Defending Justice: A Justice Team Novel

by Misty Evans

  “Maybe both.” Beck considered his options as Roane turned toward his vehicle. “I don’t know, but let’s see if I can find out.”

  He grabbed the door handle.

  “Beck!” Jackie whirled. “No.”

  Bounding out and slamming the door on her warning tone, he jogged toward Roane, catching him before he could get in the Sequoia. “Mr. Hodges?”

  Roane turned, eyed Beck, and then his attention slid behind Beck where the slam of a car door sounded. Damn it. Jackie wasn’t going to be left out of the fun. “Yeah?”

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Depends.” The man’s jaw worked. “What do you want?”

  Beck pointed at the black truck. “Can you tell me anything about your friend there?”

  “He’s not my friend.”

  Jackie came stomping up. “Funny, since you two have known each other since your Army days.”

  Roane glanced at the building, back at Beck. “I got nothing to say.”

  But as he turned to get into his vehicle, he murmured under his breath. “Meet me at the Zippy Mart at the end of the block.”

  He climbed in and the vehicle roared to life. Beck and Jackie exchanged a look and hurried back to Chessie’s car.

  “Zippy Mart,” Beck told the investigator. “Follow that Sequoia.”

  Roane blew out of the lot and Chessie followed at a slower pace. “What’s going on?”

  “Not sure,” Beck said, “but I have a feeling Mr. Hodges has something to get off his chest.”

  “And what a chest it is,” Jackie said. “Let’s hope he has something juicy for us.”

  Beck scoffed at her. “You were checking out his chest?”

  She grinned over the seat. “Down boy. I’m just saying, it was hard to miss.”

  “Let’s remember this guy could be our shooter,” Chessie said, “regardless of his penchant for intelligence or his big chest.”

  The silver SUV pulled in behind the convenience store and Chessie parked beside him.

  “You should stay here,” he said to Jackie, pulling a handgun from his shoulder holster and checking the magazine.

  “Good luck with that,” Beck said under his breath, drawing his own personal weapon and doing the same.

  Jackie’s gun made an appearance and she waggled it in the air so they both could see it. “I’m not missing all the fun.”

  Before any of them could get out, Roane hauled out of the Sequoia and jogged over to Chessie’s car. He pulled open the back passenger door and slid in next to Beck. “Holy shit, it took you guys long enough.”

  All three of them looked at him.

  Chessie stated the obvious. “We got here the same time you did, chief.”

  “Not that.” He shifted uncomfortably as if he were too big for the seat. Beck knew the feeling. “Figuring out about the bogus finance numbers. I thought you were never going to put two and two together and interrogate Rachael about them.”

  Jackie frowned at him, keeping her gun in view. “You overheard our conversation with Rachael?”

  “I overhear a lot.” He glanced out the window, his hand rubbing on his thigh. “I knew about the funky numbers.”

  “Tell us,” Beck insisted.

  Roane took a deep breath, his eyes continuing to survey their surroundings as if the boogeyman were about to jump them. “I came on board at DTC after the investigation into Travathian and the faulty helmets. Dikko wanted to land better contractors to ensure the equipment was up to spec and a friend referred me. Dikko needed help digging out of the hole he’d made with the DOD and I had connections. I believed he was legit and wanted to make things right, and the money was good. At first, everything seemed normal, and I was only in the office a few days a month, consulting on some of the overseas contracts. Then I realized things were off. I overheard conversations between Dikko and the CFO. She was asking questions about finance numbers. Then Annabelle Lockhart came into the office for a meeting. The conference room is right next to my office and well, the walls are thin.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “Annabelle had concerns about the tax reports. Something about the lack of documentation. Dikko blew a gasket, claimed Annabelle wasn’t being a team player.”

  “So you looked into it?”

  “I spoke to Annabelle, you know, off the record, just a friendly little conversation to see if I could find out what was going on. She wouldn’t talk about it.”

  “And?” Beck prompted.

  “I did some digging—I have contacts in a lot of places. Things were fishy with all the connections between the Travathians, Lockharts, and POTUS. I didn’t like the smell.”

  “So why didn’t you quit?” This from Chessie. “Or go to Justice with your suspicions?”

  “I did go to the Justice Department. A friend there thought I should stay on and see what turned up. That guy you saw me with back there?” His gaze finally swung to Beck. “He’s former military like me. We have history and it’s not all grins and giggles. I thought he might be up to something aside from the funky finance numbers and inventory stuff, and since I took pity on him when he got kicked out of the Berets and got him this job with DTC, I felt responsible if he was doing anything underhanded.”

  “You were investigating your friend,” Beck said.

  “Like I said, he’s not my friend. Maybe once, back in the day when we were part of a unit, but not for a long time. I thought he’d changed after getting kicked out of Spec Ops, but… I’ve reconsidered my position on that.”

  “Someone broke into my home,” Jackie said. “This person also stole my notes on Annabelle’s case. Could it be him?”

  Roane nodded. “I think so.”

  Jackie dug the picture of Lockhart, Dikko, and the President out of her briefcase. “You know anything about this?”

  He glanced down at his lap, then back up at her. “Yes, ma’am. I slipped it under your door after Mrs. Lockhart was killed.”

  “Because you think Dikko killed her?” Beck asked.

  Roane’s focus switched to him even as he pointed at the photograph. “I don’t know for sure who killed her, but I’m pretty damn sure it’s one of them. Thing is…”

  His gaze went back out the window and he rubbed his pants-clad thigh again. “I don’t think any of them had the balls to pull the trigger. Or swipe the glass in this case.”

  Beck knew where this was going. “But you know someone who does.”

  His sigh could have sunk the Titanic. “Jones Ashley has nineteen kills to his name while he was in the Green Berets, and only half are listed on his official record.”

  “Dikko hired him to take care of Annabelle, didn’t he?”

  “I believe it’s a strong possibility, but I have yet to find the proof. I was hoping you were going to do that.”

  Jackie snorted. “We are. Thank you, Mr. Hodges. We’ll take it from here.”

  Roane nodded and offered his hand to Beck. “Good luck. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

  * * *

  Hodges exited the car and Jackie turned to Beck. “Wow.”

  “Yeah.” He stared out the window. “Now we know where the photo came from.”

  Chessie fired up the engine and drove from the parking lot. “I’ll drop you two at the office and chase a couple people I know at the phone company. Maybe we’ll get lucky and I can pull Ashley’s phone records. See who he’s been talking with.”

  Behind them, Beck made a humming noise. “If he’s smart, he has a burner phone.”

  “If you get his records,” Jackie said, “check the night of Annabelle’s murder. Maybe he was communicating with Dikko around the time Annabelle died. I would think, if he were the hired gun, he’d want to tell his boss the deed was done.”

  “Will do.”

  Ten minutes later, Chessie pulled away from the curb, leaving Jackie and Beck standing outside Jackie’s office. Chances were he wouldn’t find anything on Jones’ phone from the night of the
murder, but maybe there’d be a pattern of calls, constant communication, something she could use to bolster a possible Plan B defense.

  Briefcase in hand, she ran her teeth over her bottom lip while her mind worked possible scenarios.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “If we can find something in Jones’ phone records, we should be able to create enough reasonable doubt for a jury. I’d like something solid though. Indisputable evidence that will clear you.”

  “You and me both.”

  A bird whizzed by. Beck glanced up, squinting against the evening sun as the bird dipped and soared then came to rest on top of the street lamp. He let out a snort. “You got some life, buddy.”

  And there it was. The worry. Maybe he didn’t talk about it, but they both knew – how could they not? – his future was far from safe.

  She set her hand on his chest, gave him a pat. “You know I’m doing everything I can think of, right? I won’t let you go to prison.”

  Not now that they’d finally reconnected. She wanted a chance with him. Some time to hopefully recapture the fun and excitement they’d shared in Fort Lauderdale. They were older now, both experiencing successful careers and maturity they didn’t have twelve years ago. Back then they were ambitious dreamers. Now they could have it all.

  If she kept him out of prison.

  Beck covered her hand with his and squeezed. “Nothing’s guaranteed. Even for you.”

  “True, but I don’t give up. And we have resources. Dikko Travathian is in the middle of this mess. We just have to prove it.”

  “I think,” Beck said, “we should call Debra Johansen.”

  “Are you kidding? After what she did putting our sex tape out there for God and country?”

  “We’ll leak DTC’s financials and Annabelle’s involvement to her. If nothing else, it’ll put pressure on Metro to start looking in that direction.”

  Not a bad idea. Jackie paused to ponder the benefits as well as the possible downsides. “It’s risky, but I like it. First, we’ll be messing with evidence. Second, we could piss off a judge by trying our case in the press. I’m not opposed, but you have to be ready for the consequences.”

  Beck shrugged. “At this point, I’ve got nothing to lose.”

  True dat. Jackie nodded. “Let’s go inside. We’ll call and send her copies of the reports.”

  “I’m hungry. Can we order dinner while we’re dealing with Debra?”

  Probably a good idea since it was after seven o’clock and the day gave no indication of winding down.

  Hand-in-hand, they walked up the path to Jackie’s office. Halfway there, she lifted their joined hands. “A girl could get used to this.”

  “Holding hands?”

  That, plus some. “All of it. The companionship, the affection. It’s nice.”

  For a few seconds, the career girl in her mourned the niceties that came with a relationship. Building her law practice had consumed her, kept her mind always moving ahead. She’d had no time or patience for men. Over the last few years, the men who’d come into her life quickly disappeared. Too needy or requiring her attention.

  Was it fair to them? Probably not. She accepted it and steered clear of anyone even hinting at a relationship.

  At least until Beck burst back into her life. Now she wanted whatever she could get of him. That meant keeping him out of prison.

  Failure, as her mother often said, was not an option.

  Beck held the exterior door open and Jackie walked through. She flipped the switch on the wall, illuminating the reception area.

  “Hello?” she called, just in case Josh was hibernating in his office.

  Blessed silence.

  She’d been running on adrenaline since the shooting, but the quiet gave her mind a few seconds to pause, to recognize the ache in her limbs.

  Damn. Shouldn’t have stopped to think. If she focused too much on the fatigue, she’d collapse.

  “Everyone’s gone,” she said. “Come back to my office.”

  She smacked another light switch and the wall sconces lit up. Together, they moved down the short hallway and she pointed to the small break room at the opposite end. “Last door on the left is the kitchen. Check the top drawer next to the sink for menus. Why don’t you order us something while I track Debra down? The Chinese place is good.”

  While Beck busied himself with their dinner order, Jackie dropped into her desk chair and closed her eyes. Just a few seconds, that’s all she needed to recharge. Beck’s voice drifted from across the hall and she took in the simplicity of a man ordering dinner for her. Another thing she could get used to.

  If she won his case.

  Win it.

  She snapped her eyes open. What the hell was she doing daydreaming like this? It was a total waste of precious time.

  She dug out her cell phone and searched her contacts for Debra’s number. The phone went straight to voicemail so Jackie left a message indicating it was a 9-1-1 situation.

  That should get the feisty reporter moving.

  She tossed the phone on her desk and stared at the solid crystal paperweight her mother had given her. The thing weighed eight pounds – yes, she’d checked – and at certain times she imagined slamming it against her head.

  Times like now when mind-melting self-doubt crept in. Should she have done that? A reporter, for God’s sake. Really? That move so early in the game could easily backfire on her.

  It was Beck’s idea of course, but she needed to be the voice of reason. The one who talked the emotionally charged suspect out of rash maneuvers.

  Except, by allowing herself to get involved, she was just as emotionally charged. And way more apt to make mistakes.

  She set her palm against her forehead and pushed. Think, Jackie. Think, think, think.

  Movement in the doorway caught her attention. Beck rejoining her.

  “I think,” she said, looking up. “Whoa.”

  A man – Jones – stood in the doorway dressed in black jeans and a black long-sleeved T-shirt.

  A backpack was slung over his shoulders, but her eye went to his side.

  Gun.

  He raised his arm, pointed the weapon straight at her and panic exploded, sending stabs of pain down her neck into her shoulders. “What...What are you doing?”

  He brought his free hand up, placing his finger against his lips in the classic ssshhh signal. Silently, he stepped into the room, keeping his back to the wall, his gaze ping-ponging between her and the doorway where any second Beck would be walking in.

  Using his free hand, Jones slid the backpack off his shoulder and set it on the sofa next to him. “You’re a pain in the ass,” he said. “Always interrupting my work.”

  She swiveled in her chair, tracking his movements as Jones adjusted his aim. Center mass, the cops called it.

  “I…” she stopped, then took a breath, and curled her trembling fingers into tight fists. “Listen, I can help you. Whatever Dikko has you wrapped up in, you don’t have to do this. I can help you.”

  “Hey, Jackie.”

  Beck’s voice. Coming closer. No. “Beck! Run!”

  Too late. Beck swung into the room, spotted Jones and halted, hands rising in the air. Jones brought the weapon around, aiming it at Beck and...now.

  Jackie grabbed the crystal paperweight and flung it at Jones’ head. Despite its weight, it flew from her hand. Jones sidestepped and avoided the blow. But Jackie was on the move, leaping toward him as he brought the gun up. From his angle, Beck charged and –

  “No!” Jackie said

  Ooff. Beck slammed into Jones, tackling him.

  Still, he raised the gun, aimed at Jackie and...boom. The gun went off, the sound reverberating in her ears. A shot zipped by her, but somehow she kept moving. A moving target was harder to hit.

  Beck gripped Jones’ wrist with one hand, cocked his free arm back and slammed his fist straight into the man’s temple. His head snapped sideways.

  Still, Jones held
on to the gun. Dammit. Jackie lunged just as his finger found the trigger again and squeezed.

  Eighteen

  Beck was already shoving all his weight into Jones to pin the bastard down when the gun went off a second time. Lucky him, he caught the bullet in his shoulder.

  A fiery sensation ripped through his upper arm where it grazed his skin, but Jackie was okay, and that was all that mattered. He could still make a fist and, with it, he punched Jones in the face and then ripped the gun from the man’s hand.

  Jones’ eyes rolled up in his head and he went limp.

  Ears ringing with the echo of the gun’s report, Beck sat back on his heels. He slammed the safety on the gun and tossed it over to the couch. “Are you okay?” he asked as Jackie fell to her knees beside him.

  She touched his bleeding shoulder. “Oh my God, you've been shot.”

  “Not the first time.” He looked her over from head to toe, taking her hand and pulling her up off the floor. “That’s a killer fastball you’ve got there, Ms. DelRay.”

  Her brow knit with worry. “I definitely need to get better security around here.”

  “Call the police. I'll call Taylor. She can be in on the interrogation of this weasel down at the station. She’ll get him to confess and expose Dikko.”

  “You need an ambulance.” Jackie went for her phone.

  “Meh. It’s nothing but a graze. Some peroxide and a bandage, and I'll be good to go.”

  She punched numbers, and at first, he thought the muted beeping noise was from her phone. But the sound wasn’t matching her finger movements and it was too rhythmic.

  Beep…beep…beep.

  Tugging on his earlobe to clear the gunshot echoes, his eyes strayed to the sofa where a black bag sat.

  Beep…beep…beep.

  “What is that?”

  The phone to her ear as the call connected, she shook her head, eyes wide. “Jones brought it with him.”

  Fuck. He prayed it wasn't what he thought.

  Carefully unzipping the top, Beck peered in. Red numbers winked back at him.

  Numbers counting down from thirty.

  His stomach dropped. The bastard had brought a bomb.