by Misty Evans
Mitch’s weapon went back into action mode, aiming at Felix. He motioned Hope behind him, and miracle of miracles, she went. “Put your weapon down,” Mitch said.
Where the hell was Gerard?
“I don’t think so,” Felix said to Mitch, and then he motioned for Brice to move. “Get off him.”
Brice raised his hands in the air and rose to his knees. Blood ran down his arm and dripped on the floor as Block shuffle-kicked away from him, grabbing at his torn shirt and the blood running from his injury. “I’ll need stitches!”
Fucking baby. Brice had a bullet lodged in his foot and a serious gash in his arm. Not that he hadn’t been shot before, but seriously?
Felix gave his partner in crime a disgusted look. “You’ve done it now, moron. You’ve put us all in a real mess.
“Shut up.” Block slowly gained his feet. He was brushing dust and hay off his coat and didn’t see Gerard slip in behind Felix, quiet as a cat. “Charley didn’t hire you for your brains. He hired you to clean up the messes. So…”
A sharp snap pierced the air. A handgun racking a bullet to the barrel. Both Felix and Block froze. Block’s head whipped around.
Gerard’s lips slid into a faint smile. He was holding a semi-automatic H&K a few inches from Felix’s head. “I don’t really like messes, so I suggest neither of you move or we’ll have one big fucking mess.”
Felix slowly lowered his weapon. Brice grabbed Block, and when the guy struggled, he punched him in the jaw. Nice. That idiot would not learn.
Block swayed on his feet, his eyes rolling up in his head. A second later, he fell to the floor, lights out.
Mitch moved toward Felix. “Drop it.”
Brice half-walked, half-hopped in front of Hope, shielding her from Felix’s weapon in case he decided not to cooperate. The guy’s lips thinned, but he followed instructions when Gerard tapped the muzzle of the gun against the back of his head.
Inch by inch, Felix lowered the gun to the floor.
“Kick it away,” Gerard told him.
He did so, the gun skittering across the floor to Brice. Mitch picked it up, never taking his aim off Felix.
Without warning, Gerard raised his H&K, took his finger off the trigger, and knocked Felix on top of the head. The guy did a good imitation of Block and crumpled to the floor, just like his buddy.
Gerard stared down at Felix. “That was for my friend, Justice Turner, you asshole.”
Brice, feeling a blast of relief, turned to Hope. “Are you okay, babe?”
Okay or not, she rushed him, jumping into his arms. “I’m so sorry!”
His bad foot and her sudden weight nearly toppled them. Brice gripped her tight, reveling in the hair that tickled his nose and the smell of her. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.” He muzzled her ear. “Except my arm where you cut me,” he teased. “And my foot where, because of your help, I took a bullet.”
She drew back, scanning him from head to toe. “Oh, my God, I am so, so sorry.”
“And I am so never letting you live this one down, Woodward.”
The feisty Hope, the one he loved so much, rose to the surface. She smacked his good arm. “You’re terrible! And I was trying to help.”
Mitch was calling Grey, who Brice figured would call the police or the FBI or whoever needed to come pick up the two men. And find Lamar Kostas before he went into the wind. Gerard moved Felix, dragging him across the floor by one arm, next to Block and zip-tying their hands.
Brice felt a little woozy, either from blood loss or relief. He tweaked Hope’s chin. “I wasn’t bluffing to Block. I’ve got the proof we need.”
She flew into his arms again, hugging him tight. “You’re a damn good investigative blogger, Brice Brennan.”
He was just glad she was safe. They had to work on her survival instincts.
Block coughed and moaned, blinking himself awake and trying to sit up. “I’m…innocent,” he muttered, his eyes not quite focusing yet. “It was all them. I’m a renowned scientist. I want…to cut…a deal.”
Well, he hadn’t lost his ego, that was for sure. As if being a famous scientist meant he could commit crimes without being held accountable for them.
Hope turned loose of Brice and stood over Block with her hands on her hips. “I’ve got news for you, buddy. You drugged me and tried to kill me! If nothing else, you’re going to jail for that.”
Atta girl. Brice pulled her to him. “Let’s go home, Woodward.”
She looked into his eyes. “Was there something you wanted to say to me, Bernstein? We never finished that talk.”
There was something he wanted to say to her all right. “Brat.”
She bit her bottom lip and shook her head. “I don’t think that was it.”
“Really, here? You want me to bare my soul in front of those two?” He jerked a thumb at Mitch and Gerard, both watching intently. Waiting.
“This is better than reality TV,” Gerard said to Mitch.
“Ain’t it though?” Mitch nodded at Brice. “Go ahead. You certainly eavesdropped enough on my embarrassing moments with Caroline when we were in New Mexico. Seems like my turn, now.”
Brice sighed. “I guess everyone knows anyway.”
“Yep,” Hope said. “Even Block guessed you were my boyfriend. You may be good at undercover ops, but you suck at love.”
Love. The word made him do a knee-jerk cringe inside.
But he did love her, and the cringe morphed into a warm, solid feeling in the center of his chest.
He tugged on a lock of hair. “Fine. I care about you.”
“You care. Come on, Hawk. I’m a journalist at heart. I know there’s more to this story.”
In the distance, he heard the sound of sirens. Or maybe that was his mind playing tricks on him, warning him away.
He ignored the sirens. Ignored Mitch and Gerard. He even ignored the pain in his arm and foot. Staring into Hope’s eyes, he smiled at her. “I love you, Hope Denby.”
She grinned from ear to ear, threw her arms around his neck and popped a kiss on him. “I love you, too, Bernstein. Now let’s get you to the hospital.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Two days later
“What’s the password?” Mitch’s voice came from the speaker at the closed gate of the Bat Cave.
Brice, window down, held up his middle finger.
“Come on, man. I brought you balloons after your surgery.”
Brice’s foot had needed microsurgery to remove the bullet and repair some damage. He was supposed to hit physical therapy later that day, which he dreaded, but at least Grey had broken him out of the hospital twenty-four hours after he’d entered. “They were pink and one said ‘Happy Sweet 16.’”
“They were the only ones left in the gift shop.”
Liar. The hospital gift shop didn’t carry birthday balloons.
In the background, Brice heard Caroline yell, “Let him in, Mitch, before I shoot you and finally be done with the whole affair.”
The volume of Mitch’s voice decreased, as if he’d turned his head away from the mic. “But he doesn’t know the password.”
“Holy atomic pile, Batman,” Brice murmured.
The gate buzzed, then started to swing open. “You want to talk atomic pile,” Mitch said, “wait ’til you see the pile on your desk, Brennan.”
Brice drove through the gate, glad the bullet had struck his left foot and not his right. He could still drive himself around and not depend on Hope, or worse, Mitch. The bruise from Mall Cop’s baton was a lovely shade of mustard yellow and still sore, but his neck was healed. The wound in his arm, courtesy of Hope, had been cleaned and stitched and was on the mend. It didn’t bother him like his foot, but he sure enjoyed giving Hope hell about it.
Hope. Just the thought of her made him smile. When he’d awoke from surgery, she’d been curled up in bed with him. Her soft snores had felt normal, familiar, and he’d brushed a strand of hair from her face, thanking the universe she had
n’t been hurt. He’d take a dozen more bullets to the foot if it meant keeping her safe.
They’d been pretty much inseparable since he’d left the hospital, but he could tell she was a bit adrift. Without her job or the investigation, she had a lot of pent up energy.
Of course, his injuries had garnered him a lot of sympathy and he’d used that to his advantage, taking her to bed, taking her in the shower, taking her just about anywhere and everywhere in his house to burn off her restlessness. Good thing she’d slipped off to grab a candy bar from the vending machine and hadn’t heard the doctor order him not to overexert himself when the guy had released him early from the hospital.
Brice parked and hopped out of the truck, grabbing the stupid crutch he had to use since his foot was bandaged up like a fat, white marshmallow and he wasn’t supposed to put weight on it. Hope had insisted on going with him to meet with the physical therapist that afternoon—one of the only reasons he’d go at all.
First, he had to check in with his boss. Aka, Batman.
The side door of the armory creaked open and Robin stood there waiting for him. Brice threw the crutch back in the truck and gritted his teeth as he hobbled over. Showing any kind of weakness to Mitch was a no-no. He’d never live it down.
Mitch raised his voice from its deep baritone to a squeaky high soprano. “Oh, Hawk, look how manly you are walking around on your poor, injured foot!”
His impression of Hope made Brice wish he had the crutch back so he could wop Mitch.
Suddenly a hand shot forward, grabbed Mitch by the front of his shirt and jerked him inside. There was a slight commotion and then Caroline appeared in his place, recomposing herself by pulling on the bottom edges of her dark, business jacket, and giving Brice a bright smile. “Glad you made it. How’s the arm?”
Brice moved it around in its socket. “May be a while before I can shoot straight, but the therapy will help.”
“I’m happy to work with you, too,” she said, ushering him inside. “Anytime you want to do some target practice out back, just holler.”
Brice stepped across the threshold and came to a halt.
Grey, Sydney, Teeg, and Mitch were standing around his desk. The laptop was still there, along with the pile of folders Mitch had mentioned.
But there was also a new, black, leather office chair, a 27-inch screen monitor, a vase of flowers, and a big plate of chocolate chip cookies.
Someone had hung a banner from the rafters that read, “Welcome Back!”
As he stood taking it all in, they all started clapping.
Clapping. For him.
Heat rose up the back of his neck. He’d never been appreciated in his last job, and while the blog garnered a lot of fans and he appreciated their loyalty and support, it was a rush to be part of a group, he realized, of people who knew and understood him—paranoia and all—and still respected him.
In fact, they even seemed to like him.
The clapping died off and Caroline pinched Mitch in his side. “Apologize.”
Mitch flinched and smacked her hand away. “For what? For giving him grief about Hope? That’s what guys do, Caroline.”
Sydney, on the other side of Mitch, pinched him as well. “Apologize.”
“Jesus, fucking A,” Mitch said. He rolled his eyes at Brice and opened his mouth to do what the ladies ordered when Brice held up a hand and stopped him.
“Don’t. Just don’t.” He hobbled over to his desk, Sydney’s cookies calling to him. He snagged one and took a bite. “As long as he has my back when push comes to shove,” he told the group, “we’re good. Right, Robin?”
Mitch looked confused. “Robin?”
Brice waved him off, spoke to Grey. “What’s the status of Winslow and the others?”
Grey went into Fed mode. “Dr. Martin Block did as he said and cut a plea deal with the Attorney General. He was furious with Justice Turner for his comments regarding the need for cheaper generics all citizens can afford. He didn’t believe Turner would allow the Donazem case to make it in front of the Court this spring. He pressured Charley Winslow to find a solution. Winslow bribed Joel Bigley to feed him information about Justice Turner’s intentions and when they found out Turner planned to deny the case, Winslow concocted a plan to have the Justice murdered.”
Swallowing the bite of cookie, Brice said, “And he hired Felix Warren, the DDOT guy, to do the job?”
Caroline jumped in. “Yep. Turns out, one of the weapons found in Felix’s residence was used in another murder. Apparently, he has a side gig doing murders for hire. His DDOT job allowed him to close that lane. He disguised himself and had Lamar Kostas take him to the bridge in Lamar’s cab that morning. They’d mapped out Turner’s commute to and from home and picked the bridge as the best place for the road rage incident to occur. Felix and Lamar are busy pointing fingers at Winslow and Block, who are pointing fingers back, but they’re all facing a long stint in federal prison. We’re still not sure which one posted the target on the Patriot Blog logo, but Warren claims it was Doc Block playing with Photoshop.”
“And you,” Sydney tapped a folded newspaper on Brice’s desk, “received recognition in today’s Post, along with Hope, for uncovering the real crime.”
His heart sank to his knees. He hadn’t paid attention to the newspapers. He and Hope had drafted a post for the Patriot, and he’d been caught up in the success of the reveal from the moment it went viral fifteen minutes after Hope hit upload.
A new record for him and the blog.
Now he read the section of print Sydney was pointing to, and relief swamped him. He wasn’t named except as “Hawkeye”, owner of The Patriot Blog. Further down, Hope had also escaped public exposure. She was credited as “an unnamed source, formerly an employee of the United States Supreme Court.”
Nowhere was Lodestone mentioned or even hinted at, mostly because Brice never mentioned him, even as a source. Now, Hope had become his Deep Throat.
Still, Brice owed the guy. Maybe someday, he could do something for Lodestone.
Glancing up, Brice shot Grey an inquisitive look. “This investigation was a team effort. You sure you’re okay with me and my ‘unnamed source’ taking all the credit?”
Grey’s expression didn’t change. “Your blog thrives on notoriety. We want the blog, and you, to continue succeeding. The Justice Team has to operate behind the scenes, but your blog doesn’t. It may come in handy for us in the future if we need something to go public.”
“For propaganda purposes? I don’t know about that.”
Grey’s answer was a shrug. “Not in the manner you’re thinking, but if it helps us solve a case by misleading the higher powers that be…?” He let the idea trail off. “I’m not above using every tool in my toolbox to solve cases.”
Justice. Brice needed to remember the purpose of working with this team. A purpose he’d dedicated his life to. “I have some conditions before we make this official.”
Grey simply looked at him, not a smidge of emotion on his face or in his straight posture.
But no argument from him either.
“First,” Brice continued, “this is a part-time gig for me. My first responsibility is The First Amendment Patriot Blog. The Justice Team comes second.”
“We can work with that for now.” Grey glanced at Brice’s bandaged foot. “You’re on light duty anyway.”
He had him there. “Second, I prefer to work from my house.”
Caroline snorted. “I don’t blame you. Those of us working here at the armory should get hazard pay for putting up with Mitch.”
“Hey!” Mitch complained.
Brice had been thinking the same thing, hence his request. “Is that a problem?” he said to Grey.
Grey folded his arms and took a moment before answering. Brice felt the Batman stare trying to wear him down.
He held firm.
Teeg raised his hand as if he needed permission to speak. “I have no problem sending cases to Brice via a secure e
mail link like I did this past week. That worked pretty well, actually.”
“There’s a team meeting every Monday morning,” Grey said, ignoring the computer geek. “I’ll expect you to show up in person for those. Otherwise, it will be on a case-by-case basis. Since you’re only doing consulting for now, I don’t see why that should be an issue.”
“All right then.”
Caroline and Mitch exchanged a glance. “That’s it?” Mitch said. He shook his head. “You should have held out for a bigger salary and paid vacation, man.”
Grey had slipped him a salary number while visiting Brice in the hospital. It wasn’t much by D.C. standards, but it was enough to buy Hope a sizable ring down the road if things went the way Brice planned.
“Oh.” Brice snapped his fingers. “There is one last thing.”
Teeg, who’d been rubbing his hands together at the idea of Brice joining them, let out a groan. “Uh, oh. Here it comes. You want access to my play station over there, don’t you? I knew it. I knew one big monitor at your desk wasn’t enough. You want a setup just like mine.”
“I have a setup like yours—better than yours, actually—” Brice informed him. “What I want is an unlimited supply of Sydney’s cookies.”
He winked at her and she stepped forward and pinched his cheek. “I knew I liked you.”
Everyone laughed, except for Mitch, who snagged three of said cookies from the plate and walked over to his desk where he plopped down to go back to work.
The others faded off, Sydney kissing Grey on the cheek and heading for the door. Caroline stole one of Mitch’s cookies and walked over to her own desk to make a call.
Teeg returned to his “play station” and started typing on Frodo.
“As long as you’re here,” Grey said, “we need input on our next case.”
Brice sat in his new leather chair, testing it out by rocking it back and forth a couple of times. Comfortable. Maybe even more than his own at home. He propped his foot on the desk, thinking he could actually get used to this. “What’s the case involve?”
