Cheating Justice (The Justice Team)

by Misty Evans

  “Being female. Being…I don’t know. You don’t have to control every fucking situation.”

  “When it comes to you, I do.” They climbed the steps. “Just because you project carefree and laid back, doesn’t mean you don’t have control issues.”

  Mitch rolled his eyes and hit the doorbell. Stupid thing was broken. He banged on the door. “Do me a solid and at least try to act like you don’t have a cob up your ass.”

  “A six-foot-two one?”

  Deserved, for sure, but still he laughed. He’d missed this. Missed her.

  The door cracked open an inch. A male said, “Yeah?”

  “Hey, man.” Mitch motioned with his thumb. He wasn’t about to do the holy-roller act. “Nice ride. That your truck?”

  A weighted pause. “What’s it to you?”

  “A buddy of mine told me about that truck. Said you’d done some sweet add-ons. Wondered if you’d share your garage contacts.” Mitch pointed to the street and the god-awful car. “I need a new ride in the worst way.”

  The door eased open enough for the guy to look past Mitch. He spotted Caroline, lingered for half a second—shit, we’re blown—then traveled to the ride in question. “Look, man, I don’t know what you’re selling, but…”

  His attention came back to Mitch’s face, then his eyes widened. “Wait, don’t I know you?”

  Play it cool. Mitch held out a hand. “Name’s Mitch. I think you knew my friend, Tommy Nusco.”

  The door slammed shut.

  Way to go.

  “Nice work, ace.” Caroline echoed his internal flogging. “Real nice. Anymore leads you want to blow for us today?”

  Mitch knocked on the door again and raised his voice. “Brice, I’m not here to cause you trouble, man. I just need to know if what they’re saying about Tommy is true. He’s dead. All I want are a few answers.”

  Silence.

  “Told you so,” Caroline said.

  “Real helpful, Caroline. Real helpful.”

  She pushed him out of the way. “Brice? My name’s Caroline Foster. I was Tommy’s co-worker, and also his friend. Mitch is telling the truth…we don’t want to make trouble. We just need to understand what Tommy was doing when he died. We know you’re a former ATF agent and hoped you might have some information or know someone who worked with Tommy in New Mexico.”

  Brice’s voice came from the other side. “I don’t know anything.”

  “Brice, I think you do. All we know is that Tommy is dead and he’s being tagged a dirty agent. If that’s the truth, we drop this whole thing. If it’s not, we could use your investigative skills to expose the cover-up. Is it true?”

  Silence. Caroline turned to Mitch and shrugged. He held up his hand. They’d wait. And wait a little longer if they had to.

  “Brice?” Caroline said. “Can I at least leave my number in case you remember something?”

  Mitch leaned forward, got right next to her ear where the strawberry scent of her shampoo teased his nose and triggered memories of her naked body. Last time he’d been that close they’d been tearing up her sheets, and the memory—although a damned good one—reminded him of the life and opportunities now gone. “Tommy and I went way back,” he spoke toward the door, hoping Brice was still listening on the other side. “High school, in fact. No way I believe he was dirty. You?”

  The door jerked open an inch. Brice spoke in low tones. “Get in your car. Drive around the block and park. Come through the yard and I’ll let you in the back door.”

  “We weren’t followed.”

  “You want answers, we do this my way.”

  The door slammed again.

  Okay, then. “Guess we take a trip around the block.”

  They hustled down the stairs. Caroline had a grin on her face. As they climbed into the car, Mitch said, “What?”

  She gave him an innocent look. “Good thing I went with you.”

  Good thing, my ass. “I was prepared to wait him out.”

  “Intimidation. Always effective.”

  She drove as instructed. They left the car, climbed through overgrown bushes and high grass in the back yard, and made it to the door. Brice was waiting for them. He didn’t say a word, watching over their shoulders as he ushered them inside.

  Paranoid much? Mitch had been on the run too long. He was paranoid, but this guy got a gold star in the department.

  The inside of the house was a shocker. Clean, neat, total opposite of the outside. Hiding in plain view, that’s what Brice was doing. Mitch liked the guy on principle.

  Brice didn’t offer them seats or a drink. Nope, right to business. “Whatever we say is off the record.”

  “Fine with us.” Caroline, always happy to get down to business, nodded. “We were never here, never spoke to you.”

  Brice seemed to relax a bit.

  Two of a kind. Maybe it was a good idea she’d accompanied him on this adventure.

  Mitch put space between Caroline and himself. That damn shampoo smell messed with his brain cells. And his libido. “Did you know Tommy?”

  “Not personally. Some of my contacts did though.”

  “Any idea what he was working on?” Caroline asked.

  Brice shook his head. “It was some taskforce, but nobody is talking. The agents, the good ones, are too scared. ATF isn’t what it used to be. Management intimidation is the norm. You don’t fall in line, you and your family get transferred to shit holes. Five different ones in two years. Any idea what that’s like for a guy with kids in school? Worse than waterboarding.”

  Intimidation tactics at ATF had long been rumored but Caroline reserved judgment. If she was going to believe a government agency stooped to those levels she wanted proof.

  Brice turned to her. “You’re FBI?”

  “I am.”

  “You sure you want to skip through this mine field?”

  “If a good agent is about to be labeled a traitor, you’re damn straight. I worked with this man and I’m not fool enough to believe people don’t change, but I tried to get into a protected file about Tommy and was told—quite clearly—to stay out of it. That makes me twitchy. Makes me think good agents, ones like myself, could easily get screwed as well. So, if he was dirty, I want proof.”

  “Ho-kay,” Mitch said. “Back on point. Brice, if you can hook us up, maybe we can figure out why ATF is covering up Tommy’s death.”

  “Beyond that,” Caroline said, “you run a blog. A popular one. If anything comes of this, you could be on the front lines.”

  “I use a false name and have some heavy security protocols in place.”

  “We found you. The government can too.” Caroline touched his arm. “Help us figure out what Tommy was doing on this taskforce in New Mexico.”

  Brice shook his head. “I don’t know any of those details.”

  Mitch tamed the anger rising in his chest. “A White House insider told me Tommy’s body was found with a cache of weapons in the trunk of his car. Someone wanted him found with those weapons. Wanted to label him a dirty agent.”

  “Was he stepping on toes?” Caroline asked. “Could he have been threatening to leak info about whatever he was working on? Maybe even to you?”

  Brice chewed on a thumbnail and looked guilty. Mitch’s gut said Caroline had nailed it. Somehow, somewhere along the line, Tommy had contacted Brice. “I never spoke to him directly, but I do know the taskforce was super-secret and nobody knows what they were working on. Even some of the brass are in the dark, supposedly for security reasons.”

  Back to square one. “So we don’t know why he was killed or why he was in that location when it went down.”

  Caroline cocked her head. “Or why he had those weapons.”

  He knew what she was thinking. Maybe Tommy was dirty. Hell, Mitch was having a fucking hard time believing his friend wasn’t up to something bad at this point. “He wasn’t on the take, Caroline.”

  “Then I guess we’ll have to prove that, won’t we?”

&
nbsp; She didn’t believe him. Didn’t believe in Tommy’s innocence. Like a kick to his gut, Mitch wondered if he’d gotten the wrong person involved. He should have done this on his own.

  But he needed her. Plain and simple. “Yeah, that’s exactly what we have to do.”

  And you’re the best person to do it.

  Chapter Six

  Caroline slid behind the wheel of her sedan and jammed the key into the ignition. What the hell had she done? For months she’d been going along just fine—well, maybe fine was a stretch—but she hadn’t had Mitch in her life creating all kinds of chaos, because let’s face it, the man lived for chaos.

  But she’d been okay, living her life day-to-day working her cases, having an orgasm or two thanks to her trusty vibrator and then—bam!—Mitch Monroe walks in and disrupts her whole pathetic routine.

  “Here’s what we should do,” Mitch said, slamming the passenger door.

  “No, I’ll tell you what we should do. We need to sit down and figure out what is going on with this case. We need to know who Tommy was working with and you have to be honest with me. Tell me everything you know. I respect that he was your friend, but I’m putting myself out there and I want total cooperation from you.”

  “Do you think he was dirty?”

  “I don’t know what I think, Mitch. But there’s enough I don’t know to make me wonder. So, we have to find a place where we can work this case like we would any other. We need a murder board, and a place to put it because I’m not taking you to my place.”

  “I have a place and a board already set up.”

  “Where?”

  “Can’t tell you. It’ll compromise you.”

  Now he was worried about compromising her? He’d already compromised her in so many different ways, some of which she hadn’t minded, she couldn’t keep track of them all.

  “Switch seats,” he said. “I’ll take you there.”

  “Ha! You’re kidding, right? You want me—a person with not-so-minor control issues—to just hand over car keys?”

  “That’s exactly what I want. And, it gets better; I’m going to blindfold you.”

  “My ass, you are.”

  “I happen to like your ass.”

  He grinned that slick Mitch Monroe I’ll-make-you-moan smile and something in her brain snapped. She should just stick with her damned vibrator. “Mitch—”

  “Caroline, quit arguing. This is for your own good. I blindfold you, take you to where I’m squatting, and if Donaldson or anyone else comes at you, you’ll be able to tell him that you have absolutely no idea where I’m hiding.”

  She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, drumming, drumming, drumming, hoping for some flash of brilliance, because once again, Mitch’s logic made sense. But that would mean handing over the keys, allowing him to take her to an unknown secondary location, and removing the battery from her phone so no one could trace it. The personal safety experts would consider her a failure.

  But, if they were going to do this, they’d better do it right.

  “Are you in or out, Caroline?”

  Simple question with no simple answers. She could walk away, without a doubt. He’d let her. She’d go back to her dumpster tomorrow and continue sorting garbage as her punishment for digging into a file Donaldson didn’t want her digging into.

  And that was the rub. The thing that would haunt. She shoved open the door to switch places with him. “Damn you, Mitch Monroe.”

  He went around the back of the car, passing her in a whoosh. “It’s fine, Caroline. Trust me.”

  “Ha!”

  He chuckled low and annoying, and regardless of how much she wanted to hate him, it made her smile. She’d missed this. The banter, the stupid arguments, the friendship. I’ve lost all sense.

  She buckled her seat belt. “Are you seriously going to blindfold me?”

  “I am. And I’m going to loop around, get you good and lost so you don’t figure out where we’re going.”

  “Two days ago if someone had asked me if I’d let you drive me anywhere blindfolded I would have shot them.”

  “I’ve always dreamed of blindfolding you. Just not for this purpose.”

  Something low in her throat hitched and Caroline swallowed. Forget it. “Oh, don’t even.”

  “Right. Sorry. I forgot it’s the-night-that-never-happened.”

  She propped one arm on the center console and drummed her fingers again. The man had a comeback for everything and her snark wasn’t as rapid-fire as his. She was good, but he was better. Another thing that irritated her.

  What he didn’t understand was that she’d made it the-night-that-never-happened because he, this man right here, the one ready to blindfold her and drive her who knew where, had reached inside her, grabbed onto her heart and ripped it right out of her body. After that crazy good night of sex, she simply didn’t know what to do with him. For months before it had happened she’d been craving him and then—poof—they were back to being co-workers, because on an emotional level she was simply terrified.

  Obviously, she’d been right, because he’d almost derailed her career by having her go behind Donaldson’s back to file that stupid report about The Lion case.

  Something to remember. Particularly when he removed his jacket and T-shirt—and my, oh, my—Mitch had been keeping in shape while on the run. Long, lean muscles, washboard abs, all of it shadowed against a darkening sky.

  “What are you—?”

  He tossed his T-shirt at her. “Blindfold. This will have to do.”

  She resisted holding the shirt to her face where she’d get his scent, that salty air smell that used to be part of her day every day. She missed it. Missed him.

  Pathetic, Caroline. Was she a dog in heat now? Ignoring the Mitch-scent, she tied the shirt around her head. Not an easy task with so much material. This thing was more like a burka. Whatever.

  The click of a seatbelt sounded. “Can you see?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “You lying?”

  She laughed. “No. I get it. Hey, grab my phone from my purse and pull the battery.”

  “Right. On it.”

  “How long until we get there?”

  “A while. You okay?”

  “I don’t know, Mitch, am I?”

  A second later, his hand wrapped around hers—don’t flinch—and he squeezed. Being touched with a blindfold on was suddenly on her list of least favorite things. It left her questioning every decision, doubting herself and her actions. Worse, it made her vulnerable and she didn’t do vulnerable.

  “You may not believe it, Caroline, but I’ll take care of you.”

  And dammit, this was why she’d fallen for him. Beneath that cocky, know-it-all exterior, lived a generous, funny, and uber-protective soul. “I hate you.”

  He patted her hand. “I know you do. I’m working on changing that.”

  The car moved, the engine revving as Mitch pulled out. He’d said he’d loop around and he did a fine job of confusing her because she lost all sense of direction after the fourth or fifth turn.

  If nothing else, Mitch was skilled in the art of evasion.

  For now, she’d have to sit back and wait. Again, not something she was particularly good at, and between the motion of the car and the blindfold, her breath backed up in her throat and her stomach rebelled, tumbling her undigested dinner. Don’t get sick. She ran her hand along the cheap leather on the door—handle, check—and inched along until she found the window button and pressed it. When cold air hit her cheek, she let go of the button.

  “You all right?”

  Of course she wasn’t all right. Not that she’d admit it. She closed her eyes, focused on…what?…anything that would let her not think about being totally defenseless. The range. She’d think about going to the range, the outdoor one where Joe would shout a greeting and maybe wander down to watch her shoot. She loved that. A man watching a woman shoot and it having nothing to do with her boobs or her ass or a
ny other part of the female anatomy. She’d walk to the end of the row to her usual spot at her usual table, set down her case and remove her rifle, snapping the bipod legs into position. She’d load the magazine—five bullets—and send that baby home into the bottom of the rifle.

  When Mitch’s hand wrapped around hers again, she didn’t fight it and held on. Let her mind wander to the-night-that-never-happened. Thought about those wicked hands on her. Tender sometimes, and definitely experienced. He’d handled her like a lover who knew her body inside and out. Just like she knew her favorite weapon and how to dismantle and rebuild it, that night, he’d known all the right places to touch.

  For months afterward, every time she assembled her rifle, an image of Mitch’s hands on her drifted into her mind, made her ache for that touch and the ease of it. The thrill of it. A thrill she didn’t think she’d experience again.

  Now she was here, vulnerable to him. Physically and emotionally blindfolded. Different circumstances, but her heart didn’t seem to get it. It fluttered and banged around in her chest as if he were touching her for ulterior purposes.

  And they’d been down this road before.

  She slid her hand away. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

  Liar. He wouldn’t know that, though, and for now, it was the best she could do because when Mitch touched her, every ounce of her common sense evaporated.

  Finally, the car came to a stop. “We’re here?”

  “Yep. Keep the blindfold on until we get inside.”

  How the hell was she supposed to walk?

  “And before you start yelling, I’ll help you.”

  Smart ass. “If I break an ankle, I’m holding you responsible.”

  “I’ll carry you.”

  “Not unless you want to get shot.”

  He laughed. “You carry a big gun, Caroline, and an even bigger attitude. But I like it. You keep threatening to kill me, though, and I’ll develop a complex. I hope to change your mind so you’ll keep me around for a while.”

  God, she didn’t know what to do with this man. Every time she tried to hate him, he managed to diffuse it. “Mitch, please, just get me inside so I can take this blindfold off. I hate not knowing where I’m going.”