And here they were, working the same goddamn case after they’d spent the night exploring positions a contortionist would applaud them for.
He hadn’t just screwed the pooch on this one. He’d screwed the FBI agent too.
Dropping his sandwich, he dug his phone out of his pocket. With the senator being Matt’s client, as well as a potential suspect, this whole thing was a disaster. Matt and Taylor? Opposite sides right now. No way around that.
Still. A woman had been murdered.
Ah, fuck it.
He tapped a few keys on his phone and hit send. “There.”
Taylor picked up her water, unscrewed the cap. “What?”
“I just sent you Felicity’s dental records.”
“You did?”
“I told you I would. I keep my promises, Taylor. Every time.”
“Thank you. You saved me some time.”
He shrugged. “A woman is dead. We need to find her killer.”
No matter how they dealt with each other on a personal level, they needed to get Felicity justice.
Chapter Four
The Smithsonian was relatively quiet for a Tuesday morning, which Taylor suspected was exactly how Grey preferred it.
She sat on a bench in front of a floor to ceiling sculpture and wondered what Matt was doing.
Who cares? She hadn’t heard a peep from him after he’d dropped her at the J. Edgar Building the previous day. Not even an emoji response to her thank-you text for Felicity’s dental records.
She’d halfway expected a booty call last night, but no dice. Zip. Her hours had been spent in the bowels of her department with the other three members of her team going over every note, picture, and statement pertaining to the Jarvis case until well after ten, then a frozen dinner and a glass of wine consumed at her laptop at home while she Googled Matt and the firm he worked for.
Schock Investigations consisted of Meg and Charlize—Charlie—Schock, two sisters with a diverse and extremely sought-after team of professionals who specialized in missing persons and cold cases. Their claim to fame was taking on the cases law enforcement had failed to solve.
Meg was an elite forensic sculptor. A Yale fine arts graduate, she taught forensic sculpting for an international forensics organization. Previously, she’d worked with law enforcement agencies worldwide. Charlie had gone to school for psychology and specialized in criminal forensics, evaluating and profiling criminals, and also providing expert testimony in judicial cases. She had field experience, too, having one time been an agent for the FBI for a few short years before she left the Bureau to join her sister in building their own investigative service.
Sometime around midnight, Taylor had finally crawled into bed, setting her phone in its charging station and double-checking her texts and voicemails to make sure she hadn’t somehow missed one from him.
Again, zip. She might as well have fallen off the face of the planet.
She was stupid for hoping all those things he’d said to her the previous day had actually meant something to him.
Maybe he caught another case, she told herself for the third time since she’d gotten up that morning. But really, how much time did it take to send a text?
“Well, that’s depressing,” a male voice said from behind her.
Taylor looked over her left shoulder to find Mitch Monroe eyeing the Nevelson sculpture, hands in his jean pockets as he rocked back and forth lightly on his heels. A red T-shirt under his jean jacket read, “Don’t piss me off or I’ll stop taking my pills.”
The smartass shirt seemed appropriate for the former agent who’d gone to the dark side and had a nasty reputation for taking people down with him.
Please tell me Grey didn’t pawn me off on him.
Taylor returned her attention to the sculpture. “Where’s your boss?”
“Why did this artist use all black?” Mitch asked, ignoring her question. “Is this some kind of Goth shit or something? It’s so…bleak.”
A sigh escaped Taylor’s lips. “Goth didn’t exist when Ms. Nevelson created her art. The program says she liked black paint because it conjures totality, peace, and greatness.”
“Greatness, huh? Maybe I should wear more black.”
God save her.
Getting away from the land mine behind her would be a smart move. She grabbed her bag and started to stand when Grey slipped onto the bench to her right.
Damn, he moved like a stealth bomber. “Wasn’t sure you were going to join the party,” she said.
He wore dark sunglasses, a smart suit, and tie. Unlike his partner, who now stared at the sculpture with a new appreciation on his face, Grey was clean-shaven and had his hair slicked back. He might have left the FBI, but he was Bureau to his bones. “Sorry. Had to park the car.”
“His new Challenger,” Mitch said with a hint of jealousy. “He totaled his last one, and he’s particular where he parks the shiny new wheels now.”
Grey gave her the tiniest of affirmative smiles. Taylor lowered her purse again, glancing around to make sure they were alone. No one else was in this section of the 4th floor. Maybe it was too early for art connoisseurs or other people didn’t like black either.
“Dental recs confirm it’s Felicity,” she told Grey, settling back into her place on the bench.
He stared straight ahead as if he were enjoying the art, even though they were alone and his sunglasses had to darken the black sculpture even further. “You obtained dental records already? That was fast.”
“I sweet talked the PI who’s working for Walt—he had a copy. Then I dropped your name with the ME. I told her I had your notes from the case. Dr. Smith fast-tracked the bones with the forensic anthropologist assigned to the case. Thank you for that, by the way. I don’t throw your name around often, but it does help with certain people. The forensic gal had a preliminary report on my desk before I got to work. Being as how the whole thing revolved around the senator, it wasn’t hard to expedite the process, but I do appreciate using your name as an ace card. Sorry I didn’t ask you first.”
Grey chuckled. “I would have done the same in your position.”
“Who’s this PI?” Mitch huffed.
Mitch had always made her nervous, but she supposed since he and Grey had been partners at the FBI, he might have insight into the case. “The senator won’t talk to me without his lawyer present. Tried to set up a meeting for yesterday afternoon, but the lawyer was conveniently already engaged.”
Grey didn’t seem surprised. “Have you told Jarvis you have confirmation of the identity?”
“Not yet. The forensic anthropologist is still working to figure out a cause of death. From her preliminary examination, some of Felicity’s bones are still missing, and so are the baby’s. When those are found, we’ll know more. Walt will have questions regarding both subjects, so I’m giving her a few more hours to work. Hopefully, I’ll have some answers.”
“Jarvis hired a PI?” Mitch paced up to the large sculpture and examined a section closer. “For what?”
Taylor withheld another sigh. “The senator wanted to remarry last year and needed to have Felicity declared legally dead. He hired Schock Investigations. Matt Stephens looked into the case and couldn’t uncover any evidence suggesting she might still be alive. Felicity was declared legally dead, and he married Ann.”
Mitch dropped onto the bench on the other side of her and leaned forward to look around her at Grey. “Matt Stephens. Why does that name sound familiar?”
“He’s a friend of Tony’s.”
Mitch sneered. “Moose doesn’t have friends, so whoever this bozo is, he must be a douchebag.”
“Moose?” Taylor said.
“Ever seen Tony Gerard?” Mitch made tall and wide motions with his hand. “He’s frickin’ Bigfoot and he’s got the cranky attitude to go with it. Grey loves him.”
“Matt helped out with Fallyn Pasche,” Grey said, completely unruffled as always. “When Tony was babysitting me.”
&nb
sp; Mitch snapped his fingers. “And look how well that turned out. DC’s top fixer nearly died.” He hit Taylor with his steely gaze. “I’d stay away from Stephens, if I were you. If he’s as bad at being a PI as he is a bodyguard, you shouldn’t trust him.”
Taylor swung her attention to Grey. “I heard about that case. You ended up in the hospital after a car accident, didn’t you? No wonder you needed a new Challenger.”
“Tony saved my life,” Grey said. “And Stephens isn’t responsible for what happened to Fallyn. He’s a good guy and I trust him.”
Taylor didn’t remember all the details, only that Pasche, a political fixer, had nearly been killed. Matt’s involvement was news to her. She should ask him about it if she ever spoke to him again. “I asked him The Question.”
Grey’s brows lifted. “Are you investigating Matt?”
In a manner of speaking. Taylor gave a noncommittal shrug.
A nod from Grey, his eyes studying her. “And what did he say?”
“Blood.”
“What question?” Mitch interrupted. “What are you talking about?”
By studying Grey during the brief time they’d worked together, Taylor had learned a few tricks from the profiler. One of them being that asking random questions kept your suspect off-track, and their answers to those random questions often told you more about them than straight-forward ones.
Those dark brows of Grey’s lowered. “He’s scared of blood?”
Taylor nodded. “Weird, right?”
“Keep digging,” Grey recommended.
Mitch demanded an explanation again about The Question and what they were talking about. Taylor and Grey both ignored him.
“So what do you think about Felicity’s body turning up at the scrapyard?” she asked Grey. “Still believe Jarvis is a prime suspect? I like him for it, but a scrapyard? Seems messy for him.”
Grey was quiet. Taylor imagined she could see the finely-tuned cogs turning in the former profiler’s brain. “The senator is a puzzle. I never could figure out if he was lying or not. Even gave him a polygraph and the results were all over the board.”
Taylor had examined the polygraph results but her instinct said all over the board meant guilty.
“Motive?” Mitch asked, leaning around her again. “I never heard of this Ann when we were investigating? Is it possible they were a thing back then?”
She had no idea, nor any proof that Walt and Ann might have been involved romantically, but maybe Matt knew more about that little tryst than she did. “I’ll check into that.”
“Felicity was the one with the money,” Grey mused aloud. “Not Walt. He inherited everything after she was declared legally dead. The money, the house, all of it. Money is always a motivator for murder, but doesn’t seem smart to make her disappear and be forced to wait seven years for the courts to declare her dead before you can officially become rich.”
“I always believed he didn’t want the kid,” Mitch added. “Another good reason to get rid of Felicity.”
Taylor stared at the black sculpture, not really seeing it. Her skin crawled at the thought of what had happened to Felicity. To her baby. “The CSI team is still working the site, so until they’re done, I can’t be sure what role the baby may have played. Maybe nothing.”
Grey removed his sunglasses and cleaned them with a cloth from his jacket pocket. “Felicity’s bones are the best lead at this point.”
Taylor jumped up, the warm spurt of adrenalin that always came when she knew she was onto something pumping in her veins. “Did you tell Meredith I called you yesterday?”
“No.” His voice sounded slightly perplexed. He set his glasses back on his face. “She knew?”
“Chastised me properly.” Taylor fidgeted with her handbag strap, then rounded on Mitch. “I don’t suppose you had anything to do with that?”
“Me?” He looked genuinely abashed. “First of all, I didn’t catch wind of this whole thing until I walked into the…”—he shot a look at Grey—“office this morning.”
Grey had a secret hideout for his Justice Team. Taylor felt a certain annoyance that he didn’t trust her with the whereabouts, hence why they were meeting at the museum.
“Secondly,” Mitch continued, “I hate Sardana. She’s a total bitch. It’s not like we’re pals who shoot the shit on occasion and I threw her some gossip about you. Thirdly, why the hell would I waste time tattling on you? Grey may like cold cases, but I don’t. I’m only here because he promised to take me by the gun range for target practice after he was done helping you. Which he shouldn’t be doing. If you haven’t noticed, the FBI doesn’t necessarily like us anymore.”
At least with Mitch you knew where you stood. No beating around the bush. No bullshit. “Funny, cuz I heard through the grapevine, you’ve been doing some independent work for us.”
“Yeah, the unsolvable cases you Feds can’t be bothered with because you don’t want to step on toes.”
Grey had told her that his Justice Team specialized in cases involving people who were considered above the law. Foreign diplomats, judges, district attorneys. They also looked into election fraud and other delicate cases.
“Monroe.” Grey’s tone was borderline scolding. “We’re not here to talk about our cases. We’re here to help Taylor with hers.”
Mitch did a childish eye roll. “I know, but I like to rile her up. She’s got that whole Caroline demeanor going.” He winked at Taylor and she knew he’d been an ass on purpose, just to test her. Kind of like she’d gotten in Matt’s face that night at the bar, just to see if he would run. “You know I can’t resist sassy women.”
Oh, good Lord. No wonder Meredith hated him.
“Well, someone told my boss,” Taylor said to both men, “so if it wasn’t any of us, I’m guessing either my phone or yours is tapped.”
Grey didn’t say anything but the look on his face dittoed Mitch’s soft curse. “It can’t be us,” Mitch insisted looking to Grey. “Right? We have the highest security tech software and a genius IT geek who scans for bugs and cameras every day.”
That left door number 2. Taylor’s stomach sank.
…eyes and ears everywhere. That’s what Meredith had said.
“She has spies,” Taylor reluctantly confirmed.
“This case could get dangerous for you, Taylor.” A muscle in Grey’s jaw jumped. “If the senator is responsible and you expose him, he could lose everything—the money, the house, his new marriage, his power and fame. Most men will do anything—anything—to keep that from happening.”
“Yeah,” Mitch added. “You’re not going to know who’s working for him or who you can trust. I sure as hell wouldn’t trust Sardana any more than Stephens. She might even have some type of software like Teeg is working on that can track your vehicle better than GPS or Google Maps.”
Wasn’t that a lovely thought? “Do I want to know about this software?”
Grey shook his head. “It’s in beta mode and was developed for the intelligence community. It’s basically an eye in the sky. Agents zoom in on addresses in real time and get close enough for facial rec to get accurate intel on the criminals involved in things like drug deals and such. Nothing illegal, I assure you.”
Hmm. She really didn’t want to know. “Meredith is my mentor. She’s been priming me for the past several years to take over the entire Missing Persons unit, not just cold cases. I trust her, even if she is checking up on me.”
“She’ll throw you under the bus if it serves her purpose or the Bureau’s,” Grey warned.
Nice. Just what she needed to hear. From an expert on the subject, no less.
Grey and Mitch were jaded, and while they might have gotten the shit end of the stick with the Bureau, they weren’t entirely innocent of creating the situation in the first place. Taylor hefted her strap onto her shoulder. “I have to go. Thanks for the input.”
She started to walk away, but Grey stood and blocked her path. “I have people who can watch your back,
Taylor. Keep you safe.”
The guy had a good heart and she appreciated his concern. If anyone found out she was consulting with him—continuing to consult with him on an active case—she could lose her job. “I’m a trained agent, Grey. I’ll be all right.”
His lips firmed and he moved aside.
Her heels clicked on the tile floor as she headed for the elevators to take her downstairs. Mitch’s voice called after her. “DNFU, Sinclair. Stay away from Stephens. I’m telling you, he’s a douchbag.”
Do Not Fuck Up. The irony of a screw-up like Mitch telling her not to fuck up her career, her life, made her want to match his earlier eye roll.
“Takes a douchebag to know one,” she called back, giving Mitch a cheeky smile and wave as she climbed into the elevator and hit the down button.
Before the doors closed, she saw him flip her the bird. Yep. Same ol’ Mitch and Grey. How the two of them ever stayed friends was beyond her.
* * *
Matt parked the Mustang in his normal spot behind the office and sat back for a second, letting the late morning sun warm the car’s interior. Rather than deal with the cost of rent in the nation’s capitol, the sisters had opted for a first floor unit in Vienna, Virginia, a thirty-minute drive from DC.
Meg’s minivan was to his left and on the other side of the minivan sat Charlie’s convertible. The sisters couldn’t be more different in their choice of vehicle. Being an artist, Meg liked the minivan for its cargo area and the resulting ability to transport big shit all at once. At any given time, Meg might have easels, various types of stands for sculpting, canvases, large bins with art supplies, whatever. And it seemed all of it was in her vehicle.
Her sister, on the other hand, preferred the sleek convertible BMW that Matt barely fit in.
Funny ladies.
A minute later, he pushed through the office’s back door into the narrow hallway. “Honey! I’m home!”
Ahead, on the right, were Meg’s and Charlie’s offices. Directly across from them was Matt’s. Meg had offered to switch offices with him and give him the bigger one, but given his schedule and the lack of time he actually spent in said office, he didn’t need extra space. All he needed was a desk, a chair, and a computer. Boom.
Missing Justice (The Justice Team Book 7) Page 5
