Cheating Justice (The Justice Team) Read online

  But Caroline had hope. Zach had agreed to come to Washington and meet with Connor Lane. He was taking the first flight out and would be in town by early afternoon.

  I just hope it’s not too late.

  Distrust and doubt itched under her skin. They knew the cover-up went high up on the chain of command, but how far? Who could they trust? The Deputy Attorney General had hustled off Mitch and Maria, and no one could find them. It didn’t bode well.

  Grey came walking in, his face a thundercloud.

  “Anything?” Caroline asked.

  He shook his head. “There’s no reason for the DAG to meet your plane and take Mitch to an undisclosed location. None. If he was bringing him up on charges, Mitch would have been processed like any other detainee.”

  “He said he wanted to interrogate him.”

  “Same result…Mitch would be taken downtown and interrogated, but neither he nor Maria are there. I’ve called everyone I know and there’s nothing on them. Even if the Deputy Attorney General is keeping things hushed up, one of my sources would know if Mitch was in the system. No one has seen him or heard anything about his arrest.”

  Caroline flapped her arms. “What the hell is going on?”

  “I wish I knew.”

  “Incoming call,” Teeg announced from his computer.

  A second later, Caroline’s phone rang. She glanced at Grey. “How does he do that?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “He better not have bugged my phone.” She glanced at the screen. “It’s Donaldson.”

  “Maybe he had better luck finding them than I did.”

  Caroline punched the talk button. “Foster.”

  “Don’t ask any questions, just listen,” Donaldson said, his voice low. “What I’m about to tell you goes no farther and you didn’t hear it from me.”

  Caroline signaled Grey to stay quiet and put her boss on speakerphone. “Yes, sir. Whatever you tell me is completely confidential.”

  He grunted as if he’d looked through her phone and knew she was lying. “During his last State of the Union address, the President leaned heavily on instituting stronger gun control measures, especially in the southern states after the Milan incident in Mexico.”

  Yolanda Milan, a Mexican diplomat’s daughter, had been killed outside her home by a weapon that had entered Mexico illegally from Texas. Mexican officials had put a lot of heat on the U.S. over her death and asked for an in-depth investigation into the illegal flow of weapons into Mexico.

  “This,” Donaldson continued, “kicked off the taskforce operation and gave the president more ammunition to enact stricter gun control legislation. The Republicans went ballistic.”

  Caroline frowned at Grey as Donaldson paused and let out a slow breath. It took all of her willpower not to fire off the questions swimming through her brain. “Okay. You’re saying the Justice Department, as the parent department to ATF, was directed to get the guns off the street and came up with this operation?”

  Donaldson responded with silence.

  “So someone inside the Department of Justice approved letting guns walk? But isn’t that ass backwards if they were tasked with getting guns off the streets?” She’d opened the dam and the questions kept coming. “Did the DoJ want the president’s agenda to fail?”

  “No, but the Republicans and the NRA put up such a wall against gun control measures, the president couldn’t get over.”

  Her stomach knotted. “Is it possible this thing could go as high as the president?”

  Silence again. Terrific. Her nerves stretched a little tighter. “Where did Straling take Mitch and Maria?”

  “I can’t confirm, but there’s an abandoned building off I-395. It’s been used by the CIA, FBI, and a host of others for training and various purposes.”

  “A safe house?”

  “Not exactly. There are some things you’re better off not knowing, Foster.”

  “Give me the address. I’ll meet you there.”

  “No chance. I can’t get involved any deeper in this, and you need to be careful. I’ve saved your career at the moment, but if you go rushing in there, throwing around accusations, you could end up in jail with Mitch.”

  She was sick and tired of him holding her career hostage. “Good men have died over this. Mitch’s life could be in jeopardy. You really think I care about my job right now?”

  A heavy sigh came from Donaldson’s end. He rattled off the address. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you…but look, if you get there and you see anything illegal going on, call me. Got it?”

  “I’ve got it.”

  She disconnected and exchanged a look with Grey.

  “You want me to drive?” he said.

  For once, with the level of anger shredding her, she knew it would be better to let someone else take the wheel. “I’ll meet you around back. I need to grab a few things from my car.”

  One of which is my rifle.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  From the front seat of Grey’s car, Caroline stared up at the T-shaped five-story apartment building where an unaccounted for number of goons held Mitch hostage. From their vantage point half a block down she couldn’t see much, but that would change soon.

  “What do we know about this building?”

  Grey’s face was hidden behind a long-range Burris scope. “It went into foreclosure ten years ago and the DoJ scooped it up. They use it for training exercises. And apparently, for other reasons too.”

  Caroline lifted her binoculars, brought the building into focus, and scanned the top floor. Ten windows on the one side. “He’s in there somewhere, but we don’t know where.”

  “We’re assuming he’s in there.”

  “Well, the goon at the front entrance might be an indicator.”

  Grey shrugged. “Maybe he’s not our goon.”

  “So, you think we have random people standing outside the building Donaldson told us would be a good place to hide Mitch and Maria?”

  “I don’t think anything. I’m just not ready to say Monroe is in there. Not when we don’t know.”

  Caroline lifted the binoculars again and scanned the block. Across the street from the building in question sat a vacant manufacturing plant—one, two, three—seven stories high and facing the hostage taker’s location. A row of windows stretched across the top floor. Caroline swung the binoculars back to her target area. Could work.

  “If I can get up to the roof of the adjacent building, I can use my scope and check each room on the front side of the building.”

  “That could take a while.”

  “Well, Greystone, unless you’re busting out a drone that can help us find them, I’m going with it.”

  “Mitch told you about the drone? He never could keep his mouth shut.”

  Huh? Caroline knew her mouth dropped open, but holy cow. “You have a drone? Seriously?”

  He shrugged. “Teeg likes his toys.” He lowered his scope. “Screw this. You get your gear and set up on the roof. While you’re doing that, I’m gonna deal with the ox by the south entrance. Once I’m in, I’ll locate Monroe and call you.”

  He handed her the car keys, opened the door and made a move to get out, but Caroline grabbed hold. “Hang on, cowboy. You don’t think that guy will shoot you on sight?”

  “Not if I badge him. I’ll walk up, flash my badge, and tell him I work for Donaldson. I know enough to be dangerous and he won’t risk pissing me off. Now, get your gear and make your way behind those trees to that building. Keep your phone handy.”

  “Grey!”

  Ignoring her, he kept walking. If she got out of this car and chased him, she’d most likely be seen by the goon half a block down.

  Resigned to this insane plan—no wonder Mitch and Grey got along—she slouched down in her seat to give Grey a head start. Then she’d worm her way out of the car, grab her rifle case from the back seat and head to the roof of the abandoned building to hopefully save Mitch’s ass.

  Gr
ey strode toward the King Kong wannabe standing in front of the south entrance to the apartment building. He wore a navy suit—solid, no pinstripes—and a white dress shirt that stretched across his massive chest. If given the opportunity, this guy could probably crush him.

  If given the opportunity.

  Already Kong had taken three steps left, completely blocking the steel double doors. Shoulders back, feet wide in that state of readiness men assume when they anticipate a threat.

  Smart man.

  Grey held up his hands as he approached. “Justice Greystone. FBI.”

  “Stop right there. Let me see your creds.”

  Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, Grey grabbed his badge and snapped it open, holding it until Kong gave him permission to approach.

  Instead, Kong came to him and the power shift was on. First rule in the world of alphas. Never relinquish power. By coming to Grey, Kong had most definitely relinquished his power.

  Arms at his sides, Kong studied the badge a second, intermittently flicking his gaze to Grey then back to the badge.

  “Mitch Monroe is my former partner. Special Agent in Charge Donaldson sent me to talk to him. He thinks the pain in the ass will listen to me.” Grey patted the breast pocket of his jacket. “I have a note for the DAG from Donaldson. He tried to reach him by phone, but no go.”

  Kong narrowed his dead blue eyes. Eyes like that, this guy had nothing in his soul. Stone-cold killer. Slowly, he set his hand on his hip. Right by his sidearm.

  Yeah, I see the weapon, pal. It won’t help you.

  “Let me see the note.”

  “Sure.” Grey reached into his pocket, grabbed his wallet where he had a folded slip of paper. The paper contained Sydney’s ongoing Christmas list he’d insisted she give him so he didn’t screw up. Kong didn’t know that though, and Grey needed him distracted for a few seconds. And crotchless panties being the number one thing on the list—thanks to Syd’s twisted humor—would definitely distract this guy.

  After handing the folded note over, Grey shoved his wallet back into his pockets to free his hands. Kong focused on unfolding the note and Grey curled his right hand into a fist, shifting slightly and giving himself an unimpeded opening. Another two seconds.

  Kong’s bottom lip curled out. “What the?”

  The second Kong lifted his head, Grey swung—whap—one shot to the throat. Momentum brought Kong’s chin up and—whap—Grey cracked him again across the jaw. The big man’s head snapped back, then forward again, his gaze straight on with Grey’s but his eyes, those cold, dead eyes had gone spacey. They rolled back and—nighty-night—Kong went lights-out.

  Excellent. Syd’s note was still in his hand. Ooh, can’t lose that. Grey snatched it up and shoved it into his jacket pocket. He’d put it back in his wallet later. Right now, he had to find his friend.

  Drawing his weapon, he helped himself to Kong’s two-way radio, clipped it to his belt and swung the steel door open, clearing the entryway. Empty. Perfect.

  Staying close to the wall, he crept the empty hallway, taking note of the rat droppings along the way. The paint on the cement walls had long since started peeling and the floors didn’t look much better. Grey stepped lightly, avoiding the heels of his dress shoes clicking.

  Being a believer in his own instincts, the ones screaming he should take the stairwell coming up on his left, he did just that. At the second floor, he opened the door and listened. Nothing.

  Maybe he’d go all the way up and work his way down.

  The minute he hit the fifth floor landing, he heard it. He stopped, stared at the ceiling, listening, observing, taking it all in. Voices. In the hallway. Something about another go. He stuck his ear to the door. Definitely voices. Coming closer.

  Shit.

  Grey jumped to the opposite wall, weapon at the ready, waiting for the door to open. The voices faded as the men strode by heading to the north end of the hallway. He couldn’t risk opening the door to check.

  Caroline. He’d told her to keep her phone on. By now, she should have been in the building with her scope set up.

  He shot her a text. FIFTH FLOOR. VOICES. I THINK FROM NORTH SIDE. CHECK ALL WINDOWS.

  Inside of five minutes, Caroline had shattered the window on the back door to the manufacturing plant and let herself in. If this were the movies, she’d have picked the lock—which she could have done—but since the broken-down building appeared to have been without life for at least a decade, she saved herself time and aggravation and busted the window.

  With her rifle and carry bag slung across her shoulders, she made her way through the empty building, kicking her way through random garbage and machine parts that littered the filthy floor. A rat skittered away and Caroline’s heart slammed. Hate those damned things.

  In the far corner, she located a set of stairs and made her way up to the fifth floor where she stood on a catwalk lining the interior of the plant. Above her was the open area she’d spied from the street. She needed to get up there, but the steps ended at the fifth level. Had to be another way up. She glanced around and inhaled the suffocating dust of the deteriorating building.

  Should have brought a water bottle. Above her, the ceiling sat low and she scoured the area for another set of steps that would lead her upstairs. Nothing. She headed across the catwalk to the far end where she found an ancient elevator with a gate closure. Deathtrap. Right next to it—bingo—were the stairs.

  If they could be called that. In essence what she had equaled a rusty thrill ride that would send her plummeting five stories to the cement floor where she’d meet her death.

  Plan B.

  Back to the elevator. She analyzed the open space above where emergency climbing rungs had been bolted to the side wall. Whether those rungs were intact or not, she couldn’t know, but on closer inspection, they looked solid. She slid her rifle and carry bag crossways across her body, curled her fingers into the elevator gate and gave it a test shake. The cables seemed intact and the elevator barely moved. She’d have to risk it.

  At least she’d worn flat shoes. But wow—she’d prefer to be in her cargo pants instead of slacks and a lightweight shirt. Whatever. Digging one foot into the gate, she boosted herself up and—upsy-daisy—climbed over the top of the car. The elevator swayed and she grabbed the cable to steady herself. Her stomach flipped. Long way down.

  Only way to go was up. Breathing heavy from her climb, she swiped her arm across her forehead to dry the dripping sweat then reached for the climbing rung. Whoa, baby. The elevator car swayed again then stopped. Stretched across the top of the car and the side wall, she gave the rung a yank. Solid.

  “Here we go.”

  Hanging on to the elevator cable, she moved one foot to the lower climbing rung. When it held, she said a lightning quick “Glory be” and swung fully onto the rungs.

  The Glory be paid off because the rungs held. Thank you.

  She quickly made her way up the rungs, checking the security of each before she put her weight on it. Near the top, one bolt broke away. Just pop! That sucker flew.

  Fire ripped across her shoulders as half her body hung in the air. Move. Still gripping the lower rung, she let go of the bad one.

  She’d have to jump to reach the next lever, and if she missed, well, it had been a great thirty-three years. Dammit. Only a few feet from the top and she’d hit a snag. She dropped her head, closed her eyes and breathed in. Slowly, she exhaled and envisioned the leap. Envisioned grabbing on to that rung. Envisioned flinging herself over the top. Envisioned Mitch and his life that needed saving.

  She threw her shoulders back, willed away the frying sensation and focused.

  “I’m hanging in the middle of a fucking elevator shaft. Mitch will love it.”

  Her front pants pocket buzzed. Terrific. Text coming in. Grey had said to leave her phone on. Well, he’d have to wait a second. Can’t talk now, hon. She stared up at the rung, took a deep breath, counted three and leaped. Her body was airborne for ha
lf a second, but it could have been an hour and then—foom—she grabbed hold of the rung, tightening her fingers around it. The soles of her flat shoes slid down the concrete wall—oh, no—and she scrambled for a better grip.

  Fierce stabs of panic plunged into her. No, no, no.

  With her other hand, she clutched the rung and hung there, her feet loose as her arms and shoulders absorbed the agony of holding her body weight. Sweat slid down the center of her back and her arms quivered under the pressure. Hang on. A vision of her dead body sprawled across the floor filled her mind. Not today. No dying today.

  “You got this, Caroline.”

  And then her foot hit a chip in the wall. Just a small indentation but it was enough for her to prop her toe into it and get traction. Go. She heaved herself over the top, her breaths coming fast and hard and painful as her cheek lay against the disgusting floor, but—hey, it beat falling five stories to her death.

  Dirt she could deal with.

  Death, not so much.

  Damn you, Mitch Monroe.

  Breathing hard, she jumped to her feet, retrieved her phone and checked the text that had come in. Grey. Windows. North side. Got it. Thirty seconds and she’d be in place.

  Running to the window, she set her bag on the floor, lifted her rifle, snapped the bipod legs open and placed them on an open sill. Lookie here. The target building faced due west where the sun would be directly in her face. How she loved a challenge. She dropped to her knee and adjusted her scope to 10 power for a wide view. Starting at the far end of the building she scanned the first window, then the second. Nothing. Third window. Pay dirt.

  She switched the scope to 50 power bringing her target window into narrow focus. A sheer curtain with a six-inch space in the middle hung in the window. Behind it, a man in a black suit paced back and forth, his movements quick and jerking. Stressed. For a split second, he turned toward her. The DAG. That son of a bitch.