Cheating Justice (The Justice Team) (34 page)

“Please let me take you to a hospital.”

“No. Let the fuckers see me. Our hero here can’t spin this one. Where are we on our ATF witness?”

“Zachariah Nunnely. His flight landed twenty minutes ago. He said he’d grab a cab and head to his hotel.” She handed Mitch her phone. “Call him—I added him to my contacts. Tell him we’re moving the Lane meeting up. He has to get there ASAP.”

Slamming the door, she ran to the driver’s side and fired up the Charger. In
three
days they’d blown the lid off of a cover-up involving ATF, FBI and the U.S. Attorney’s office. And they still didn’t know exactly what they were dealing with.

She hit the gas and glanced at Mitch who left a voicemail for Zachariah. “We’re in this now, Monroe. No turning back.”

“You idiots,” Straling screamed. “I’ll have you in a cell by nightfall.”

Mitch flipped him off. “Yeah, well, you should have made sure I was dead before you turned tail.”

“What happened?”

“That fucker. He set the whole thing up. He created the taskforce so he could flood the border states with guns. All under the guise of catching gun runners. It was all bullshit.”

“Liar!”

Mitch waved a hand. “Blah, blah.”

“I don’t understand.”

“With so many guns hitting the streets, gun violence sky-rocketed. And what do politicians do when gun violence sky-rockets?”

“They bitch about gun laws.”

“Exactly. The president couldn’t push his gun legislation through congress. Straling wanted to change that. He also wanted the top job at Justice, didn’t you, Straling? Figured if he could create a situation where the level of gun violence forced congress to act on the president’s proposed legislation, it would score points and he’d slide right into the AG spot next term. Except Tommy started yapping.”

Caroline stopped at a light and banged her forehead against the steering wheel. “Who thinks of this crap? All the lives lost to political ambition.”

“Pfft, it’s collateral damage to this asshole. He ran the whole thing, Caroline. He wouldn’t admit to having Tommy killed, but he came damned close. He was taking out whoever got in his way.”

“What about Jesse?”

“No idea. He’s gotta be on the run.”

The light turned green and Caroline hooked a right, merging into snarled D.C. traffic. “So, we think Straling had Tommy killed because he was talking too much?”

From the backseat, Straling snorted. “You’ll never prove it.”

“Yes,” Mitch said. “We will.”

Caroline tapped her nails against the steering wheel. “Stands to reason that he was behind Kemp then too. Maybe Kemp was asking questions and Straling figured out you all were friends?”

Mitch shrugged. “I guess we’re about to find out. Aren’t we, Straling?”

Connor Lane met them at a secure back entrance to the Department of Justice headquarters because dragging a handcuffed Deputy Attorney General through the lobby wouldn’t bode well. Lane smuggled them up a service elevator to his office.

“What in God’s name happened to you?” Short and balding, the Special Counsel stared at Mitch through Coke-bottle lenses and spoke with a slight southern drawl.

Every inch of Mitch’s body hurt and the vision in his one good eye was hazy. He blinked and refocused on the man, and then on the chair Lane motioned him into.

Caroline, helping Mitch into the chair, answered. “He was beat nearly to death by some men working for Sean Straling.”

“Lane,” Straling said, “get these handcuffs off of me or I’ll put your ass in a sling. Don’t be a fool. This man is a federal fugitive.”

Lane sat in his plush, leather chair, the back rising high in the air and making him look like a munchkin in the Wizard of Oz. “Sir, I will need you to be silent until I hear the full story. If you cannot do that, I will have you removed to another room. Under guard.”

Caroline had brought her laptop and held it up in one hand and her flash drive with its copies of Tommy’s files in the other. “May I show you our research?”

Lane motioned her forward and Caroline went to work with her laptop and lists, talking nonstop for several minutes as she laid everything out in chronological order. Listening to her no-nonsense voice soothed Mitch’s nerves. This was her thing—creating a timeline, providing the facts, listing motivations and the results of those motivations in a calm, convincing manner that forced even a shocked Special Counsel to listen intently.

“These are serious accusations, Agent Foster,” Lane said, reading something on Caroline’s laptop screen. “Mr. Greystone said you had witnesses. Where are they?”

Mitch pulled out his cell phone and opened a message from Grey with a picture attached. He handed it to Lane. “Maria Lando is on her way to the emergency room, sir. This is what Straling did to her. At the very least, you can arrest him for assault on me and attempted murder on her.”

It was a graphic photo and Lane flinched. He did a visual of Mitch’s injuries again and let out a hefty sigh. “Will she testify?”

“If she lives,” Caroline said.

“That’s bull, Lane,” the DAG yelled, jumping up from his seat. “Uncuff me. Now!”

Lane stared at him over his glasses. “Sir, do not make me call a guard. You will sit down.
Now
.”

For a little guy, Lane had a spine. Caroline slid her sidearm from the holster and leveled it at Straling.

“Sit,” she said. “I’m sure you recall what a good shot I am.”

Straling stared at the weapon then brought his hateful eyes back to Caroline. Mitch grunted. This idiot didn’t realize he’d lose. Right now, nobody in this office gave a crap about his title.

Eventually, he sat.

Mitch took back his phone and eased himself into the chair once more. “The gun Straling used on her is at the scene under the watch of Justice Greystone. You should get a warrant to search Straling’s car, house, office…everything. Who knows what he’s hiding?”

Lane’s desk phone buzzed. He punched the speaker button. “What is it, Miss Kote?”

“Sir, you might want to turn on CNN.”

The three of them exchanged a look and Lane grabbed a remote from the desktop, hit a button, and a television Mitch hadn’t noticed on the far wall came to life. It was already on the news channel and President Perkins’ face filled the screen. He stood at the podium in the White House briefing room, a crowd of reporters in their usual seats in front of him. At the bottom of the screen, the ticker read, “President Perkins denies knowledge of ATF-FBI taskforce cover-up…”

Mitch let out a barking laugh. “Straling, you are fucked. He’s already throwing you under the bus. This is getting good now, kids.”

Straling’s body went rigid, his whole demeanor stiffening as rage contorted his face.

Oh, yeah. Definitely getting good. Maybe Mitch could help this along. “What do you think Straling? How long is it going to take for your boss to make you the administration’s sacrificial lamb? With a dead agent, you’ll be lucky if you get out of prison by your 80th birthday.”

Straling drew air through his nose and held it.

“Yep, suck up all that oxygen, pal. The air in here sure beats prison air.”

“That son of a bitch,” Straling said, his voice low and gravelly and filled with hate.

Mitch moved in for the kill. “What did the president know?”

Straling glared at him. “The big guys want plausible deniability, so he didn’t know the operational details, but he knew ATF was working on a new operation to curb gun violence. I waited. I planned this whole damned thing down to the letter and waited for his bill to pass. Then I’d tell him. Then Nusco’s death was all over the news and that stupid reporter asked about the FBI agent that was gunned down in New Mexico and what that meant for the president’s gun control agenda. Perkins called the AG and suddenly
I’m
in the hot seat. After what I did for him? This is what I get?”

“They screwed you,” Mitch said.

Straling raised his cuffed hands to wipe his brow. “Of course. But I was ahead of everyone. All I had to do was tell the president Nusco had been working the taskforce and went rogue. Atkinson backed me up. He’d already confiscated all of Tommy’s files. Case closed. Until I found out Nusco had made a backup of his files.”

Good work, Tommy
. But the other Musketeer needed justice too. “What about Kemp? Was he one of your messes?”

The DAG made an exaggerated frowny face. “Kemp Rodgers was an unfortunate bystander. He should have never gotten involved, but just like Tommy Nusco, I guess he couldn’t resist a pretty face when Jesse Lando’s sister showed up with her sob story.”

The office door swung open and three men filed in, Lane’s assistant on their heels telling them they had to wait. Ethan, from the New Mexico office, and another man Mitch didn’t recognize.

“What the hell is this?” the DAG wanted to know.

Ethan shook Mitch’s hand. “Interesting company. You look like hell.”

“Beats being dead.”

As Ethan shook Caroline’s hand, the second man stepped forward and introduced himself to Mitch. “Nunnely. Zach. We spoke on the phone earlier.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“Anything for Tommy. He was a good friend of yours, huh?”

“The best.”

“Lane,” Straling hollered, “are we done here? I have work to do.”

Lane ignored him and spoke to Ethan and Nunnely. “You’re here to testify about the gun walking?”

Nunnely shrugged off a backpack, unzipped it, and produced a laptop and files. “Here you go, sir.” He handed the files over and set the computer on the man’s desk next to Caroline’s. “You’ll find a detailed journal of Operation Bulletproof on my laptop, and copies of all the reports, testimonials, and other facts I could gather before I was told to keep my mouth shut and got shipped off to North Dakota.”

“By whom?” Lane demanded.

“The ATF Director.”

“Of New Mexico?”

Nunnely shook his head. “Of the entire agency.”

Lane frowned and Ethan motioned for the third man to come forward. “This is our ace in the hole, Mr. Lane.”

The man had hung back and been staring at the floor, but when his eyes came up, Mitch’s pulse skipped. They were an exact match to Maria’s.

Caroline drew in a sharp breath. “Jesse Lando?”

He gave her a reluctant nod and dug a note out of his pocket. The one Mitch had left on his bed. “Yes, ma’am.” He held out the note. “I’m here for my sister.”

Connor Lane sat forward and started sorting through Nunnely’s files. “Have a seat, gentlemen. I’ll need statements from all of you. And we’ll get Special Agent Donaldson on the line.”

“Donaldson?” Caroline asked.

“Yes. He needs to arrest the Deputy Attorney General.”

Caroline smiled at Ethan and returned to her seat next to Mitch. She took his hand and squeezed. “We did it.”

His heart constricted and his throat tightened. God, he loved this woman. He entwined his fingers with hers. “You did it, Caroline. You saved my life.”

She laid her head on his shoulder and softly pinched his arm. “Don’t make me regret it.”

Mitch’s entire skull ached from his hairline to his jaw, a dull throbbing synched with his pulse. Every breath he took, every move he made sent sharp stabs of pain through his chest, like nails being hammered into the birdcage protecting his heart.

But when Caroline looked at him with that gleam in her eye—the one that said he’d done the impossible and uncovered the truth behind his best friends’ deaths, all the pain was worth it.

Three hours later, the ER was a riot of sounds and white coats swishing in and out of privacy curtains. How much privacy did they actually provide? Not much from what Mitch had seen sitting on a gurney and waiting for the results of his tests.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said to Caroline, sliding off the edge of the bed. “I’m tired of waiting.”

She grabbed his arm and squeezed. “Not until we get the all clear.”

“I’m all bandaged and sewn up. If I had a concussion, it would be evident by now.”

“Not necessarily.” She stared into his one good eye as if she had her own internal CT scanner or something. “Occasionally, brain injuries don’t show up for days.”

“All I need is a mega dose of pain meds and a few hours of sleep.”

“The doctor may want to keep you for observation for twenty-four hours.”

His swollen eye was a nuisance, making it difficult to give her the full Mitch Monroe charming look, complete with a wink. He went for it anyway, grinning and winking and hoping it worked. “Twenty-four hours with you in bed would do me more good.”

“You have three cracked ribs. Acrobatics in bed are not advised.”

He laced his hand through hers and kissed the end of her fingers. “I’m sure you could work around my injuries.”

A flush rose on her cheeks and she laughed, shaking her head at him. “You are incorrigible.”

“But you love me anyway.”

She laid a soft kiss on his bad eye. “Yes, I do.”

Her cell phone beeped and she checked it. “It’s a text from Grey. Maria’s awake. The surgeons removed bullet fragments from around her left ear and the ear canal, and a large fragment lodged at the base of her skull, but the bullet missed all of the major brain regions and didn’t hit her spinal cord. She’ll probably be deaf in that ear but her prognosis is good. She’ll need physical therapy, but hopefully won’t have any paralysis or memory loss. Jesse’s with her now.”