Handled: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Heather Slade

  I arrived an hour before the scheduled court time, parked, followed the signs for security, and waited in line. Even with ten people in front of me, I should still have time to kill before the hearing began.

  “Ma’am, may I see your credentials?” the man asked before I walked through the metal detector.

  “Right. Sorry.” I dug in my purse. “I must’ve left my badge in my car.”

  “No credentials, no entry.”

  “No problem,” I said, but he didn’t smile. “Be right back.”

  When I turned around, I gasped as I saw Sumner Copeland headed my way. I shielded my face and kept walking.

  “Hey,” I heard him say. “Aren’t you the woman…”

  I dropped my hand, tugged my waist-length suit jacket down, straightened my spine, and glanced beyond him to the people he’d come in with. “Yes.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  I cocked my head, wondering how he’d react if I told him it was none of his business.

  “Cope,” one of the men called out, looking at his watch. “We need to get in there.”

  He looked over his shoulder and back at me. “Right. Okay, well…”

  “Bye.” I waved my fingers at him and rushed to the bank of elevators. So much for me keeping a low profile. Why did I keep running into him? And why did he have to look like a god in everything he wore—or didn’t wear. I fanned myself even though it was actually kind of chilly.

  Grabbing my credentials from my car, I hurried back to catch the elevator. I still had forty-five minutes, which in court time, could mean two hours, but I wanted to get a fix on people as they went in.

  After going through the security line a second time, I took another elevator up to the tenth floor, found the designated courtroom, and grabbed a seat on the bench closest to the door. I took out a pen and pad, and started scribbling notes.

  I was biting the end of my pen when I saw the salad-stealing, muscle-headed man of the hour walking in my direction.

  I shielded my face like I had earlier, peeking through my fingers in time to see him walk into a room on the other side of the hall. I breathed a sigh of relief and went back to my notes.

  “Ahem,” I heard someone clear their throat less than a minute later.

  I raised my head enough to see the toes of men’s wingtips on the floor, pointing at me. They were close enough that if I moved my foot forward just a little, our shoes would touch.

  “You didn’t answer me earlier. What are you doing here?”

  I had to crane my neck to see the giant’s face. In fact, I had to lean back to look up at him. “How tall are you anyway, like seven feet?”

  “I asked you a question.”

  “I’m obviously here for a…hearing.”

  “Which hearing?”

  I closed my notebook and shoved my pen in the spiral part of it, or I tried to; it was too big to fit, so I just held it.

  When I looked back up, he was studying me with his head cocked. Oh no. Was there something on my face? Had I gotten ink on it when I was chewing on my pen? God, I was supposed to fade into the background, but the only thing I was managing to do was call attention to myself.

  He tilted his head to the other side. What was he looking at now?

  “Is that a press pass?”

  “Pass? No. It’s a credential.”

  “You’re with the press?” he said like it was something unpleasant on the bottom of his shoe. “Which news outlet?”

  “The Express.”

  He ran his hand through his hair and then rubbed the back of his neck. “You can’t be here.”

  “I beg to differ, since I am.”

  “Come with me.”

  He waited, but I didn’t move. “Miss…”

  “Graham.”

  “Come with me,” he repeated.

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He sat on the bench, beside me. “Do you have any idea what’s about to happen?”

  “You’re going to try to get me kicked out of the courthouse, and I already told you, I’m not leaving.”

  “In that courtroom,” he seethed, pointing.

  “Yes, I believe I do. Opening arguments in an espionage case,” I snapped right back at him.

  “No press allowed, so you’re wasting your time.”

  I put my notepad and pen in my bag and folded my arms. “I’ve got nowhere else to be, so I think I’ll continue wasting my time right here.”

  Another man stuck his head out of the door. “He’s here, Cope. We’re waiting for you.”

  “Who? Warrick?” I asked.

  “Keep your voice down.”

  “Is it Warrick or not?”

  He glared at me, which I took as a yes.

  “Are you his attorney?” I asked, even though I knew better.

  “No.” He stood and stalked off.

  No sooner was he gone than three people—two men and a woman—rushed into the courtroom. Within seconds, they were back out. One of the men banged on the door across the hallway.

  It opened, but I couldn’t see the person behind it. The man pushed his way in, followed by the other two. I could hear shouting right before the door closed again, but not enough to make out what they were arguing about.

  Whoever man number one was, he was pissed. My hunch was that he was Warrick’s attorney.

  A few minutes later, I noticed another woman wearing a press credential, leaning up against the wall. I walked over and introduced myself. “Ali Graham.” I reached out to shake her hand.

  She looked me up and down, kind of like Desi, my best friend from home, did whenever she met someone new. She said it made her feel like she had the upper hand. It was too late for me to do the same thing, so I asked, “Who are you?”

  She laughed and shook my outstretched hand. “I’m TJ, with AP.”

  “With AP?”

  “Freelance, but they place most everything I write.”

  Wait. “Are you TJ Hunter?” The woman had won every journalistic award ever given.

  We both turned our heads when a door opened. The three people I’d seen go in last, came out with a fourth.

  “There he is,” murmured TJ.

  I would’ve known even if she hadn’t said anything. I’d seen plenty of photos of Paxon “Irish” Warrick.

  “Scum of the fuckin’ earth,” she spat. “Selling out his own country—not to mention fellow agents—to China.”

  So much for unbiased reporting. “What about innocent until proven guilty?”

  “Sumner Copeland put an airtight case together, I can assure you of that.”

  “Sumner Copeland? Is he the prosecutor?” I asked, even though I already knew exactly who he was.

  TJ laughed. “No, sweetheart. He was Warrick’s handler.”

  “At the CIA?”

  “Yep.”

  When the door opened again, the man himself walked out.

  “Hey, Stella. How are you?” He walked over and hugged TJ.

  “Cope, have you met Ali Graham?”

  “I have. We had a little mix-up over a salad yesterday.” He leaned forward and kissed the other woman’s cheek. “I gotta get in there. See you later, Stell.” He walked away but looked over his shoulder. “You too, Tally.”

  “It’s Ali.”

  TJ laughed. “He knows it is.”

  “Then, why’d he call me Taally?”

  “Look it up, sis. Tally Graham.”

  “Why does he call you Stella?” I rolled my eyes when it dawned on me that Stella Hunter had been a famous actress. “Never mind.”

  “I knew you were smart. She was my grandmother. What’s the deal with the salad?”

  “It isn’t that interesting.”

  “Honey, we’re going to be sitting out here for at least three hours. Plain lettuce is going to be interesting.”

  “How do you know him?” I asked an hour later.

  “Press conferences. You know who his father is, right?”

  “Remin
d me.”

  “Senator Henry Clay Copeland?”

  “Chair of the United States Senate Select Committee on Intelligence?”

  “That’s right, sis.”

  “Will he give you a story?”

  “Cope?”

  I nodded.

  “No fuckin’ way in hell,” she muttered under her breath.

  The courtroom door swung open, and Cope stalked out ahead of everyone else.

  “Uh-oh,” said TJ, gathering her stuff. “Come with me, kid.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To get the story.”

  Four

  Cope

  I was ready to throttle Irish. Did he really need me to hold his fucking hand through this whole thing? He was wasting valuable time, and I needed him to knock it off.

  I damn near looked behind me when I walked out of the courtroom, to see if Ali was still in the hallway with Stella. I couldn’t explain why she was on my mind when it was crowded with a thousand other things. Important things. Like whether or not I could salvage my career or if I’d end up in jail like Irish was.

  I stepped onto the elevator and was waiting for the doors to close when I saw the little spitfire walk past with Stella. I leaned against the back panel and closed my eyes.

  “Who was the hot number with Stella?” questioned the attorney I’d asked to fly in from Texas, Sterling Anderson, aka Hammer.

  “A reporter with the Express.”

  “Oh. Well, shit. That’s disappointing.”

  Tell me about it. Her being a reporter meant I had to stay away from her, not just now, but forever. Between my job and the fact that my father was a senator, the last person I could afford to have any kind of association with was someone with the press.

  But, damn, I wanted to associate all over her. She was so beautiful, big blue eyes, and that tight little body—fuck. I worked out hard every day, but it wouldn’t surprise me if Lois Lane had a lower percentage of body fat than I did.

  Apart from her looks, I loved how she pushed right back at me, got in my face about the stupid salad that I never ate anyway. Whenever I thought about it, I felt like an asshole.

  And earlier today, when I told her she couldn’t be in the courthouse, she didn’t back down. There was something about her that said she never would.

  “See ya tomorrow,” Hammer said as he exited the elevator a floor above where I’d parked.

  I was thinking through everything I still had to do that afternoon as I stepped off on my floor. Something—someone—to my right caught my eye. The reporter. It looked like there was something up with her car.

  “Need help?” I asked before I realized she was on the phone. Her eyes met mine, and she held up a finger. Not that finger, even though I might’ve deserved it, given how I’d treated her since we met.

  “I’m on hold with roadside assistance,” she told me.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “It won’t start. Probably the battery.”

  “I’ll pull my car around and give it a jump.”

  “That’s okay. I’m sure they’ll be here—” She put her finger in her ear to block out the noise of the cars leaving the structure. “I’m sorry, what did you say? It sounded like you said it would be three hours.” She rested against her car and then looked down at her white blouse that was now dirty. “Oh, you did say three hours? Well, okay.” She hit disconnect on her phone and looked over at me. “I guess things are a lot busier around here than they are in Sunnyville.”

  “Sunnyville?”

  “Where I’m from. It’s a small town in California.”

  “Right. Okay, well, let me see if I can get it started.”

  “Thanks…” Her voice trailed off while she studied something on her phone.

  “Everything okay?”

  She opened her mouth like she was going to respond and then snapped it closed. The smile she gave me was freakishly fake. “Everything is fine.”

  I walked to my car, took off my jacket, and hung it in the back seat. Before I started it up, I checked the news feeds to see if there was something going on that had caused her reaction. The first headline jumped out at me.

  CIA to Make Deal with China Spy

  What the fuck? Who in the hell? I checked the byline. Associated fucking Press. I scrolled through my contacts and hit the button to call Stella.

  “Cope, I was just—”

  “Save it. You wanna tell me where you get off, reporting anything about this trial, let alone that there’s a deal in the works? Who’s your source, Stella?”

  “Whoa, you better back way the fuck up, Cope. You’re jumping to too many conclusions for me to even continue this conversation.”

  “AP byline, Stella. I saw you and one other reporter at the courthouse today.”

  “Like I said, Cope, fuck of a lot of assumptions.”

  When she ended the call, I threw my phone on the seat, ready to peel out of the parking lot. Fortunately, I remembered Ali and her dead battery before I did. Forgetting her would’ve only confirmed I was the asshole she already believed I was.

  “You saw it,” she said when I got out after pulling my car beside hers.

  “Yeah, I saw it.” I expected her to defend Stella, but she didn’t.

  “I really appreciate this,” she said instead when I dug my jumper cables out of my trunk.

  After three tries, I knew Ali’s battery was beyond a jump start. I had to get to the office and do damage control on the AP report, but I didn’t feel comfortable leaving her here alone.

  “Look, come with me. I have a few things to take care of, and then I can drop you at your building.”

  “But…my car.”

  “Right. Let me put out some fires, and then we’ll go get you a new battery.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Mr. Cope. I know you’re very busy.”

  “It’s Cope, and it’s the least I can do after…”

  “What?”

  “I was a pretty major jackass about the salad.”

  “I could’ve ordered something else. I was just past the point of no return.”

  “Hangry?”

  “Exactly.” She laughed. It was a beautiful sound. “So about the report…”

  “Ali…right?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m happy to help you with your car, but as far as anything to do with the trial, I can’t talk about it. Especially to you.”

  She turned her head so I couldn’t see her face. “Got it.”

  It took two hours to get from the district court to the agency headquarters in Langley, and neither of us said another word. Once again, I felt like a dick for snapping at her, but she had to understand that even though she was in the car with me, it would’ve been better if we didn’t even know each other’s names.

  I pulled into the underground parking. “I’ll try to be quick.”

  “You really don’t have to do this.”

  “I’m doing it, okay?” I got half a smile, and that was good enough for me.

  “There are some public galleries you can roam around in,” I told her when the elevator stopped at the main lobby. “Just give me a few minutes, and then we’ll take care of your car.”

  I left her in the lobby and took the elevator six floors up. The instant I got off, I knew shit had hit the fan. I didn’t even make it to my office before my boss, Kellen “Money” McTiernan, motioned me into his and slammed the door behind me. “What the fuck, Cope?”

  There was nothing he or I could say that would change the present optics. “I’m as angry as you are, sir.”

  I inwardly groaned when the team on the Warrick sting filed in one by one, followed by two people from the Office of Public Affairs. The last thing I needed was ten more people sticking their noses into this.

  The bullshit response to the leak that would’ve taken me thirty minutes to craft if I were left alone—and that would’ve been with revisions—took the people in the room over two hours to do, and they st
ill weren’t finished arguing about it.

  I leaned back in my chair and looked at my watch, knowing I was forgetting something.

  Ali.

  “Shit!”

  Every head in the room turned and looked at me when I stood and collected the crap I had spread out on the table. “There’s something I need to take care of.”

  “Cope?” said McTiernan.

  I motioned with my head for him to follow me out to the hall. Thankfully, he did.

  “I mean no disrespect, sir.”

  “Money.”

  “Okay. Money. But the last two hours have been…” I scrubbed my face with my hand, wishing I had thought through what I was going to say.

  “A Charlie Foxtrot.” He finished my sentence for me. “I see that now. It’s the ‘cooks in the kitchen’ thing.”

  “I have something I have to do, but I can come back.”

  “Don’t bother. You’ve got a long few days ahead of you. Go home. Figure out who the hell was there today that could’ve seen something, heard something, guessed something, and then tomorrow, if they’re back, toss ’em out on their ass.”

  “Copy that, sir…I mean, Money.”

  “Sorry for the overreaction, Cope.” He clapped me on the back, and I shook my head.

  “This thing with Irish has had us all spun up for months.”

  After he told me to check in with him the next day, I raced to my office, grabbed everything I thought I might need, shoved it into my messenger bag, and rushed out. When I saw another handler, an incessant talker, waiting for the elevator. I spun around and took the stairs all the way down to the lobby.

  I burst through the door and stopped in my tracks. I didn’t see her. Was she still wandering around?

  “Hey, Cope.” Bernie, the security guard I’d seen at the desk earlier when I left Ali in the lobby, motioned me over. “She asked me to give you this.” It was a folded piece of paper.

  “How long ago did she leave?”

  “Not too long.”

  I looked up at the ceiling and groaned. I couldn’t do anything right where this woman was concerned. I walked back in the direction of the elevator, hit the button, and opened the note.

  Thanks for the lift back. I owe you one.

  One what? A giant fuck you?