Cheating Justice (The Justice Team)

by Misty Evans

  For a nice, long while.

  “Yes, sir. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Good. And do it alone. You shouldn’t need help on this.”

  Alone. Sorting through a dumpster. It would take hours. Exactly what her boss wanted after she tried to access a classified file.

  Damned Mitch Monroe. He’d sucked her in again.

  Chapter Four

  “Saving the world, Justice?” Mitch sauntered over to where Justice “Grey” Greystone stood in front of a giant bulletin board. His voice echoed slightly in the abandoned army base, HQ for Grey’s covert pursuit team shenanigans.

  The stick-in-the-mud former FBI agent stood arrow straight, arms folded across his chest. Mitch could see from the stance that Grey was cataloging snippets of information pinned to the board. “Hard to save the world when my best investigator sleeps in and doesn’t show up for work until…” he glanced at the clock on the wall—an ugly government leftover—“…three in the afternoon.”

  The covert pursuit team, nicknamed the Justice Team by Grey’s girlfriend Sydney, was looking into election fraud by a senator.

  Election fraud. Kill me now. “Just so happens, election fraud is not at the top of my to-be-investigated list at the moment. If you haven’t heard, I’m wanted for murder.”

  “We heard.” David Teeg, a computer hacker Grey had blackmailed into assisting the team, stared sullenly at a bank of computer screens in front of him. “I’ve got surveillance footage of you—and about a hundred other people—entering and leaving Rock Creek Park during the one-hour timeframe surrounding Rodgers’ murder, but the murderer could have entered at a different location.”

  “You’re investigating Rodgers’ murder?”

  The geekhead shrugged without looking at him. His T-shirt—one he’d stolen from Mitch—sported a “Come to the dark side, we have bacon!” saying on it. His jeans were worn worse than Mitch’s, and a pair of headphones hung around the kid’s neck as his hands moved over the keyboard with lightning speed. “Grey said it was important.”

  Outside, the October afternoon was moderately warm. Inside the old army base, it was freezing. No heat in the warehouse-like structure. Winter was going to be a bitch.

  Better here than in prison.

  The Justice Team setup was sketchy. No real oversight, no acknowledgement from the government they served. They investigated cases involving the untouchables—diplomats, elected officials high on the government food chain, judges, etc. Grey didn’t trust many people, and so far, the team consisted of him, Mitch, and Teeg. And due to his fugitive status, Mitch was only a volunteer. No paycheck, no performance review, no paper trail.

  Only the three of them—a renegade former Bureau agent, a fugitive from the law, and a black hat—all willing to bend, and even break the law as necessary, to find the proof needed to bring justice to those above the law. They already had dozens of cases to investigate.

  Losing battle there.

  And I might not be around to help if Caroline doesn’t follow through.

  Caroline. A beautiful, tough cookie to crack. He was asking a lot of her, like usual, and if she couldn’t—or wouldn’t—help him with the Tommy case, he was shit out of luck. No way could he drop the case on Grey when they were already balls-to-the-wall drowning in assignments.

  “I probably shouldn’t be here,” he told Grey as he slouched against a battered desk the color of mud.

  Grey was as Type A as you could get…a lot like Caroline…and drove Mitch crazy with his near obsessiveness on cases, but the guy always had Mitch’s back. “Where else would you be?”

  Few people, outside of Grey and Caroline, had ever covered for Mitch. Now with Tommy and Kemp dead…

  An overhead light flickered, the fluorescent bulb long past needing to be replaced. “Best I bow out of this covert pursuit team. Too much heat on me. I won’t endanger you guys.”

  Grey turned his gaze on Mitch for the first time. “You can’t solve Kemp’s murder on your own.”

  True enough. “I’m more concerned with Tommy’s murder. Kemp told me if the White House is subpoenaed, the president will invoke Executive Privilege.”

  “Sounds reasonable.”

  Reasonable? “The government is covering something up.”

  “The government is always covering something up.”

  True. “This is different.”

  Grey rubbed his forehead. “I’ll take you off the election fraud case and help you figure out who murdered Kemp, but I won’t touch the FBI files on Tommy. Could get messy with conflict of interest and shit since I sort of work for them again.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Grey.”

  “I can’t save the world if I don’t save your ass first.”

  One of Teeg’s computers beeped. “Uh, Grey? Incoming call.”

  Grey and Mitch exchanged a look. Sydney called Grey on his cell. No one called the base. The whole operation was off the grid.

  Grey marched to Teeg’s desk. “We have a phone?”

  “Technically, no, but it’s coming through our computer system. I cloak everything we do, but someone must have hacked…” He hit several keys. “Wait a minute. I’ll trace where it’s coming from.”

  “Shit,” Mitch and Grey said at the same time.

  Mitch pushed off the desk, ready to run. Had someone followed him? Were they outside waiting for him?

  Not possible. He’d been even more careful than usual. He always knew when someone was following him. His instincts were honed too sharply for someone to get the jump on him. “Could it be a wrong number or a telemarketer?”

  “Got it!” Teeg looked up, his dark eyes round. “It’s a cell phone with a number the FBI owns.”

  Grey leaned over the kid’s shoulder, read the screen. “What the fuck have you done, Monroe?”

  “Is that a rhetorical question? ʼCuz I’ve done a hell of lot of things.”

  Grey gave him a look that would have cowered most men. “Connect me,” he said to Teeg.

  “You sure?” the kid asked.

  The intense gaze rained down on the hacker. “Do it.”

  Teeg’s fingers shook as he tapped keys. He handed his boss a headset with microphone. “I’ll put the caller on speaker, but whoever it is will only be able to hear you.”

  Hanging the headset around his neck, Grey propped the microphone to his lips. “This is Justice Greystone. Identify yourself.”

  “Well, well, Agent Greystone.” A woman’s voice—one Mitch knew all too well—came from Teeg’s speakers. “Congrats on finally catching The Lion. Wish I could have been there for that take-down.”

  Grey didn’t miss a beat. “Who is this?”

  “This is Caroline Foster. Special Agent Caroline Foster. You might remember me. We worked together with Mitch before you two incinerated your careers.”

  Grey covered the microphone with his fingers and lifted an eyebrow in Mitch’s direction. “You didn’t.”

  Mitch hung his head, smiling to himself at Caroline’s ability to hunt him down. She didn’t have skills as a hacker like Teeg, but she was a good tracker, whether it was on the ground or the internet. Nothing less than impressive. Grey was probably shitting bricks. “I need her help.”

  “Bullshit. You want her help. Big difference.”

  Maybe. Maybe not.

  Grey uncovered the microphone. “What can I do for you, Agent Foster?”

  “I need to speak with Mitch.”

  “Mitch Monroe is a renegade wanted for attacking an FBI agent. As of yesterday, he is also wanted for the murder of a White House official. Sorry, I can’t help you.”

  “Party line received and understood. Now put him on the phone. Please. Or I’ll figure out a way to join your covert pursuit team—legitimately—and make your life all kinds of hell.”

  Grey shot daggers at Monroe then handed him the headset. Mitch had to laugh. The woman had it all, looks, brains, and a steel spine that scared the hell out of most males.

  E
ven, at times, him.

  He adjusted the headset, letting her stew a second longer because, yeah, that’s when the fun really began. “You shouldn’t be calling here on your Bureau phone.”

  “I need to see you.”

  Mitch smiled. “I love when women say that to me.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  “Did you find something out about Tommy?”

  “Tit for tat. Meet me and I’ll tell you.”

  Grey shook his head, smelling a setup. Mitch’s body buzzed with adrenaline. “How’d you get this number?”

  “You know me better than that. I don’t have much time. Our friend Donaldson is sending me to clean out a dumpster today.”

  “No shit? He gave a relief supervisor grunt work?”

  “My punishment for trying to access classified files.”

  Got her. He hadn’t made a mistake. Caroline, crazy as it was, wanted to help him. “There are worse things.”

  “Mitch, I don’t have time for this. You wanted my help, now where do you want to meet?”

  Her skills and training went beyond the gun range, and somehow she’d found a way to call the computer system, but that didn’t mean she knew where the computer system—or he—was located. “Come here.”

  Grey—the poor guy—nearly self-combusted. “Oh, no. No, no, no…”

  Mitch held up a hand to silence him. Caroline’s end was dead air. Gotcha. Two could play the bluffing game. “Don’t know where I am, do you, Foster?”

  “The closed army base. I prefer we meet somewhere less…”

  So she did know their location. “Less what?”

  “Remote.”

  What was she scared of? “You’ve got thirty minutes. Then I’m gone.”

  “As if I’m the one on the run. If you want this information, you’ll meet me.”

  Mitch smiled. So Caroline to insist on doing things her way. “Sorry, babe. Ain’t gonna happen. I can smell a trap miles away. I’m out.”

  He tossed the headset on Teeg’s keyboard, made a slashing motion across his neck. The kid cut the connection and the three of them looked at each other in silence.

  Grey, of course, was the first to speak. “You’ve compromised our headquarters.”

  “Not if she doesn’t show.”

  Walking to the board, Grey stared at all the case information. “How long?”

  Ah. He knew as well as Mitch that Caroline would come. She’d gone to all that trouble to hunt him down. Something was eating at her, an itch she couldn’t scratch. “Fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty.”

  “She can’t see these files. They’re all classified. You understand?”

  Mitch nodded. If Grey wasn’t throwing a shit-fit over his headquarters being compromised, that meant he wanted to hear what she had to say, which meant Grey believed she had important information. “Teeg? Keep your eyes on the screen and watch the perimeter in case she brings friends.”

  “You got it.”

  Grey turned to Mitch. “Call her back. She can’t come through the main gate. Someone will see her. Tell her to take the access road. Teeg will open that gate.”

  Over the next twenty-plus minutes, Grey paced behind Teeg, all the while chastising Mitch. “I can’t believe you’re bringing her here. It’s like you have a death wish.”

  “She’s not going to kill me.” Strike that. She might. “We’re just talking.”

  “She’s a weakness. Your weakness. Just like Tommy.”

  “Careful.”

  “She’s here.” Teeg pointed at one of the screens. The base still had all gates functioning and all were closed. The whole place looked exactly like it was…deserted. “Coming down the access road and kicking up all kinds of dirt. Lady is in a hurry.”

  “Anyone with her?” Grey asked.

  “Not that I can see.”

  Grey turned to Mitch. “You’re on.”

  Caroline drove through the gate at the desolate army base and decided she’d lost her damned mind.

  If she were a serial killer, she’d lure her prey to a location like this one. Large, secure and abandoned. Even the access road she’d just driven down couldn’t be seen from the main road.

  Yep. If she were a serial killer, this is exactly how she’d do it.

  Once through the gate, she drove along the crumbling pavement to the pukey-colored two-story building behind the barracks to her left.

  Monroe stood on the sidewalk in front of the building. He wore jeans and a black windbreaker that looked as if he’d dug them out of the dumpster she was heading to. His hair was once again pulled into a ponytail—a look she wasn’t sure she could get used to after seeing him day in and day out in a G-man haircut. Still, when she saw him her breathing did that little hitching thing that drove her completely insane.

  How many things did it take to convince her she was an idiot? First, the lure of the serial killer and now she thought the serial killer was hot.

  Just to be safe, she parked along the road and grabbed her Glock from the glove box.

  She kicked open the car door, shoved her weapon into the holster with enough pizazz to make sure Mitch saw it and slammed the door.

  “Mitch Monroe, I should kill you where you stand.”

  “What fun would that be?”

  Damn him. Part of her couldn’t resist the sickening charm. Pain in the ass. “Please. I’d apprehend a federal fugitive, satisfy my own need for retribution, and land a promotion while taking out your sorry ass. I’d be a hero.”

  “Harsh.” He grinned. “I figured you’d tease out the retribution—make it last beyond a single shot. But you always did like things tidy, didn’t you?” He stubbed the toe of his sneaker into the ground. “I assume you want to do more than threaten my sorry ass. You said you had information.”

  Killer, that smile, but he knew that. He also knew that she knew that he knew. Whatever that meant. But this was the game with him. The push-pull of sexual tension that had existed long before he’d almost destroyed her career. “Yes, I want more than to threaten you. Donaldson was put on high alert when I tried to access those files. Something stinks here and it’s not just the dumpster I’m heading to.”

  She stepped closer, got within a foot of him and glanced around. They were alone, but she didn’t believe that Grey—Monroe’s ever present partner in crime—wasn’t watching from the pukey-colored building. “So, if you want me to dig around, you need to give me more because I’m locked out. Who do you know that’ll talk to me about what Tommy was working on?”

  Mitch focused on her, his eyes darting over her face, down to her chest. “Caroline, are you wearing a wire?”

  A stab of anger…no, make that hurt…carved right into her. “No. Want me to flash you? Let you a cop a feel?”

  “You already did, remember?”

  She sucked in a breath—shoot—and stepped back. This man had ripped her heart out without even trying. Forget about the career implications; she’d considered him a friend. And after that night when they’d been at a hostage stand-off and she’d fired her rifle in the line of duty, they’d become more than friends.

  Smart-mouthed, cocky Monroe had held her while she gutted through the realization she’d taken her first life. She’d looked down the scope of her rifle at the man holding an innocent woman hostage, and the moral and ethical repercussions had fallen away, only to come roaring back with a vengeance later. The guy had been a scum bag and deserved to die after killing and injuring over a dozen people in a church, but that didn’t stop her from being sick over taking a life.

  That awful, hellish night, Mitch was her anchor. He’d held her, talked her through the recriminations, and the two became friends in a carnal way that left them both howling until dawn when she rolled over and realized that, yes, they’d done the nasty—three, or was it four times?—and now had to face each other at the office. Every day.

  And as much as she liked to deny it, that emotional part of her, the one who loved holding a man’s hand or sharing a lazy
breakfast, had imagined Mitch Monroe as a whole lot more than a one-night stand.

  Fool.

  She couldn’t work with him and sleep with him. End of story.

  Watching her working through her mental and emotional issues brought out a carnal smile on Mitch’s lips. As usual, he’d known exactly where her thoughts went. His ability to read a situation was uncanny. When he got to know a person? That ability, much to her disadvantage, multiplied ten-fold.

  But the thing about Mitch…he had weaknesses and she knew them.

  Stepping forward again, Caroline tilted her head and inched closer, close enough that his warm, minty breath tickled her cheek. He watched her, his eyes slightly wide, waiting.

  “Yes,” she said. “I suppose I did.”

  With one giant step back, Mitch put distance between them. The man quite simply did not like people in his space. Even a woman he’d enjoyed a long night of intense, heart-stoppingly good sex with.

  “There’s a guy.” No preamble, no further reference to their previous one-night stand. “An ATF agent Tommy talked about. He’s now a blogger or something. I wanted to talk to him, but given my current circumstances…”

  “What’s his name? I’ll find him.”

  “You don’t have to find him. He’s here in D.C. Name’s Brice Brennan. He got fed up with the bureaucratic bullshit and left the ATF.

  “Why do we care about this guy?”

  “Tommy mentioned him a couple times. His blog is one of those government watch things. He doesn’t do it under his real name and the government can’t catch him. Tommy said he’s uber-critical of ATF and regularly bashes them on his blog. Makes me wonder if he’s had contact with anyone who knows what Tommy was working on. Maybe we can find him after you get done digging through that dumpster Donaldson assigned you to because he doesn’t want you knowing what he’s hiding.”

  On any given day, Mitch could be considered paranoid—a conspiracy theorist through and through. The problem was he was usually right.

  Caroline puffed up her cheeks and blew air. “I hesitate to ask, but do you happen to know the name of this blog?”