Lady Justice

by Vicki Hinze

  Because he had, he felt guilty, and he gave her a solid frown. “I would have helped you, Gabby. On any or all of the missions. All you had to do was call.”

  Her thigh brushing against his hip, she pressed a gentle hand to his face and shared a tender smile. “I know.”

  “Then why didn’t you?”

  “It doesn’t matter now, Max.” She dropped her hand, scooted over to put distance between them.

  “It matters to me.”

  She pivoted her gaze from the far wall to him. “I thought I was doing the right thing. That’s all you’re going to get.” Her focus drifted to the sculptured ceiling. Worry knit her brows and filled her voice. “Sybil is going to have such a hard time with this.”

  She already was. The sadness in her eyes at the consensus briefing could have drawn tears from a rock. “Westford will help her.”

  “Yes, he will.” Gabby smiled because she had played a part in getting them together. “If Sybil asked, Jonathan would harness the universe for her.”

  “He’d try.” Max shifted, looked at her hard. Tousled, Gabby was even prettier than usual. Classic bones, promising emerald eyes that held more secrets than they told, and generous lips that made men forget their lies and bare their souls. Had any man ever tried to harness the universe for her?

  No one significant had been mentioned in her profile. Only parents she rarely saw, an older brother who had been in and out of addiction treatment centers for years, and a younger sister who was self-absorbed and clueless about anything that didn’t directly affect her. Gabby didn’t seem to fit in that family. Had she ever been close to any of them?

  It was hard to imagine, but maybe Max’d had the easier life. Six foster homes, an unknown dad, and a crack mom who forgot he existed for days at a stretch might have been easier to handle than a family that wasn’t really a family. He had known what to expect. Gabby had been stuck her whole life, hanging on to the hope things would get better.

  But she did have friends who would miss her, and at least one of them would hate the man who had taken her from them: Vice President Stone. Westford, too, was fond of Gabby, muttering that she was a royal pain in the ass. From him, that was high praise. Aside from Max, were there other friends who would mourn her?

  He doubted it. Most operatives avoided close relationships. Life as a loner, though it was hell on holidays and special occasions, was easier. It required fewer vague answers to unwelcome questions, fewer evasive explanations and outright lies. Special Detail Unit operatives simply had too many secrets to keep.

  How had Gabby handled the loner challenge? It suddenly seemed important to know.

  He knew better than to get mired down in a cancellation—especially when the target was a friend. A rookie knew better than to let his thoughts venture beyond the mission requirements. Problem was he had been involved with Gabby from a distance for a long time. But the job took precedence over everything else. She was a crackerjack senior operative; there was far more at stake here than a slip of a woman and her life—and a man who wanted absolution and peace for his own conscience for taking it. The Global Warriors were about to attack. Lives were at stake.

  Gabby’s own warning replayed in his mind. You’ve got five days, Max.

  By daybreak, he’d care. But right now, standing in Gabby’s bedroom under orders to kill her, he didn’t give a damn about any of them. He gave a damn about Gabby. About her life.

  She shoved aside what he thought had been a pillow clutched to her chest. “What’s in the box?” he asked.

  She let out a sharp little laugh that held no humor. “Very little.”

  Even now, getting information out of her was like pulling nails. “Gabby?”

  “My life.” She shoved it toward him. “Have a look.” It rolled across the bed halted near her hip. “You won’t be impressed.”

  Max reached over her, lifted the box, and then took off its padded lid and set it aside. It was nearly empty. Just a fistful of photos of fledgling oak trees, a yellowed piece of notebook paper, and a silver pair of wings rested on its bottom. “Your first pilot’s wings?”

  She nodded.

  “Why are these significant?” He held up some of the photos.

  “My indulgence.”

  He didn’t get it. “What indulgence?”

  Her lips flat-lined, clearly expressing her resentment of the question. “My only indulgence in remembering who I really am while I’m inserted under cover. I plant oaks, okay?”

  That he understood. It was easy to get so deep into the cover that you actually forgot it was a cover. It became your life. You needed something physical to remind you who you really were. “I use a coin. A liberty silver dollar.”

  “Really?” That revelation pleased her; her lips softened. “I didn’t know that.”

  No one knew that. “Now you do, and I know you plant oaks. Sad commentary for a man married to a woman five times, don’t you think? To know so little about his wife?”

  “It was necessary.”

  Necessary. Doing the right thing. What was it with all these bases for her shutting him out? “Why?”

  She jutted her jaw. “Because I considered it best.”

  Best. Another basis to add to her list. “For whom?”

  “Both of us.”

  “I see,” he said, not seeing at all but knowing she was done explaining. He returned the photos to the box and lifted the folded paper. Age yellowed it; made it fragile.

  “May I?”

  “Why not?” She glared right into his eyes. “You’re my only husband.”

  Interesting remark. Telling, too. Really being married to her wouldn’t be any more a walk in the park than being her partner or friend. But he had the feeling that it would always be fascinating. He unfolded the page, wishing he could fully decipher the look in her eyes. It was cold, but somehow vulnerable. Or maybe, wounded. Very un-Gabby. He read the note, scribbled in a child’s hand:

  I don’t like you, Gabby. I like Shelly.

  She’s special. You’re not.

  Harlan T. Crumsfield

  Surprise rippled through Max. People kept mementos of good things and happy times. This wasn’t either. Who would want to remember this?

  “We were in fifth grade,” she said. “My first broken heart.” A sad smile twisted her lips. “Later, the boys became men, but no matter how intense, the relationships were short-term and the reason for bailing was always the same. Other women were special.” She blew out a breath and glared up at Max. “When women are strong standing alone, and are with you because they want to be, not because they need to be, you bastards are heartless. Do you know that?”

  “So I’ve heard.” Max refolded the note, put it back in the box, and put the lid in place, knowing he had been privileged to see a rare glimpse of the real woman: the Gabby who had placed second to other women with the important men in her life. The box snapped closed, sealing her life inside. His emotions a tangled jumble he couldn’t begin to decipher, Max cleared his throat. “Gabby?”

  She draped an arm over her forehead and her eyes drifted closed. Thick clumps of her lashes rested against her pale cheeks. “Yeah?”

  His chest went heavy then tight, and warnings flashed through his mind not to ask, but he had to anyway. “Are you going to die with regrets?”

  “Aren’t we all?” Her tone dripped sarcasm.

  Was it ingrained from habit, or a defense? He shouldn’t care, but he did, and he was going to remember this night, remember the sight of her in this bed, remember killing her for the rest of his life. When those irreversible memories haunted him—they always haunted him—he would need insights only she could give him. “I need to know, Gabby.”

  She opened her eyes, searched his, and understanding dawned. She clasped his hand and gently squeezed. “You have nothing to feel guilty about. You’re just following orders.”

  Could any man come up with a reasonable response to that? He was going to kill her, and instead of bargaining for her
life, she’s giving him absolution. “I don’t understand you.”

  She let out a humorless laugh. “Hell, Max. I don’t understand me. Why should you?”

  “Because I’m going to be the one doing the killing.” And the living with it. He’d definitely be doing the living with it.

  “Poor, Max.” She caressed his face. “It’s a bitch of a job, isn’t it?”

  “At times, yes, it is.” Especially when her touch was tender and her voice didn’t even hint at sass or sarcasm. She understood his inner struggle. Had she ever been in this position?

  “Just keep your eye on the big picture,” she suggested. “What you do, you do for the greater good. Remembering that helps.”

  She had been in his shoes. “Is that what you’re doing? Focusing on the big picture?”

  “You don’t need to analyze me, Max. You’ve read my profile.” As her husband on five cases, he had read it often. “You know all that matters.”

  “I know nothing that matters,” he disagreed. The woman he had known and the woman she was tonight stood worlds apart. This woman intrigued him. She seemed real and invested in others. She had vulnerabilities and wounds and acknowledged them. The Gabby he had known professionally—and as a friend—was none of these things. “Does anyone really know you?”

  She thought a moment and then, as if the answer troubled her, abandoned it. “Probably not. But at this juncture in my life it’s irrelevant. If I were Commander Conlee, I’d order this hit. That’s what’s relevant.” She took in a shuddering breath and pulled her hand back from Max’s face. “I’m ready now.”

  That comment startled him. He met her gaze, expecting to see fear. Instead, he saw acceptance. It unnerved him. “All right, Gabby.” Swallowing hard, he leaned forward to stand.

  The twelfth potential buyer moved down the aisle of the darkened screening room on the arm of a tuxedoed escort.

  Like the others, this one was blindfolded and led to a seat portioned off from the rest of those seated in the room by red velvet drapes that hung suspended from the twenty-foot ceiling. The drapes concealed and blocked the view of each man on three sides, leaving him only a frontal view of the screen.

  Privacy from each other was essential. Guaranteed. And smart business, considering any breach would result in death.

  The director had taken precautions to assure privacy for his own benefit as well as for theirs. The Consortium was a complex network with specific rules; no member could be certain if the most minute breach marked them for retention in the Consortium or for elimination from it. One thing, and only one thing, made the risks of being a member worth taking: the financial gains were astronomical.

  So amazingly astronomical that the director, who had grown up penniless on dusty backwoods roads in Alabama, had recently purchased his own little island and a voluptuous twenty-five-year-old redhead to keep him company whenever he was on it. His proper and respected wife of thirty years, of course, knew nothing about either. Or about how filthy rich they had become in his five-year association with the Consortium.

  The thirteenth potential buyer took his seat.

  Moving into place at the back of the room, the director stepped into a mirrored cubicle, closed the door behind him, and then activated the security locks. No one could see inside. He could look out and see everything happening in the procession. A bank of monitors to his left gave him a bird’s-eye view of each of the men. He wouldn’t miss a single reaction.

  The fourteenth and final man sat down, and his escort gave the director the nod. Everyone was in place, facing the wide screen that stretched across the front of the room, waiting for the demonstration to begin.

  On the surface, it seemed odd that there were no women in the group—typically there were—but these buyers, being from their corner of the world, considered women of little value, and they were the ideal clients for the two products being offered for sale.

  A red phone rested on the ledged desk in front of him. The director lifted the receiver. “We’re ready to go, sir.”

  “Excellent.” The chairman’s voice lifted. “Let the games begin.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Max, wait.” Gabby clasped his arm, her fingers digging into his flesh. She opened her mouth, hesitated, and then closed it without making a sound. “Never mind.”

  “Never mind? Gabby, you don’t have the option of telling me later. There won’t be a later.” He wanted to shake her until she raged and ordered him not to kill her. Instead, he waited, having no idea what to expect from this intriguing woman he had been friends with and married to on paper five times and didn’t know at all. “What is it?”

  Silence and the sweet scent of the burning candle fell between them. The clock beside her bed ticked off seconds that became minutes, but something innately warned him she wasn’t stalling to delay her death, she was working through a weighty challenge. In her own time and in her own way, Gabby had to make peace with herself. Max couldn’t begrudge a woman about to die the chance to make peace with herself.

  Finally, she looked up at him, fear lighting her eyes. He hated it. “What is it, Gabby?”

  “You asked me if I had any regrets.” He nodded, and she went on. “I do, Max.” Her chin trembled. “I lost my brother to drugs, I never found my sister, and my parents never found me. I’m about to die and I’ve lived my entire life invisible to all.”

  Gabby invisible? He could dispute her, but she wouldn’t believe him. “Is that why you left active duty in the Air Force and came to SDU?”

  She cocked her head. “Commander Conlee needed me.”

  Harlan’s note, the important men in her life resenting her strength. “But now the job isn’t enough?” That Max understood. He’d had no one to rely on his entire life. He’d always been invisible to all and disconnected. So he’d found a job where being disconnected connected him and what he did mattered. That meant he mattered. Finally, working in SDU, he mattered.

  “Hell of a time to realize it, isn’t it?” She frowned. “But ‘She worked hard’ is a sorry epitaph. All my life, I believed in something greater and more worthy than me. But now … I want to know I did something significant that only I could have done. I have no one, Max. Not one person knows what I’ve done or why, and when I’m dead, no one will even notice I’m gone.” She swallowed hard, as if her words tasted bitter. “I’m lying here, and I’m mad as hell because it’s hit me that I want someone to notice. The job isn’t enough.” She let out a little laugh that held only loss and anger at the irony of this. “My job isn’t enough, I’m invisible, my memory box is empty, and the man closest to me is one I’ve been married to five times on paper who doesn’t know I plant trees.”

  “I know you plant trees,” he said softly. “I even know they’re oaks.”

  “Only because I just told you.” She shook. “Look, I’m serious here. I’m going to die alone, Max, and I have no proof that I lived well or with purpose. I thought I was happy. Well, mostly happy. But now all I feel is empty. Just … empty.”

  It would happen to Max, too. Gutted and hollow, he admitted he didn’t want regrets. And he damn sure didn’t want to have to remember hers.

  She went on, thankfully too deep in her own dynamics to notice his. “I’ve never committed myself to a relationship or been head over heels in love, and I never will. Worse, I’m not leaving anything behind anyone will cherish. No one will even think fond thoughts. Call me weak. Say I’m just feeling sorry for myself, but I’m going to die, Max. It matters.”

  Their gazes locked, and there was no hiding from the truth or from understanding. It shone there, raw and brazen, bold and undeniable. And it urged Max to give her something good and real to hold on to for strength. He wanted to give to her. “You’ve saved thousands of lives, Gabby,” he said softly. “Every mission you’ve performed saved lives. That’s a hell of a legacy.”

  “For other people. But not for me.” She squeezed her eyes shut, then reopened them. “I’ve been undercover so long
I don’t have a life anymore. Being someone else has become my life.” Resignation slid over her face. “No one is going to remember me as special.”

  Something hard in his chest went soft. He let his fingertips slide down her jaw and cupped her chin. “Gabby, this is the life you chose. We all did—for the greater good of a nation.” Throwing her philosophy back at her should have made him feel lousy, but tonight he would take any help he could get.

  “But I thought I’d have something left over for me, and I haven’t, Max.” A warning tinged her tone. “Don’t make the same mistake. It matters … now.”

  He had heard enough deathbed confessions to pass as a priest, but this from Gabby? She was trying to protect him. Did she do that often? He thought about it and soon was convinced that the reason she had worked alone wasn’t that she was an arrogant snob; she had refused to activate Max or to call him for emergency backup assistance to protect him. He was supposed to be her friend. Why hadn’t he seen that before now?

  Shameful, but he’d never looked. He had judged her by what everyone else thought about her: that she believed she was so good she didn’t need help. And he was scared of her; of what she made him feel. Some friend.

  Guilt started a war between his head and heart that had him swearing he should have never allowed himself to feel the slightest attraction to her. But he wasn’t kidding anyone. He had tried to squelch it, and nothing worked. The woman got to him then, and she got to him now.

  “You’re a kind man, Max,” she said. “A good friend and my favorite husband.”

  She had meant for him to smile, so he did. But inside, a small ache expanded and spread through the guilt. “You’ve been my favorite wife, too.” Seeing opportunity, he seized it. “A wife who doesn’t nag, doesn’t interrupt a man during ball games, doesn’t snitch all the covers, or send him out for ice cream at two in the morning—hell, Gabby. You’re every man’s dream of the perfect wife.”

  She laughed out loud. “You forgot my greatest asset.”