Defending Justice: A Justice Team Novel

by Misty Evans

  God, I hate bombs.

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  Of all the things he'd studied, he knew little about explosive devices. What he remembered from his training was sufficient to know this device was stable enough for Jones to transport in a bag.

  But there was no way Beck had the expertise to disarm it.

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  He glanced back at Jones, still out for the count. No help there.

  The man’s coat had been ripped open, a small cream-colored box that looked like a pager was hooked on his belt. Beck bet anything that pager had gotten jammed during their fight and had triggered the bomb.

  Someone on the other end of Jackie's call had answered, and he heard a sharp, tinny voice. “Is anyone there? Hello? What is the nature of your call?”

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  Beck zipped up the backpack, considering his options.

  Not a fucking one of them did he like. “Put an order in for the bomb squad, Jackie.”

  Snatching up the bag, he ran.

  Get outside.

  Get away from Jackie.

  As he hit the front stoop, he ran on full instinct, adrenaline pumping hard. The construction across the street had halted for the weekend. Street lights glinted off the machines. Scaffolding rose high in the air against the building being revamped.

  Dumpster.

  The dark green dumpster was filled with broken concrete slabs from the parking lot that was also getting a makeover. The dumpster sat next to a big, hulking bulldozer.

  Beep…beep…beep.

  Heavy, dense. Concrete and metal. It was the best—and only—solution he could see. Otherwise the bomb could take out Jackie’s office building or the one next to it. Quite possibly, the entire block.

  Vaulting over the concrete barricade, Beck skirted a backhoe and hurdled a set of pylons. The entire site was a giant obstacle course, reminding him of the Academy. Skidding to the dumpster, he tossed the bag inside, burying it deep between the broken slabs of concrete.

  “Beck!” Jackie screamed from the steps of her office building.

  Sprinting all out, he waved his good arm at her. “Get the fuck back inside!”

  Instead, she ran toward him, right down to the sidewalk.

  Clearing the concrete barricade once more, he ran across the road, the timer in his brain still beep-beep-beeping at him.

  He hit the sidewalk and tackled Jackie, taking them both to the ground.

  A heartbeat before they hit, the explosion rocked the night.

  * * *

  Lights flashed off and on over the front of Jackie’s office building as police cars, ambulances, and the bomb squad blocked the street and parking lot.

  Over the noise, Beck heard bits and pieces of Jackie arguing with a cop while an EMT bandaged his arm and checked his pupils.

  “You should let us take you to the ER,” the guy said. “You might have a concussion on top of the GSW.”

  Although Beck was pissed at Jones for trying to kill Jackie a second time, he couldn’t take his anger out on the paramedic. “Nah.” Beck patted the man’s arm and stood from his seat on the edge of the ambulance. “I’m good, and I appreciate you bandaging me up.”

  The EMT ran through the concussion protocol and Beck just nodded. No frickin’ way he was going to the hospital, and the bump on his head would be gone before morning. “We done here?”

  He’d already given his statement to the police and Jackie had done the same. Taylor was on her way to the station to meet Jones—he had a broken nose and a few bruises, but had been conscious when the cops put him in their cruiser.

  “I need to check your blood pressure again.”

  Don’t have time for this, but since Jackie was still speaking to the police officer on the steps of her building, he offered up his good arm for the cuff. It could be another hour or more before the cops would have what they wanted and clear out. After what had happened only the previous day, the police were antsy about him being on the scene of both crimes. Thank God, Jones was in custody—at least the cops weren’t looking at Beck like he was a prime suspect anymore.

  The bomb squad was taking care of the aftermath and trying to decipher the explosive’s components. The head of the construction company had also arrived, bitching his ass off about the damage done to his bulldozer and dumpster.

  Better that than Jackie.

  Her hair was matted on one side and sticking out on the other. Mud stained her pants from hip to knee, thanks to Beck taking her on a home run slide through the little piece of yard in front of her office building. She’d thrown a jacket over her destroyed blouse and had her shaky hands buried in the pockets.

  He saw her look down and draw her cell phone out of the right pocket, eyeing the screen. She said one more final thing to the cop, then waved him off as she answered a call.

  Her body stiffened and her gaze swung to Beck’s.

  Just like when he’d seen the bomb, his stomach sank. He ran.

  * * *

  Jackie didn’t put much stock in coincidences. She liked to think of them as the result of various events set into motion.

  Like Rachael Travathian calling her right after DTC’s employee tried to blow. Her. Up.

  Jackie bolted inside the office building as Beck bounded up the steps, waving him in before she took the call. Because, holy hell, this should be good.

  She tapped the screen just as Beck ripped the blood pressure cuff from his arm.

  “Rachael,” she said, loud enough for Beck to hear. “Hello.”

  Beck drew up close. “No way,” he mouthed.

  Jackie nodded, turning the phone so they could both hear.

  “Oh, my God,” Rachael said, her voice lit with panic. “What’s going on. The police just called me and said Jones attacked you.”

  “He did more than that. He brought a bomb in here and shot Beck Pearson.”

  “No! The police didn’t tell me that. Did he…”

  This woman. Such a damned flake. Jackie rolled her eyes. “Kill him? No. Beck is alive and well. Jones has a shattered nose and, as we speak, is on his way to an interrogation room. Rachael, I’m not your attorney, but I’m telling you, you are knee deep in whatever is going on here. I know how these detectives work. They’ll leverage everything they have, they’ll promise reduced sentences, better cells, whatever it takes to get Jones to talk. Because right now, with all the evidence we’ve collected about DTC’s shady accounting and Annabelle’s refusal to take part in financial fraud, he looks damned good for her murder. Natalie’s too.”

  The phone line went silent and Jackie checked the screen. Still connected. Beck held up a finger, the universal wait sign. No problem there. The one who spoke first usually lost and Jackie was in no mood for losing.

  Not with Beck’s freedom on the line.

  “I can’t believe it,” Rachael said.

  “Well, honey, you’d better start. And worse, I’m pissed. Before I’m done with Jones, he’ll be squealing like the pig he is. If you were smart, you’d take my advice and hire a lawyer. By making you an officer of the company, your husband, at the very least, has you on the hook for not only financial fraud, but possibly insider trading as well.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  The woman could not be this naive. Then again, people in love did stupid things. Jackie pinched the bridge of her nose, praying for patience. She needed to flip Rachael. Spousal privilege only went so far in criminal cases. Given the situation Dikko had put his wife in, Rachael could easily testify against him to save herself.

  “Rachael, your husband made you the Chief Executive Officer of DTC. He then, without your knowledge, manipulated your company’s accounting reports to make it look like you were profitable. Then he sold his stock when it reached its high-point. He did all this knowing the reporting was bogus. Right off the top of my head, he’s violated the Securities Act, the Securitie
s Exchange Act, and a slew of rules related to those acts. And you, as the CEO, by signing the tax forms, are a co-conspirator.”

  Beside her, Beck flashed a smile and gave her a double thumbs-up. If nothing else, she was damned good at her job.

  “Look,” Rachael said, “if what you say is true and Dikko screwed up on the financials, that’s one thing. Jones killing Annabelle has nothing to do with us.”

  “Oh, please, Rachael!”

  “Don’t yell at me! I hate yelling!”

  The cop Jackie had been speaking to was in the doorway finishing his notes. He glanced over at her. Okay, so maybe she got a little loud. She moved down the hall to Josh’s office, signaling Beck to follow. He shut the door behind them and reclaimed his spot next to her so he could eavesdrop.

  “Rachael,” Jackie said. “I’m sorry I raised my voice, but honestly. You need to take a second here and follow the logic. Jones is an employee of DTC. According to what we’ve uncovered, he helped design the helmet that put your company on the map. Based on that, I’m assuming he has a financial stake in the success of your company. Now, if I’m the prosecutor, which I was in this town, here’s what I’d do. I’d look at all the players involved. I’d see that Annabelle resigned the DTC account because of shady financial reporting. I’d also search her files and talk to everyone she worked with. In this case, I’d find out Annabelle threatened to turn Dikko in for fraud.” It was a stretch, but worth the lie. “She ends up dead and then her business partner, the one who knew Annabelle made threats against Dikko, winds up murdered. By a high-powered rifle shot from a distance. Which means the shooter was damned good with a weapon. And, oh, gee, Jones Ashley, who works for DTC and has just as much to lose as Dikko, happens to be former military.” Jackie held out a hand. “Rachael, are you picking up what I’m putting down, here?”

  Again Beck smiled. Step aside, big boy, and let me work.

  “He couldn’t have,” Rachael said, her voice hitching with desperation.

  “Rachael, I don’t know your husband, but you do. Ask yourself if he’s capable of sending Jones after Annabelle and her partner. If your answer is yes, then you’d better get a lawyer because your world is about to collapse.”

  Nineteen

  Jackie pushed through Beck’s front door and poked a finger at the steps leading to the second floor. “Be quick about this. Please. We have a lot to do.”

  He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, and passed her, heading upstairs. “Give me two minutes to shower and change clothes.”

  “Whatever.” She dug her phone from her briefcase and damn near threw herself onto the couch. “Unbelievable,” she muttered. “Leave it to me to fall in love with a neat freak.”

  “Did you say something?”

  She looked up, finding him peering down at her from the top of the stairs. Whether he heard her or not, debatable. Did it matter? She knew what she wanted and Jackie DelRay had never been one to let an opportunity cruise by.

  “I did say something. I said, leave it to me to fall in love with a neat freak. I mean, seriously, we need to track down Dikko and you’re worried about a little blood? Can we get a move on before this guy hops on a plane to Costa Rica and we lose him for good? Because listen up, I want you out of prison and in my bed. For a long time.”

  He stood on the steps staring at her as if she’d lost her ever-loving mind. Which, in fact, she probably had, but after twelve years of life without Beck, she didn’t intend on another twelve.

  “Beck!”

  “What?”

  “Get going!”

  “I am, but – ”

  She snapped her fingers at him. “Move it.”

  “You just said you loved me.”

  “And what? Now you want a medal? I love you. At least, I’m pretty sure I do, but hey, with all this dawdling you’re doing while I’m trying to keep that fine ass of yours out of jail, I might be changing my mind.” She gave him the DelRay evil eyes. “Quite rapidly. Get. Going.”

  Shaking his head, he laughed. “You’re twisted, but I love you too.”

  She stared up at him, forcing the trapped air from her lungs. He loves me. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had said that to her. Not a sober man anyway. And here was Beck, probably the most hard-working, protective man she knew, proclaiming his love.

  How the hell did she get this lucky?

  “Finally,” he said, “I’ve muted her.”

  She smiled up at him. “Ha! Nice try.” She waved him off. “Glad we’re in agreement on this whole being in love thing. Can we discuss it later? Maybe find a killer first?”

  He let out an exaggerated sigh. “Don’t forget Monroe is on the way.”

  Taylor had texted Beck a few minutes earlier alerting them that Mitch was on the way to offer any backup they might need.

  What they needed right now was to find Dikko.

  “I’m on it,” Jackie said. “You get in that shower.”

  A minute later she heard the shower go on. Good. She checked the time on her phone. Three minutes. That’s how long she’d give him to hose off. After that, she’d start yelling.

  While waiting, she punched up Grey. He answered on the first ring.

  “Jackie DelRay, what can I do for you?”

  “Hi. This thing is coming to a head.”

  “I heard. Taylor called me. The PD updated Byron, who updated Taylor. Let me guess, you’re looking for Dikko Travathian.”

  Lord, she loved a man who got right to the point. “I am. My guess is Jones Ashley, Jr. has already lawyered up and is trying to work a plea deal. Which means, if he killed Annabelle on Dikko’s orders, we’ll hear about that real quick.”

  “Did you talk to the wife?”

  “Yes. She’s a bust, for now. I think when she wraps her head around how her beloved husband screwed her over, she’ll tell us what she knows. But, honestly, I don’t think she knows anything about Annabelle’s murder. Dikko kept it from her. Along with a lot of other things.”

  “You seem pretty sure he’s behind it.”

  “Based on the evidence we’ve found, you bet your life. It’s no coincidence Annabelle was murdered right after she resigned his account. I think Dikko saw his life coming apart and decided to prevent it.”

  “What do you need from me?”

  “Any chance you can figure out where he is? Maybe track his cell phone or something?”

  “Give me five minutes.”

  The line went dead. “Alrighty then,” Jackie said. “Good talk.”

  She checked the time on her phone. Time’s up. She set the phone down and headed for the stairs, reaching the landing just as the doorbell sounded.

  At the door, Jackie checked the peephole and spotted the top of a blond head. Whoa.

  This is it. Jackie’s heart slammed and the whooshing in her ears set her back a step. Get it together here, DelRay.

  Upstairs, the shower went off. Finally. In another two minutes, Beck would be downstairs. The doorbell rang again and Jackie deactivated the alarm before opening the door. On the other side stood Rachael. Rather than her usual elegant clothing, she wore jeans and a short trench coat over an untucked blouse. Her normally silky blond hair fell in stringy clumps around her shoulders and black liner bled from the corners of her eyes.

  Crying.

  Oh, Beck, hurry up. This might be it. That moment when Rachael flips on her husband.

  “Rachael,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  Not bothering to wait for an invitation, she pushed by, moving quickly into the house. “I tried your place first. Figured you might be here. Shut the door. I’m not sure where Dikko is and I don’t want him to find me.”

  Oh, yes. Here we go.

  “All right.” Jackie closed the door and turned the dead bolt. The lock snapped into place, echoing in the quiet room. This is it. Got him.

  When she turned back, Rachael stood midway between the back of the sofa and the staircase. She faced Jackie, slowly lifting her blouse
, revealing a handgun at her waist.

  Another spurt of adrenaline flooded her and Jackie threw her arms up. “Hang on.”

  But Rachael slipped the gun from the holster and aimed it straight at Jackie’s chest. In her lifetime, Jackie had never had a handgun pointed at her. Today? Twice.

  “I’m done,” Rachael said. “This ends now.”

  * * *

  The doorbell had gone off twice. Impatient.

  Beck looked down at the towel hugging his waist and cursed under his breath. Fucking Mitch Monroe. Had to be him, sent express mail by Taylor and Grey for another round of bodyguard duty.

  Jackie had been so fired up, Beck figured they’d be gone before Mitch arrived and that was fine with him, but if the jerk did make it, it wouldn’t be bad to have him for backup when they went to talk to Dikko.

  Kill me now.

  As Tink circled his ankles, Beck dragged on clean dress pants, his time up a good five minutes ago but then his cell buzzed. Taylor.

  Hopefully she had forced a confession from that sack of shit Jones.

  “Not yet,” she said when Beck answered. “He’s demanding medical treatment and his lawyer, which both take time. As soon as I have anything, I’ll send Metro to grab Dikko. Promise.”

  Beck, like Jackie, suspected it might be too late by then. We have to stop him. Couldn’t tell Taylor that though. “Thanks. Hey, Monroe is here. You didn’t need to send him.”

  “The hell I didn’t.”

  Snagging his shirt off the hanger, he put it on, then grabbed his gun and started downstairs. Gun in one hand and his cell in the other—Taylor still talking— he halted on the second step.

  Jackie was speaking loudly, her voice strained, anxious. “Just tell me the truth. Who killed Annabelle?”

  The low chuckle that came in reply wasn’t from Mitch. “Annabelle was a nice person. Stupid, and a whore, but a whore with a heart of gold, as they say.”

  He knew that voice. Rachael?

  She chuckled again, this time full of cynicism. “Dikko had the hots for her, you know, but because we were friends, she wouldn’t screw him. That’s what friendship meant to her.”