Cheating Justice (The Justice Team) (29 page)

Again, Maria’s gaze ping-ponged between Mitch and Caroline. Mitch saw it the moment the fight went out of her. Her eyes softened and fresh tears filled the corners. “I loved him. You may not ever believe that, but we had plans. Good plans. Ones that would take us out of here. I wanted a life with him.”

Caroline inched closer and set her hands on Maria’s arms, not gripping, but a light touch that allowed her to connect on a personal level. She’d always been good that way, worming her way in on an emotional level while Mitch was pond scum.

“Then help us, Maria. You may not have that life with him, but you can save his reputation, let everyone know what a good man he was.”

Maria took a second, breathed in and out, chin against her chest, fingers mashed together. When she looked up, her hard gaze went straight to Mitch. “Fine. But I need to go back to my place and grab a few things. And what about my cat?”

“Who took care of the cat before?”

“My friend Lisa. I suppose I could leave her there again.”

Caroline rose, grabbed a pad of paper and a pen off the desk and handed them to her. “Give me a list of what you need from the house and Mitch and I will go.”

Caroline followed Maria’s instructions and located her migraine medicine in the bathroom. Brice and Maria were parked two blocks down behind an abandoned gas station and Mitch was on lookout duty while Caroline threw clothes and toiletries into a go-bag for Maria.

Home. Back to D.C. And none too soon. Caroline’s life and career would never be the same, but she could feel this fiasco about to explode. She’d deal with the fallout, put it behind her, and move on.

Hopefully, with Mitch by her side.

Muffled footsteps on the stairs made her pause her hunt for Maria’s makeup bag. Mitch appeared, but didn’t stop, passing the bathroom and heading for the second bedroom.

Caroline poked her head into the hall. “What are you doing?”

“Leaving Jesse a note.” Mitch flipped a piece of paper onto the bed.

A note. With Mitch doing the composing, this should be interesting. She left the bathroom and peeked into the bedroom to see what the note said.

I have your sister
. Under the statement was Mitch’s phone number.

Caroline quirked an eyebrow at him. “You really think he’ll come back?”

“He’s already been back.” Mitch pointed at a half empty pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. “That wasn’t here last time.”

“What a louse,” Caroline said. “He’s hanging his sister out to dry. He doesn’t even care that her life’s in danger.”

Mitch glanced out the bedroom window. “If I find out Jesse had any involvement in Tommy’s murder, I will hunt the prick down and put a bullet in him myself.”

“I’ll help you.”

He met her eyes and that whoosh between them, that ingrained energy, surged.
We’re sick. Getting turned on talking about killing a criminal together
.

Two minutes later, Caroline climbed into the backseat of Maria’s car and handed the woman a bag of her stuff. The truck was running on fumes, so they were leaving it behind. Mitch sat up front with Brice for the ride to the airport.

Maria was quiet as they drove. Mitch was too. Caroline touched her cheekbone. The wound was healing, but she had a nasty bruise.
Wait ’til Dad sees that
. Maybe she could avoid him after they got home, at least for a few days.

Quick flicks traveled up her neck, the warning she’d experienced several times in her life, but had learned to appreciate as her body’s instinctual distress call. She angled her head sideways, not much, just enough to catch sight of a black SUV pulling in behind them from the corner of her eye. Her nerves, already taut, tensed a little more. Was she paranoid? She had good reason to be. “Brice?”

“Yep,” he said from the front seat. “Already saw them.”

“Them, who?” Mitch checked the side mirror. “Black SUV?”

Brice took a left turn without preamble, throwing Caroline off balance and causing the seat belt to dig into her neck. She grabbed the door handle with one hand and reached for Maria with the other. “Get down. Now.”

Mitch peeked between the seats, gaze focused on the back window. “Still with us,” he said to Brice. His attention shifted to Caroline. “You get down, t—”

The back window exploded, sending shards of glass, compliments of a bullet, raining down on Caroline’s head.

Maria screamed.
Help her
. Caroline shoved her to the floor as Brice accelerated and took a hard right. The squeal of tires and the acrid smell of burning rubber, rushed through the car, the momentum of the turn vaulting Caroline sideways over the seat. The damned seat belt ripped into her skin again.
I’m done
. “Mitch?” she yelled.

“I’m all right.” His face filled the gap between the seats again, this time lower. “You okay?”

“Someone just shot at me. I’m pissed.”

He grinned, of all things. Grinned! “Give me your gun.”

The car flew around a curve. Maria sobbed, her overnight bag gripped tightly in her hands as she lay curled on the floorboard. Caroline grabbed her sidearm, staying low over Maria, while checking the magazine. “If anyone’s returning fire, it’s me.”

“I have a better angle.”

“Who is it?” Maria cried. “Who’s shooting at us?”

I wish I knew
. Caroline released her seatbelt and crouched onto the floor, positioning her back against Mitch’s seat so she could raise up and fire through the open window. “How close are they?” she said to Brice.

“Three car lengths. I can lose them on the next turn,” he replied.

Maybe she wouldn’t have to shoot.

Pop-pop-pop
. Another round of bullets hit the car and Maria howled, all her stress balling into a high-pitched wail that pummeled Caroline’s system.
Ignore her
. Focus.

Mitch spoke close to her ear. “I have a better vantage point. Give me the damn gun.”

“The hell you do.” Caroline ran through the logistics of the scene in her head.
Pedestrians. Cars on either side. Possible collateral damage everywhere.
“Now shut up and tell me when I have a clear shot.”

Brice weaved the car all over the road, continuing to throw her off balance, but she braced her back more firmly against the seat.

“Straighten it out, Brice,” Mitch said. “Now, Caroline!”

Caroline popped up, gun at the ready. The instant she cleared the edge of the back window, she held the oxygen in her lungs, aimed and fired.

Bam-bam-bam
. The gun recoiled in her hand, spent rounds flying and adding to the mess of broken glass surrounding Maria. Caroline dropped again, taking cover should another round come at them. Seconds later screeching tires—the sound abrasive and ear puncturing—followed by crunching metal refocused her.

“Nailed ʼem,” Mitch shouted.

Wanting to see her handiwork, Caroline inched up again. Sure enough, she’d busted a couple of holes in the SUV’s windshield. She’d also hit a tire, or maybe the driver. The vehicle swerved, lost control, and hit a telephone pole.

“Go back,” Mitch barked. “Let’s see who’s in there.”

“No,” Caroline and Brice fired back in unison.

“It’s our one chance to find out who’s after the flash drive!”

Caroline watched the mangled SUV grow smaller as they sped away, but no one bailed out. “Cops will show up any minute and we can’t risk being there when they do.”

Maria lifted her head, her brown eyes red from crying, a silent plea shining in them.

“I’m sorry,” Caroline told her, keeping an eye on the road behind them. “We’ll keep you safe, Maria. This will be over soon.”

She hoped she could keep that promise.

Chapter Twenty-two

Mitch’s gut sank as he looked out the window of Caroline’s father’s private jet to the runway below. Red and blue lights flashed in whirling circles, cutting through the shadowy night. “We’ve got trouble,” he said.

Caroline leaned over him and took in the sea of lights. “Dammit.”

Brice unbuckled his seatbelt and shot across the aisle, letting out a string of curses.

Maria paled. “What is it?”

“Cops,” Mitch answered. His fugitive status was done, and now the three people with him were about to pay the price. “They want me. You guys stay out of it and let me handle this. I’ll exonerate you the best I can.”

The plane’s wheels touched down, bouncing all of them and sending Brice falling back to his seat. He sank down and put a hand over his eyes, looking strung out and exhausted. Mitch was right there with him.

Caroline grabbed his arm and squeezed. “We’re in this together, remember?”

He couldn’t look at her. Not after all of this. He’d wrecked her career and probably her life.
No time for this shit
. Instead, he pinned Maria with a death glare. “You’ve got the number I gave you, right?”

She nodded. “Justice Greystone. I memorized it.”

“And you’ve got the copy of the files?”

Caroline, the always Type-A personality, had made a backup of Tommy’s flash drive and a backup of the backup just in case. Her thoroughness might drive him crazy, but at times it came in handy.

Maria patted the waistband of her slacks where Caroline had sewn in the flash drive. “I won’t give it to anyone but Mr. Greystone. Unless they arrest me too.”

Which was a strong possibility, but his gut told him Maria would walk. “Just tell the cops I coerced you. That you didn’t want anything to do with me but I forced you to help out. You haven’t broken any laws. They can’t hold you.”

Caroline poked a finger at him. “Stop taking all the blame.”

“Someone has to get that flash drive to Grey. He’ll take it to his contact at Justice.”

As always, Grey had come through. He’d set up a private meeting for the four of them with Connor Lane, the head of the Office of Special Counsel, an independent federal agency inside the Justice Department. The OSC protected the rights of federal employees and whistleblowers. They’d give Lane the evidence and see what he advised them to do.

“We are so screwed,” Brice said from behind the hand covering his face.

“I’ll call Lane,” Caroline said.

Mitch studied the flashing lights, his stomach sour from the misery of having always known at some point, somewhere, the choice to stop running would be taken from him. “Not if you’re in jail.”

“I get one phone call. Guess how I’m going to use it?”

He glanced at her face and saw her grinning. Damn they were a twisted combination. “You are some woman, you know that?”

“You better believe it.”

The plane rolled to a stop and the pilot came over the intercom. “Sorry, Ms. Foster. I was under oath from your father not to tell you about this.”

Caroline issued a flabbergasted sigh. “My
father
did this?”

Brice rose and helped Maria up. He motioned for Mitch and Caroline to go first. “Might as well pay the devil his due.”

They drew on their jackets and gathered briefcases, laptops, and overnight bags while vehicles pulled into position around the plane. A cop with a bullhorn told them to come out with their hands up.

Mitch went first, tossing his bag down the stairs in front of him and raising his hands. “Nobody get twitchy,” he called to the cops. “I give up.”

A plainclothes officer approached, cuffed him, and led him to an unmarked car. While he was being patted down and read his rights, Brice received the same routine, only his charges were related to releasing a sealed document.

Caroline and Maria stood back while three men approached.

Donaldson, in his usual ugly brown suit, sent a smug smirk in Mitch’s direction. Mitch flipped him off even though his hands were cuffed behind his back. The officer opened the unmarked car’s rear door. “Get in.”

Mitch ignored him, watching the man leading the pack of Donaldson and the third man. He wore a gray suit with a tan trench coat and looked vaguely familiar. The third man lingered behind, his face drawn into serious lines with a set of peepers that matched Caroline’s.

“Dad!” Caroline left Maria’s side and strode toward her father. “What have you done?”

Donaldson intercepted her. “He cut a deal to save your ass, Foster. Show some gratitude.”

“Get. In,” the plain clothed officer said to Mitch, shoving him into the backseat.

The man in the trench coat didn’t stop for the Foster family drama, but called to the cop. “Hold up. I want to see him.”

He came to stand in front of Mitch, his gaze sizing up Mitch’s long hair, and reading his Roswell alien T-shirt that said
Property of Area 51. Do Not Confront
. “Mitch Monroe. We finally meet. Agent Donaldson has told me about you.” The man smiled a thin, knowing smile, and pinned his brows together. “But to tell you the truth, I’m a bit disappointed. I thought you’d be…”

“Shorter?” Mitch smarted off.

“More
clever
,” the man countered. “I was enjoying the chase, but now…” He tsked. “You’ve dropped right into my hands.”

The guy wasn’t FBI—he didn’t carry himself like an agent. His blond, Robert Redford hair and good looks gave him a definite Hollywood vibe. Mitch scanned his memory. He was sure he’d seen this dickwad on TV, but he couldn’t come up with an ID. “Who the fuck are you?”