheting off something fleshy. His stomach? She kicked again, higher this time, caught bone. A shoulder? His cheek? Whatever it was, he howled.

  Good one.

  The front door was ten feet away. Get there. She glanced behind her just as Nabil grabbed her ankle again. With her palms against the floor, she pushed, holding herself up, and kicked out with her free foot. Nothing.

  Before he could grab her, she kicked again, hit something hard—skull.

  “Fucking bitch!”

  “Got plenty for you, Nabil. Keep coming. I won’t make this easy.”

  But damn, she was worn out. She looked up at the front door.

  Need to get there.

  One more kick and she might knock him out...

  Something battered the door. It flew open, slamming against the wall. Grey stood there, gun raised and murder shining in his eyes.

  For sixteen months, he’d been chasing the wrong killer.

  Donaldson and a pair of D.C. detectives were at Ahmed’s brownstone with the search warrant Judge Lanier had provided after Grey told her about the DNA results. But Grey’s former boss had confirmed Grey’s worst fear when he’d called him in the car. “The kid’s not here.”

  Nabil. It was the kid all along.

  Screw up! the voice screamed at him. You screwed up again.

  This time, it would cost Grey everything.

  Sydney hadn’t answered her phone when he’d called. He ran red lights, called Donaldson, Monroe, and Teeg. Called the D.C. cops. Everyone and anyone he could think of to get to Syd’s, because he knew the mind of a killer. This killer. The kid would make his move tonight.

  He was right.

  As Grey stared down the site of his Glock, Nabil, the sick bastard, smiled at him and tightened his grip on Syd’s ankle.

  They were both on the floor. Grey couldn’t look Sydney directly in the eye or he’d lose his shit. The red veil. The marks on her face and her neck. He’d seen it all when he crashed through the door, but a killer was latched onto her foot like a shark waiting to take a bite. No way would Grey take his eyes off him.

  If he screwed this up, the shark would walk away.

  Syd would never be safe again.

  Un-fucking-acceptable. “Release her. Now!”

  Nabil ran the back of his free hand across his lower lip, smearing blood as he did so. Syd must have landed a kick there. Good girl.

  A sarcastic laugh rose from Nabil’s chest. He licked the blood from his lips, tugged Syd an inch closer. “Or what? I’m a diplomat. I have immunity.”

  She jerked her leg, but she’d lost steam and the action was weak. No telling how badly she was hurt.

  Grey inched closer, keeping the Glock trained on Nabil’s head and wanting more than anything to send a bullet flying. “Diplomat or not, I don’t give immunity to criminals.”

  In the distance, sirens wailed. Nabil heard them. His grinned widened and he stroked Syd’s leg. Kissed her calf. “You can’t hurt me.”

  All this time, Grey had focused so hard on Ahmed, he’d missed the signs. The loner kid with an abusive parent. The soft-spoken, polite personality hiding a disorganized, anxiety-ridden psycho. So full of anger. So full of himself.

  Nabil was a murderer.

  Ahmed was sadistic, cunning, and ruthless, and the fruit didn’t fall far from the tree. Could it be they were both killers? Only the trophies would tell.

  What Grey knew for sure was that he was staring into the eyes of the killer he’d been tracking all these months.

  The killer that still had his hands on Syd.

  Remember the system. Nabil was angry. Grey could use that against him.

  Lowering his gun, he returned Nabil’s cunning smile. Grey’s personality had never been suited to negotiations, which was why the FBI hadn’t recruited him for that career. He wasn’t about to negotiate now, either. He preferred an honest, direct approach.

  “Oh, I can hurt you, Nabil. Trust me. I can and will break every bone in your body before those cops arrive. I will shoot your balls off and make you sing like a bird. Or, you can turn loose of the woman and come peacefully. Your choice. Either way, you’re done.”

  For half a second, Nabil’s face lost its smugness. “The Lebanese government and my father…”

  “They’re not here right now.” Grey took another step closer, and as he did, Nabil backed up. Grey held his hands away from his body, making himself a target. Maybe Nabil would take a swing at him and release Syd. “Just you and me, Nabby. Let’s see who the real man is here. What do you say?”

  Nabil’s eyes narrowed. He took the bait, jumping up into a crouch like a striking cobra, a nasty snarl on his face. Syd screamed Grey’s name, but Grey went on autopilot. This was what he’d been waiting for. The moment he’d been living for…delivering justice to a killer.

  Sliding the gun to Sydney and lowering his head, Grey lunged forward, bear-hugged the bastard and drove him into the coffee table. Under their combined weight, the legs buckle
d and the two of them crashed to the floor. Nabil harrumphed as Grey’s weight hit, the air rushing from his lungs.

  The kid recoiled, but Grey was in mission-critical mode. Adrenalin pumped. The world around him ceased. The death photos of each of the victims flashed in his mind. It was just him and the killer and time to do the right thing.

  When Nabil raised a fist and punched him in the shoulder, Grey jammed his fingers under the kid’s chin. Nabil tried to knee him in the balls. Grey tightened his chokehold until Nabil’s eyes bulged. There was satisfaction in giving Nabil a dose of his own sick, twisted medicine.

  Kill him. You know you want to. Add another failure to your list of fuck ups.

  “Grey!” Sydney’s voice battled through the haze in his mind. “Stop it!”

  Grey blinked away the red anger clouding his clarity. Killing Nabby wasn’t the answer.

  Syd is the answer.

  He had to do this right. Do it by the system.

  Grey released Nabil’s neck and sat back on his heels, breathing hard. He would not screw this up.

  But the kid was a slow learner. He fisted his hand and punched Grey in the stomach.

  Enough was enough, even if he wasn’t going to kill a diplomat. Striking with efficient speed, Grey sent a series of punches to Nabil’s jaw, his nose, and then his stomach. One, two, three. Knockout. The kid was down for the count, blood gushing from his nose as well as his busted lip.

  Nabil lay still, eyes closed and motionless. Grey pinched him. No response. Good. Grey watched him as he scooted across the floor to where Sydney was still crouched. She held his Glock aimed at Nabby, but her hands shook so violently, she might shoot him by accident. Carefully, Grey peeled her fingers off the gun and took it away from her.

  “Are you okay?” he said, drawing her into his arms and hugging her tight. His heart beat so hard inside his chest, he thought it would bust right out of his ribcage. Not because of his fight with Nabil. His heart was going crazy because of her.