Missing Justice (The Justice Team Book 7)

by Adrienne Giordano

  Beckett touched his tie again and grinned. “I think you just found your balls, TayTay.”

  “Do not call me that.” The nickname was harmless, but he was forever teasing her, and part of the game was for her to act like she hated it. She didn’t. Isabel had always called her that.

  Now, Taylor’s team was her family—her only one, really. They had nicknames for each other and they knew some pretty deep stuff about one another. That camaraderie was priceless, especially when working cases that sucked the life out of you. It kept them all from going insane. “Any word from the techs at the scrapyard about the bones? Have they found any that might be the baby’s?”

  Beckett shook his head. “Not that I’ve heard. I’ll follow up with a call to the ERT.”

  Evidence Response Team. “Cora’s in charge,” Taylor told him. “See if you can get hold of—”

  “Taylor.”

  The voice interrupting her came from the doorway. Taylor looked over to find Meredith standing there with a grim look on her face. “I know, Mer, the senator blew us off. I’ll have Janiece check with his assistant and—”

  Meredith cut her off again. “Come with me.”

  Definitely a summons. “Yes, ma’am.”

  As Mer took off down the hallway, Taylor exchanged a look with Beck. She handed him her files and cup. “I really should have worn my comfortable shoes today.”

  And maybe avoided that meeting with Grey and Mitch this morning.

  Consternation showed in the lines on Beck’s forehead. “Maybe they found the baby’s bones.”

  She liked that guess better. A sinking feeling in her stomach, she took off to follow her boss to her office.

  Only, Meredith didn’t head to her office. She beelined to the elevator and was already inside when Taylor caught up to her. Mer pressed the button for the top floor and the shiny metal doors slid closed with a heavy thunk.

  The top floor. Where the director of the FBI played God.

  “What’s up?” Taylor dared ask. She never liked being blindsided. “Is everything okay?”

  Meredith eyed her in the mirrored walls. Looked away.

  The silent treatment? What was this?

  “Meredith, whatever it is, just say it.”

  “You and the PI?” Meredith sounded totally disgusted. “You told me you met him at the conference. You neglected to mention you slept with him.”

  Oh, that. “Who told you Matt and I slept together?”

  “That doesn’t matter. You didn’t tell me.”

  Didn’t matter? No one from the office but her and Leo had been at the conference. “So these eyes and ears you have everywhere go by the name of Leo?”

  “Leo has nothing to do with this.”

  That was a bald-faced lie. “I didn’t tell you that I’d slept with Matt because it has no bearing on anything.”

  The elevator compartment vibrated with Meredith’s anger. “His client is the senator! Of course it has bearing!”

  “Neither one of us knew about Felicity’s bones until the morning after we slept together.”

  “So you’re not continuing to see him?”

  That was no one’s business. “My personal life never has and never will affect my career, Mer.” One bald-faced lie deserved another. “I promise you that.”

  The long hall to the director’s office was carpeted in Federal Blue commercial carpeting. Just before they hit the end, Meredith directed Taylor into the large, well-appointed conference room next door.

  The director wasn’t in attendance, but Meredith’s boss, the assistant director, was.

  Marcus Cunningham skipped formalities, his steely gaze dropping to Taylor’s shoes and back up to the TV screen on the far wall. “Agent Sinclair, what have you been doing?”

  The question struck her as odd. She wasn’t sure if it was rhetorical, but regardless, she felt the need to answer. “I’ve been waiting for Senator Jarvis to show up for his interview. He was due here fifteen minutes ago and hasn’t arrived yet.”

  AD Cunningham pointed at the TV. “Perhaps because he’s in the middle of a press conference.”

  Taylor followed his finger, realizing the 52” screen was filled with a picture that made her blood run cold. “What the hell is he doing?” she said, as much to herself as to the other two people in the room.

  Cunningham turned his hard eyes on her, his lips a straight, unforgiving line. “Funny, that’s exactly what I was going to ask you.”

  His attention went back to the TV where the senator was outside his home entertaining a group of reporters.

  Cunningham hit a button on the remote and the mute lifted, Walt’s voice filling the room.

  “The Justice Department and FBI are making my life a living hell over this while I’m in the midst of grieving a second time for Felicity. My first wife is dead, and no one will tell me if my child is as well. So while the FBI should be focused on finding Felicity’s killer, and determining what happened to my unborn son, they’re wasting taxpayer money and the nation’s time harassing a respectable, upstanding senator.”

  In the background behind Walt, Ann stood in an elegant two-piece suit dabbing tears from her eyes. Her husband pounded a fist into his other hand. “I want this case resolved and I want to know who killed Felicity and what happened to our child, but I will not stand by and let the FBI harass me and my current wife because they are too lazy to go after the real criminal.”

  Jarvis continued blustering, but Cunningham muted the TV once more and tossed the remote on the glass table in front of him. He intertwined his fingers and rested them on his stomach as he leaned back in the black leather chair. “Care to explain to me what the hell is going on, Sinclair?”

  DNFU. Mitch’s acronym rang in her head.

  Meredith crossed her arms, her face mirroring Cunningham’s. “I warned you about this. We need to solve this case and we need to do it ASAP. The thing we do not need to do is piss off the senator.”

  Another black eye, that’s what Mer had called it. The first time around, the FBI had taken a beating in the media because of the high-profile case. Jarvis was playing victim to the press for the second time and upping the ante, making the Bureau look bad. Making Taylor, Meredith, and AD Cunningham look like schmucks.

  Jarvis was going to be a more formidable opponent than Taylor had given him credit for.

  Bring it on. Unbeknown to the good senator, his actions only confirmed Taylor’s gut instinct—the man had somehow, someway been involved in Felicity’s disappearance, and possibly her death.

  And there was no way Taylor was backing down. He wanted to up the stakes and try to make her look bad? Tough shit. She lived to put bad guys away. All he’d done was make her more determined than ever to bring him to justice.

  In order to do that quickly and quietly, Taylor was going to need some major resources, and by the looks on the faces of the two people who could give her those, she was shit out of luck.

  The only card she had up her sleeve was a certain PI who could play outside the lines and also just happened to be in good graces with Senator Jarvis.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Taylor said to Cunningham. “I thought the senator was going to play nice, but obviously, he’s not. I’ll—”

  “Shut up, Sinclair.” Cunningham rose from the chair and toyed with the remote for a moment before he set his sharp, unforgiving gaze on her. “You have embarrassed the Bureau and royally fucked this up after a day. One fucking day.”

  What? How was this her fault? She’d tried to interview the senator and he’d lawyered up, then blew her off to play victim to the press.

  She started to respond and Meredith shut her down. “I put you in charge of this because I knew you could handle it, Taylor. Was I wrong?”

  Having Cunningham jump on her was one thing. But Mer? The woman had been present at the Jarvis house and seen what had gone down. She’d always had confidence in Taylor’s abilities.

  Don’t argue. Not now. Meredith was trying to save face
in front of her boss. Later, they could have a heart to heart.

  She’ll throw you under the bus if it serves her purpose or the Bureau’s, Grey had said. Taylor hoped he was wrong, but at the moment, she could feel the wheels of the bus bearing down on her.

  “You were not wrong to put me in charge,” she assured both of them. “I will handle this. The Bureau is going to receive plenty of good press, I promise, when I solve this case, just like the last three my team has closed in the past month.” She couldn’t help throwing out a reminder of why she was in charge of the cold case unit.

  “I don’t give a shit about what you’ve done up ’til now,” Cunningham said. “I want the Jarvis case closed immediately and I better not hear or see one more negative press report, courtesy of the senator, am I clear?”

  Plastering on a confident smile, Taylor looked her boss’s boss in the eye. “Crystal, sir. I’m on it. I promise you, I’ll figure this out. Whatever it takes.”

  Whatever it takes translated to asking Matt for help.

  “You have 72 hours, Sinclair.” The AD was no longer looking at her. He played with the remote, switching news channels. “Seventy-two hours. If you haven’t cleared this case off my desk by then, I’ll hand it over to Leo. Him, I can count on.”

  Ouch. Hustling out of the office before the lynch mob strung her up by her designer heels, Taylor went to work on damage control, dialing Matt as she hit the elevator. The red satin bra and panty set she had picked out that morning might get some action yet before the day was over.

  “Hello, beautiful,” Matt answered. “Honest to God, I was about to call you. And before you take my head off, I didn’t know Walt was doing the press conference.”

  The elevator dinged and Taylor stepped inside. “I need to see you. Now.”

  “What’s up?”

  She punched the button for her floor and rubbed her forehead where a headache poked at her. “I don’t want to get into it over the phone. Can I meet you at the food truck in fifteen?”

  “No can do. I’m tied up until after six tonight. How about dinner?”

  Shit. She couldn’t wait that long. “Matt, I’m serious. I need to see you now. It’s important.”

  “Listen, sweet cheeks, there is nothing more I’d like to do than meet you for—eh-hem—lunch, but I’m on a case for the sisters. I’m also helping out a friend with another investigation. As soon as I’m done with this, I’ll come by your place and take you anywhere you want to go. Or we can stay in. I’ll bring the food to you.”

  Taylor kicked off the shoes and rolled her toes, sighing with relief, but also with annoyance. “Fine. Tonight. I’ll see you then and bring Thai.”

  “You got it.”

  Thirty minutes later, Taylor and Beckett scanned the scene past the yellow crime tape at the scrapyard. Four CSIs were working a gridded area, while their leader, Cora, shook her head at Taylor’s question. “No bones small enough to be an unborn child’s, but we’ve recovered over 200 of the mother, so she’s nearly intact.”

  All of Felicity. None of her baby. Yet. “Thanks, Cora, keep me posted. The wolves have their teeth around my neck, so I’d appreciate any info you can get me as soon as possible, especially in regards to that baby.”

  The CSI leader nodded and walked away. “You’ll be my first call if we find any bones.”

  Beck eyed Taylor. “You’ve got that look, boss.”

  Taylor’s fingers tingled with the adrenaline of a fresh angle on an old case. “No bones for the baby.”

  “Yet,” Beck said, mirroring her thoughts.

  “If our kidnapper killed her before she gave birth, the bones would be here.”

  “Or they killed her and the baby somewhere else, then dumped Felicity’s body here.”

  Taylor bit the inside of her cheek, another option coming to mind. “Or she gave birth before she was killed.”

  “Could be that too. Or the kid is actually here somewhere, just not with his mother’s body.”

  “That’s what we need to find out. Let’s get back to the office.” She glanced at her watch. “We have less than seventy hours.”

  * * *

  After work, Matt drove to the Columbia Heights address Taylor had texted him. Known as a yuppie neighborhood in the Northwest quadrant of DC, the area boasted a variety of restaurants and local shops as well as big retailers. Pretty much whatever you wanted, you could find here.

  On his way up the concrete porch steps, he couldn’t help notice how the freshly painted house, on a block stuffed with older, sturdy brick homes, stuck out like the new Cadillac on a street full of well-maintained Chevys.

  The recently renovated home, according to Zillow, had been gutted and split into two units. The first floor and basement were Taylor’s and the upper two floors some other lucky bastard’s. How Taylor could afford a brand new place in DC on a federal agent’s salary was a mystery, but good for her. He rang the bell and a light tinkling of chimes sounded from the other side. Such a foo-foo bell for the intensely passionate Taylor Sinclair.

  The door opened and Taylor filled his very happy sightline in a skintight sweater that hugged her tits nicely, snug jeans, and bare feet. This woman, either dressed to kill in her federal agent wear or casual in jeans and a truly exceptional sweater, knew how to slay a man.

  Namely him.

  Down, big fella.

  Depending on what this all-important meeting was, maybe Mad Dog and little Mad Dog would see another night of action. A vision of Taylor bent over a bed, gripping the comforter, popped into his brain and he didn’t bother fighting the small smile tugging at his lips.

  “Whatever you’re thinking,” she said, “knock it off.”

  She left him standing in the doorway, but waved him in. He followed her down a short hall keeping his eyes on her swinging ass as her feet smacked against pricey-looking tile.

  “Nice place.”

  “Thanks. I bought it with an inheritance from my grandmother.”

  At the end of the hallway, she stepped into a large, sunken living room containing a giant gray sectional and a deep-cushioned chaise lounge. Oh, honey, there are things we could do on that. The surrounding walls were painted a deep, brick red and the windows covered in a sheer white curtain that his artist boss would most definitely approve of.

  In his less than expert opinion, the whole thing shouldn’t have worked. Shouldn’t have. And maybe he was just a horny son of a bitch, but the place screamed of passion, heat, and long nights of truly amazing sex.

  “Damn, that’s hot,” he said.

  She scooped up a rock glass sitting on one of the end tables. “Thank you. This is my sanctuary from work. It’s eclectic but Gram would have approved, I think.” She jiggled the glass, making the amber liquid sway. “Can I get you a drink?”

  “What are you having?”

  “Scotch neat.”

  Apparently her drink of choice since she’d been partaking in the same two nights ago when they’d banged each other stupid.

  “I’m good. I ordered dinner to be delivered.”

  She eased onto the sofa, her gaze on him as she slowly crossed one leg over the other and brought the drink to her lips. “I like seeing you in my place.”

  Opting for the safer route, he took the spot adjacent to her. “I like being in your place. Keep it up and it’ll take a miracle to keep my hands off you.”

  “Maybe I want your hands on me.”

  At that, he smiled, but something told him Taylor wasn’t ready for him. Not yet. The other night at the hotel, she’d been playful.

  Loose.

  One scotch beyond a light buzz. His mind ticked back to his mother, wooden spoon in hand while making dinner and giggling during a slow-dance with his father. Smack dab in the middle of the kitchen. It should have been a happy sight. Should have been. Instead, it had become something he’d grown used to when his mother hit the vodka bottle one too many times and Dad humored her rather than upset the grieving drunk.

  Dysfunc
tion at its highest level.

  He brought his gaze back to Taylor and her thrown back shoulders. Nothing loose about her tonight. The federal agent had something on her mind and he wasn’t interested in competing with whatever it was.

  “Wicked woman, Ms. Sinclair, but I think you’re distracted. And, if we’re going to end this night the way we did our last one together, I’d like your full attention. Your call earlier have anything to do with it?”

  “Your client.” She set the drink down and rested one hand on the back of the sofa. “He’s pissing me off and putting me in hot water with my bosses.”

  “I gathered that. What’s the latest?”

  She hesitated and—here we go—he’d lay odds they were back to the debate over sharing information and him stealing her cases.

  “I shouldn’t tell you, but”—she shrugged—“someone will leak it anyway.”

  “Gee, thanks for that trust.”

  “Don’t give me that. I trusted you enough to call you this morning. I was going to have you meet me at the scrapyard for some detective work, but you were too busy.”

  “I do have a job.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched. “The CSI unit has been over every section around Felicity’s bones and there’s no baby.”

  No bones. Matt’s brain tunneled, hyper-focused on Felicity and her unborn child. He held up one finger. “She was pregnant when she disappeared. How are the baby’s bones not there?”

  “Well, that’s the question isn’t it?”

  She picked up the drink again, slugged it back and held up the glass, inspecting it under the shadowed light of a floor lamp.

  He snatched it away from her. “Let’s forget the drink a minute.”

  “Not likely. I’ve had a shitty day. My boss is unhappy because I’ve stepped out of her careful, very rigid boundaries on this case and I have the press breathing down the Bureau’s neck—which is exactly what she told me not to let happen. I’m hoping you’ll make it better for me. In a couple of ways.”

  For safekeeping, he tucked the empty glass out of her reach in one of the three square trays on the leather ottoman that doubled as a coffee table. “Have they finished searching? Could the bones have been…moved? An animal could have gotten to them.”