Justice

by Dustin Stevens

  Again, the sense of things being a ruse kicked up within Reed, things beginning to sound a lot closer to the Jason Bourne novel than he’d previously realized.

  Not that he could openly press his captain on it again, knowing any further mistrust would only offend the man.

  Seeming to sense the train of thought, Grimes said, “I didn’t want to buy it, either. Pressed things to the point of having my ass chewed in the process.

  “The story checks out.”

  Exhaling slowly through his nose, Reed turned his gaze back to the glass, his thumbs hooked into the rear pockets of his jeans. “Did they say what she’s here working on?”

  “No,” Grimes said, this time twisting his head slightly. “They said case details were with the agent only, who would disclose at her discretion.”

  Shifting to the side, Reed continued to stare through the glass, measuring the woman on the other side.

  Having sat within a few feet of her, he could see the training she’d received, the measured information she doled out, the way her mind was accepting and processing at all times.

  “And we’re positive this is legit?” he asked one final time.

  “Extremely,” Grimes replied, not a moment’s hesitation, his tone firm.

  Which was good enough for Reed.

  “Okay,” he replied, not bothering to glance back as he reached for the doorknob and stepped inside, the sterile scent of cleaning solution finding his nostrils.

  Just as it had before – just as it always did – the hinges squealed loudly as he closed it, the door slamming home harder than intended, the echo reverberating through the room.

  Returning to the seat still pulled out from the desk, he said, “Your phone number checks out.”

  Expecting her to snatch at the information, to instantly demand to be released and on her way, the woman simply sat and stared at him, her features impassive.

  “You say this like I should be surprised.”

  Feeling one corner of his mouth raise slightly, Reed said, “No, I say it like I’m surprised.”

  To that, there was no response for a moment, the same brief hint of a smile eventually finding her face.

  “That’s fair. We don’t exactly broadcast ourselves like the other guys.”

  “Famous But Idiots,” Reed said, citing a common fulfillment of the FBI moniker.

  “Caught In the Act,” she replied, giving another for the CIA.

  Certain the two could go back and forth for the next hour, each having their own thoughts and disdains for the various organizations, Reed let his features fall flat.

  For as tangential and unexpected as Rye’s arrival had been, it did not change the fact that she had still shot a man on the streets of The Bottoms and that he still had a double homicide with a very tight deadline hanging over him.

  “This afternoon, you shot and killed a man,” Reed said, seeing her eyebrows rise slightly at the news.

  Or perhaps more at his abrupt change of direction to their conversation.

  “Who was he?”

  The look lingered on her face for several moments before she said, “I don’t know. Not exactly, anyway.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, I was still in the process of investigating when the man opened fire on me.”

  Not sure he believed the story, Reed arched an eyebrow, using what he knew to be an interrogator’s best weapon, even if she likely immediately recognized it for what it was.

  Silence.

  Letting a full beat pass, long enough to point out she saw what he was doing, Rye said, “Two things. First, you can pull the slugs he used out of the brick building just off the corner. Best guess would be nine millimeter rounds fired from a Walther PPK.”

  The woman was showing off a bit, hoping that her knowledge – while impressive – would be enough to wrest control of the conversation.

  Something he could not allow to happen just yet.

  “And the second?”

  “The organization I work for, off-the-books or not, isn’t exactly in the business of firing blindly in public,” she said. “Believe me, something so large and obvious doesn’t quite fit the image we’re going for.”

  So badly Reed wanted to ask about the apparent animal attack on the body, how that coincided with whatever perception they were trying to achieve, but he let it pass.

  There would be time for such details later.

  Pulling back, Reed exhaled slowly, processing what little she had shared, superimposing it onto the facts he already had.

  Which were precious few.

  It was time to take a chance, to make a few educated stabs and hope they led somewhere positive.

  “So what is your interest in Lynda Cantwell?”

  A hint of confusion seemed to pass over Rye’s face, lines appearing around her eyes for just an instant before fading away.

  “Who?” she asked.

  Not bothering to repeat the name, Reed said, “I have to assume a shootout with a federal officer occurring just a few blocks from the first press conference on a robbery-double homicide isn’t a coincidence.”

  Feeling heat flush his features, the small of his back beginning to itch against his chair, Reed pressed on. “Given your attire and what you were carrying, probably posed as a jogger, just happened to wander by, casing the place to see who else showed up to watch the show, ended up getting shot at.”

  Flicking her gaze to the window, she stared for several moments, her lips twitching slightly as she fought to decide something internally.

  “As a fellow officer of the law, you realize I can’t say anything about what I’ve been assigned.”

  As clear an admission that he was right as she was ever going to give him.

  “That information is classified, restricted exclusively to people directly involved in the investigation.”

  Reading between the lines, Reed got the strong impression she was trying to offer a potential alliance, a hint of confusion passing over his own features as he attempted to make sense of what she was saying.

  “But I can promise you,” she said, “I’ve never heard of a Lynda Cantwell before.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “How do you think it’s going in there?”

  The sound came through slightly mechanized, Arron Hirsch’s voice a bit distorted over the open line of the cell phone gripped in Clarence Koob’s hand. Seated behind the wheel of a dented Acura, he was a block away from the 8th Precinct Police Station, parked in a way that gave him a view of the front door and half of the exterior façade.

  The parking lot and the back end of the building were manned by Hirsch, positioned a similar distance away, both faced in opposite directions, sitting low and utilizing their windows.

  Doing so was a gamble, a risk Koob wasn’t entirely comfortable with, had not planned for in the slightest, but knew he didn’t have much choice on.

  Long ago he had learned to believe in the maxim that no plan ever survived the first encounter, a fact his time in combat had cemented as gospel, this just being the latest example of the wisdom therein.

  Still, after two months on the ground, he would have preferred for it not to have involved a police station.

  Certainly not in an area he had never directly surveilled before.

  With his face twisted up into a scowl, Koob didn’t bother replying to Hirsch, instead keeping his focus on the outside of the precinct.

  Even before the encounter that afternoon, things had been personal to Koob. His first encounter with Sydney Rye was an interaction they both walked away from, each bearing the scars to prove it.

  An outcome that had never sat right with him.

  The feeling had nothing to do with misogyny, Koob having been around plenty of capable women in the service. It came from a deep-rooted belief that he was better than he anybody he encountered – man, woman, or beast.

  Simply knowing that Rye and her pet both existed, had both tasted his blood, was a slight that he could n
ot forgive, a marker burning bright in his ledger, always waiting to be set square.

  Now, he was getting that opportunity.

  But things weren’t exactly off to an excellent start.

  “Do you think she’s in there telling them about us?” Hirsch asked, his repeated questions pulling Koob’s eyes down to the phone, an annoyed expression on his face.

  Of course, she would have to explain them, if for no other reason than to cover the fact that she had gunned a man down on the street in the middle of the day.

  Right now, they were probably getting complete descriptions of him and the old man both, Rye sharing every detail she had, both to save her own ass and to bring the full weight of the local police force down on them.

  Making it almost impossible for them to move about during daylight hours, the unique looks of both he and Gerard both giving them up as clear targets.

  Twisting his hands into fists, Koob clenched for a moment, feeling his back molars grind together as he sat and thought about the notion.

  Just as fast, a realization came to him, allowing him to release the coiled tension in his body, a bit of reason flowing in behind it.

  From what he knew about Rye, there was little chance she would do so, sharing just enough information to exonerate herself, get her outside of the faded pink brick walls and on her way again. No chance would her ego or her style allow for her to partner up.

  Even less would she risk the chance of somebody else getting to Gerard or his men.

  For every bit of personal slight that Koob and his employer felt toward Rye, it was reasonable to believe she held the same for them.

  Like Koob, she bore the scars of their previous encounter, an event that anybody with any small amount of personal pride would not abide.

  As for Gerard, the events of a couple nights before had been enough to bring Rye out of hiding, her ire aimed at the person she knew must be responsible.

  To that, a faint smile crossed Koob’s lips, the first bit of mirth he’d felt all day. Lifting the phone to his lips, he said, “No, we’re good.”

  A moment later, Hirsch replied, “You sure?”

  Now down a man, there was no way Koob could afford to be wrong, the small contingent he was allotted bringing an added layer of difficulty to the project.

  Not that it would greatly matter in this particular case, his limited working knowledge of Rye making him more than confident in how she would handle things.

  There was only one way this could end, and it damned sure wouldn’t be with him or Gerard in handcuffs.

  “Positive,” Koob replied. “Just stay on the place, she’ll be out soon.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  The conversation had shifted from the interrogation room on the third floor to Grimes’s office on the first. In part, that was because it was agreed that keeping a federal officer that was, presumably, working the same case they were in custody was not in good faith.

  In the remainder, it was because the woman had made it clear she would say nothing more while sitting in front of the one-way glass, on display for untold masses outside.

  Stepping out of the room, Reed had found the look on her face to find only McMichaels and Jacobs standing there almost humorous, Billie pressed to the floor nearby, Grimes already leading the way down. Clearly thinking her presence was a much larger spectacle than it turned out to be, her eyes bulged momentarily before the same look that had been plastered across her features since arriving returned.

  Hardened façade, matched by an equal measure of disdain.

  Moving in an impromptu parade, Grimes led the way down two flights of stairs, followed in order by Rye, Reed in third, with Billie bringing up the rear. As they passed, a few employees gave quizzical looks, nobody managing to summon the courage needed to openly say a word.

  Even if Reed was certain there would be plenty of buzz in their wake.

  Once they were sequestered away behind closed doors, Reed gave up his chair to Rye, opting to lean against the side table along the wall, Grimes behind his desk.

  On the floor between all three, her haunches lowered to the floor, was Billie, her ears pointed to the ceiling. Sensing the tangle of emotions and charges in the room, her head swiveled from side to side, trying to get a handle on how things were playing out around her.

  A pretty accurate depiction of how they all felt at the moment, Reed surmised.

  “I take your statement about Lynda Cantwell to mean you are actually here about Alice Hartong,” Reed opened. Delivered as a statement rather than a question, he posed it straight to Rye, aware of Grimes’s stare in his periphery.

  Matching his look, Rye glanced between the two men in silence, seeming to still be debating how much to divulge.

  “Let me ask you this,” Rye finally replied. “You mentioned that this is being billed a robbery-double homicide. Tell me, what was taken? Did it add up to enough to warrant such a massacre? Have any of the jewels showed up yet?”

  Having asked himself those same questions, aware even as he went to Rainbow’s End it would be for nothing, Reed didn’t bother to respond, knowing the questions were rhetorical.

  “So you’re saying Hartong was the real target here? The rest was just window dressing?”

  Opening her mouth to respond, Rye moved as if she might answer before pulling up short.

  “Before I say anything else, how is it you guys see this working?” she asked. “We work together on this? Share information? Or do you think you can just hold a federal agent and attempt to pump them for information?”

  A bit of surprise lifted Reed’s eyebrows as he glanced to Grimes. Making it clear he had no intention of weighing in, he nodded a bit to the captain, ceding the floor.

  To say they were still holding her, or pumping her for information, was a stretch, a play on the hostility she clearly still felt toward the situation.

  “Is that what you’re proposing?” Grimes asked, ignoring the back end of her declaration. “A joint task force?”

  Her features twisting up, Rye shook her head emphatically. Again, a look of wanton disdain crossed her features, this time at the way Grimes responded, at the dismissal of part of her statement.

  “No,” she stated, a glare aimed across the desk, “because task forces imply press conferences and media statements, and things like that.”

  Shifting her gaze to Reed, she let him feel the extent of the same scowl. “I’m proposing you guys keep acting like you’re the only one in town, and I ride shotgun along the way.”

  Reed didn’t pretend to try and hide his surprise, as much at what she was proposing as the way it was being delivered. “Shotgun? With who?”

  “With the lead investigator,” Rye replied, “who I assume to be you.”

  A slight clench formed in the pit of Reed’s stomach, no part of him wanting to even consider bringing in this woman. Seeing what she had done in the street earlier, her apparent lack of discretion, having a loose cannon for him to oversee did not in the slightest seem appealing.

  Nor did the fact that it seemed an obvious ploy, a grasp for her to get out of the building and on her way.

  “Uh, between Billie and I, the car is already pretty tight,” he said.

  Rolling her eyes, Rye said, “I don’t mean literally, beyond maybe a lift back to my ride.”

  “So you can ditch us and disappear?” Reed asked, his voice rising, his heart rate climbing in kind.

  The more he wrapped his mind around things, the clearer they became, this an obvious ruse.

  “No,” Rye replied, her tone matching his to the letter, “so we can both continue to work as we were. Only now we’re sharing information, checking in with one another when the need arises.”

  The responses seemed too smooth, the answers almost rehearsed, for Reed to believe a thing she was saying. Incredulity climbed through his core, reaching his face, as he looked over to Grimes, the captain’s features as impassive as ever.

  “You realize the time for fos
tering collaboration was this morning, right? Back when you should have called and alerted us you were working in our jurisdiction?”

  “And you realize that I am federal, and can do as I please, especially when one of the victims is someone we had under protective custody.”

  Starting to respond, his next outburst already lined up, Reed pulled short, his mouth hanging open as he stared at the woman.

  “Alice Hartong was in Witness Protection?”

  A small twist formed on Rye’s mouth as she watched him, seemingly seeing the surprise hit his features.

  “No, WitPro is run by the U.S. Marshalls, implies constant monitoring. This is more like victim relocation.”

  “Meaning?” Reed asked.

  “Meaning we get them out of ugly situations, help set them up with new lives,” Rye said. “Once their feet are under them, we wish them well, send them on their way.”

  Drawing his chin toward his chest, Reed hitched his arms a little higher across his chest, pondering what had just been shared, all the implications it carried with it.

  All leading to one incontrovertible truth.

  There was a reason she had never heard of Lynda Cantwell before.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  It was only the second time since Reed had taken over the sedan from the 8th Precinct that he’d had someone riding in the passenger seat. The first instance had been a fellow officer from the state Bureau of Criminal Investigation, and while this time his passenger was also a female, the similarities ended there.

  While the previous had been a working collaboration, a mutual partnership agreed upon by both parties up front, this felt more like an arranged marriage.

  Between two mismatched people from warring factions, the union a faint gasp at bridging the gap and nothing more.

  The fact that Grimes had even agreed to consider it was a shock, a clear nod to the situation they were in, the pressure they would soon be facing from the hierarchy downtown, the media, the court of public opinion, and anybody else that had even a tacit knowledge of the situation.