A car three doors down vacated a spot—lucky break there—and Matt hit the gas. “Parking space. Let’s grab it while we’re on ice.”
“We’re parking? We have no idea who this woman is or if she’s important to our case. How long do you plan to wait?”
“No idea.”
“Yeesh.”
“Welcome to grunt work, babe.”
They sat for ten minutes, stringing theories about the blonde and her possible connection to Kristina Caldwell and whatever baby the two women had been arguing about.
In the middle of their brainstorming Matt received a text from Charlie. The message contained a link to the local cable news station and he clicked it. A video popped up showing a reporter standing in front of a cemetery where Walt Jarvis had just held a private burial for Felicity. The reporter cut to Walt and Ann, their heads high, but grim faced and looking appropriately sad behind dark glasses.
“What is it?”
Matt closed the screen and set his phone on the dash. “Felicity’s memorial service. Charlie sent me the link. Let’s hope we don’t have another impromptu press conference from my client.”
Taylor’s phone beep-beeped. “It’s Grey.” She punched the screen and put him on speakerphone. “Hey. What’s up?”
“The Escalade is registered to a Rush Gardener, spouse of Rosalind Gardener.”
Matt nodded. “Let’s assume the blonde we followed is Rosalind. How about the address we sent you?”
“Owned by Rush as well. He’s a lawyer. Civil litigation. Mostly car accidents, workplace injuries, that sort of thing.”
How a civil litigation lawyer played into this, Matt wasn’t sure. And apparently neither was Taylor because she curled her lip. “What do we know about the wife?”
“Thank you,” Grey said to someone on his end. “Teeg just handed me a file and…oh, suh-weet.”
“What?”
“Remember Hearts of Love adoptions?”
Taylor met Matt’s gaze, eyebrows lifted. “The one Kristina Caldwell volunteers for? What about it?”
“Rosalind owns it. I knew there was a reason that place rang a bell with me.”
What the? Matt’s head damned near blew off his body. “She owns it?”
“You heard me. She’s known in the adoption world as the Baby Matchmaker. Her agency—which she runs from her home—is private, quite renowned, and caters to the rich and famous who can’t have kids or want to be seen as socially conscious and adopt, rather than adding to the world’s overpopulation. Her agency’s motto is ‘Your perfect child is waiting.’”
“But she does everything legally, right?” Taylor asked.
“That depends on your interpretation of a certain incident in her background.” Grey sounded almost gleeful. “Hearts of Love was involved in a controversy several years ago with a couple in Seattle. Some tree-hugging entrepreneurs with a billion-dollar cell phone recycling business wanted to adopt a couple of kids and contracted her agency to handle it. Something went sideways and the whole thing got hushed up and settled out of court. I don’t have the details, but Teeg will keep digging.”
Taylor held two hands up. “That’s it. I want to talk to this woman. Something is definitely not copacetic in this whole thing. I want to know what her connection is to the birthing center, outside of Kristina Caldwell, and I want to know what baby the two of them were arguing over.”
“Baby?” Grey asked.
Matt pointed at Taylor. “Relax a second. Let’s think this through before we go knocking on her door.”
“What baby?” Grey repeated, his voice carrying that don’t-piss-me-off edge.
Taylor rummaged in her bag for something so Matt jumped in. “Rosalind showed up at Kristina Caldwell’s when we were watching the place. We listened in and Kristina was bitching about some screw-up not being her fault.”
“What screw-up?”
Wasn’t that the million-dollar question? “We don’t know. It involved a baby, which is why we tailed Rosalind.”
Taylor smacked Matt’s arm. A quick slap-slap-slap and ow.
“Heads up,” she said. “Rosalind is on the move.”
Across the street, Rosalind quick-walked from the building to her car, clearly in a hurry as she darted into traffic and almost got pancaked by an oncoming vehicle. A horn sounded and she raised a hand offering a distracted mea culpa.
That didn’t last long because she hopped in and cut into traffic raising the ire of an old guy cruising the block in his ancient Ford LTD. How that land yacht even fit on the narrow street eluded Matt.
“Someone’s late,” Taylor muttered.
“Grey,” Matt said, “which unit do the Gardeners live in?”
“2B. Why?”
“We’ll call you back.”
Taylor punched off and waved her hand. “Hit it. Let’s see where she’s going.”
But Matt didn’t move. He sat, staring at the front of Rosalind’s building, his mind spinning. This was why he loved cold case work. The hunt. Chasing leads, failing, and trying again, all of it revved him up.
“Matt, come on. She’s turning.”
“I know,” he said. “We’re going to plan B.”
“We have a plan B?”
He grinned at her. Couldn’t help it. How cute was she? “We do now.” He pointed to the building. “We’re doing a sneak and peek.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Ha!” Taylor said. “Good one. Or did I not just hear you say you wanted to break into the Gardener’s home?”
“You heard me, sweet cheeks. Rosalind isn’t likely to volunteer that she’s running an illegal adoption center out of her home, so we’ll check it out ourselves. See if there’s any meat to this theory.” He whipped the key out of the ignition and dangled it at her. “Unless you’d rather wait in the car.”
If he understood Taylor at all, there was no way on God’s green earth she’d sit by and let him search the Gardener place alone. FBI agent—even if on suspension—or not, her competitive edge ran just as sharp as his. She’d want to see for herself what secrets the Gardeners kept.
She eyeballed the keys in his hand. “You’re crazy if you think you’re leaving me out here.”
Yep. Just like he thought. “Alright then, Special Agent Sinclair, let’s see what we’ve got.”
Out of the glove box he snagged a soft leather pouch that fit nicely in his back pocket. His lock-picking tools. Next came a couple pairs of latex gloves. He handed one set to Taylor and shoved the other in his pocket with his tools.
“Handy,” she cracked.
“I like to be prepared.”
“Right. Because who knows when you’ll be required to break into someone’s house.”
“Exactly.”
After hopping out, he locked the car and held his hand out to Taylor, who grabbed on as he led her across the street.
Shielding her eyes against the sun with her free hand, she scanned the upper floors of the building. “Oh, look. Third floor. The corner unit has a for sale sign.” At the curb, she pulled him to a stop and tugged on his sleeve. “Oh, honey. I love this building. Please, baby, let’s go look at the unit for sale.”
Taking her cue and for the benefit of the two women strolling with their toddlers, he lifted his hand to block the sun and stared up at the top floor.
“It’s a great neighborhood,” one of the moms offered.
“See!” Taylor gushed. “It’s perfect for us.”
“Eh,” Matt said, again enjoying playing the role of Taylor’s better half. “Why not? If it’ll make you happy.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she purred, “it will. And you know what happens when I’m happy.”
The not-so-subtle innuendo wasn’t lost on him. Or the moms. They wandered by, giggling at Taylor’s hijinks, and Matt narrowed his eyes. “Go easy, killer, or I’m gonna be walking around with a chubby.”
“Ha!” she said. “I think I’d enjoy that.”
“And, you know, it wouldn’t kill you to try to blend. I
know you’re not used to ditching rules, but seriously, let’s not call unnecessary attention to ourselves.”
He led her to the entrance, found the door indeed locked and pushed one of the buzzers. 1A.
No answer. He tried another—nada—then stabbed at the next one. Sooner or later, he’d get a response. 2D.
“Hello?”
Bingo. “Hi. My name is Brian Foggerty. My wife and I are here to look at the unit for sale, but the realtor—”
Bzzzttt. A buzzer sounded followed by the immediate click of a lock disengaging. Huh. If he’d known it was going to be that easy…
“He didn’t even let you finish,” Taylor huffed. “For the love of God, we could be serial killers and he just buzzed us in. People really need to be more careful with their personal safety.”
Was she really complaining about this?
“Yeah, well, it worked for us.”
He swung the door open and waved her through.
Once inside she headed for the elevator and punched the button. The elevator doors whooshed open and he set his hand on her lower back, guiding her in front of him. “You’re funny, Tay.”
“I am funny. Sometimes I don’t appreciate that about myself. I’m too serious. You’ve helped me lighten up though. So, thank you.”
Wow. Now there was a compliment of all compliments and it left him…stunned. Not stunned enough, however, to ignore an opportunity. A grand one. He waited for the doors to close, then hooked his hand around her neck and hit her with a kiss that had him contemplating the benefits of the emergency stop button. As usual, she responded, arching into him and playing hide-and-seek with her tongue.
Thoughts of pressing her against the elevator wall and sliding into her raced through his mind. Damn, he was crazy about her. She upped the ante on the kiss and slid her leg up his calf.
God, this woman was exceptional. Wicked, wicked woman.
Ding. The elevator cruised to a halt and Taylor angled back, pressing her hands against his cheeks. “Oh, my,” she said. “I think we’ll have to finish this later.”
They sure would. “You can count on that.”
He and Taylor had been competitors for months. That sense of competition had driven his lust for her to another level. From the second he’d seen her, he wanted her. Then when she opened her mouth he wanted to shut her up. By kissing her. Kissing that mouth.
Kissing everything. Taylor, pain in the ass that she was, did it for him. Intellectually, physically, emotionally, all of it. The highest of the highs.
But with the highs there had to be lows. That was life and sometimes it sucked. In fact, life sucked a lot. He’d learned that when his baby sister had been murdered and his mother became a drunk. The trick was making the most of the times that didn’t suck.
He and Taylor? They’d yet to experience the lows with each other. Sure, she’d curtailed the drinking, but maintaining that sobriety was a different animal. Could she do it long-term and maybe give them a shot at an actual relationship? At commitment, dinners, and the mundane trappings that came with being a couple?
He hoped so.
The elevator doors slid open and straight ahead, against a stark white wall, an ornate brass sign indicated units 2A and 2B to the left.
Taylor, having perfect vision, hooked a left. “Look around,” she whispered. “Check for security cameras.”
“On it.”
He did a visual sweep of the corridor, his eyes darting up and down, checking the corners and ceiling for any overhead cameras. “You see anything?”
“Nope.”
“Me neither. I think we’re good.”
“Really, the security is extremely lax in this building.”
“Good for us.”
He stopped at unit 2B tucked in the corner. Another lucky break given that he only had to worry about nosey neighbors from one side. He knocked on the glossy red door and waited. Nothing.
“Try again,” Taylor suggested. “Just to be sure.”
Matt rapped on the door again, harder this time, but not banging. No sense alerting the neighbors to the B&E about to happen.
He leaned closer to the door, his ear almost pressed against it. No sound came from inside.
Satisfied no one was home, he nodded. “Huddle up here. Block the view in case someone comes into the hallway.”
Taylor did as he asked and the scent of her perfume, something soft—jasmine?—distracted him for a few seconds. Focus here, dumbass.
Sliding the tension wrench into the lock, he turned until the inner cylinder moved then inserted the pick, finagling it until he’d moved each pin, one by one and…done. Lock popped.
Working quickly, he pushed open the door, heard a chime and halted. Door chime. Security system. But the chime went silent so Matt slipped inside with Taylor behind him. The keypad on the wall told him the alarm was inactive.
The fading aroma of fresh baked cookies tickled his senses. He locked the door behind them, then held his hand out, blocking Taylor from moving as he listened. Just in case someone was home, maybe in the shower, about to walk out and hello, strangers.
“I don’t hear anything,” she said.
The ultra-neat living room with walls the color of a stormy sky and a bright white sofa looked straight out of a decorating magazine. It led to a hallway that stretched across the front of the building. At the end of it sat what looked like another large, open area that must have been the kitchen and dining area.
Taylor snapped on her gloves. “I think we’re good. Let’s see if there’s an office.”
Three open doors, two on one side, one on the other lined the corridor and Matt hustled along. First door. Bedroom. He popped his head in. No one. Next door. Bathroom. Also empty. The third door was ajar and he noted the exact position before pushing it open and finding the office. Bingo.
Before they left, he’d reposition the door, but for now, they were going in.
A huge mahogany desk served as the focal point in the room. A large bookcase held what looked like vintage books and various knickknacks and framed photos. No photos of babies, though. It struck Matt as odd.
None of that, for the moment, mattered. What held Matt’s attention was the three-drawer filing cabinet wedged in the corner.
“I’ll take the desk,” Taylor said. “You deal with that filing cabinet. Let’s be quick.”
* * *
Rosalind was Type A.
The top of her desk held little except for a thin laptop and single red file folder. The file had an elegant stamp on the front with the Hearts of Love logo. Inside was a birth certificate and adoption papers. Taylor had just snapped a picture of the birth certificate when she heard the squeak of the apartment door.
What the hell…?
She glanced at Matt, her blood rushing loudly in her ears. Someone was home.
He gestured at her as he tucked himself behind the open office door. It looked like he wanted her to get down.
Behind the desk? Was he kidding?
Knew this was a bad idea.
But, oh the rush of it! Breaking in, sneaking around, finding evidence…
Breaking the law.
We’re so dead.
“Yes, I know I’m late,” Rosalind’s irritated voice cut through Taylor’s racing thoughts. Matt was waving at her wildly. High heels clicked in the hallway. “I forgot the damned file. It’s right on my desk.”
Taylor shoved the birth certificate aside and shot a photo of the adoption papers. Slamming the folder closed, she dropped behind the desk and shifted the office chair in front of her, knowing it was a wasted tactic. No way they were getting out of this unnoticed.
Damn it! If she hadn’t already incinerated her career, this would definitely do the job.
She fired off the two pictures to Grey and wondered how bad her arrest photo was going to look with her black eye, unwashed hair, and total lack of makeup.
Pretty damn bad. When the press got hold of this, AD Cunningham was going to string her up
but good. He’d probably line up the firing squad. At least Matt and Beck would visit her in prison.
Rosalind blew into the office, bracelets jingling as she kept talking on her phone and headed for her desk.
Taylor held her breath. How had she gone from elite FBI agent to running shotgun on an illegal B&E in less than twelve hours?
Mad Dog. It was all his fault.
Again.
Rosalind closed the space to the desk and picked up the folder from the other side. Taylor made herself as small as she could, sure Rosalind would hear her heart slamming into her ribcage.
Game over.
“Here it is.” Rosalind paused and tapped the folder on the desk. “Give me twenty. I promise you, it will be worth it. This baby is going to rock your world.”
She turned and Taylor squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for Rosalind to see Matt behind the door and scream.
“No, I told you,” she said, “this one is special. I handpicked her out of several children who fit your exact parameters. Her parents come from very elite stock. Like I promise every client, she is your perfect child.”
Stock? Were people cattle now?
Rosalind’s footsteps faded, her voice growing distant as she went back down the hall toward the front door. A moment later, the door squeaked once more and Taylor heard the click of it closing.
No way.
No. Frickin’. Way!
She hadn’t seen Matt.
She hadn’t realized Taylor was under her desk.
Taylor shook from head to toe. She couldn’t even push the chair out of the way to crawl out from under the desk.
This was why she shunned undercover work and stayed safe in her Bureau cubicle.
“It’s safe,” Matt said. “You can come out now. She’s gone.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Taylor murmured, kicking the chair away. She climbed out on shaky legs and found Matt holding out a hand to help her up.
Ignoring it, she stood on her own, locking her knees. “What the hell did we just do?”
“Avoid an uncomfortable confrontation?”
He smirked and Taylor wanted to slap him.
What was this man doing to her?
“We shouldn’t be here.” She pushed past him, every cell in her body screaming for her to run. “I need air.”
Missing Justice (The Justice Team Book 7) Page 19
