Stealing Justice (The Justice Team) (22 page)

Grey took the appropriate off-ramp, headed farther north and drove in different directions until he was one hundred and ten percent sure no one was following him. Then he steered the car for home.

His place was on a dead-end gravel road with a long, narrow driveway. The entrance to the drive was gated and the surrounding iron fence was overgrown with trees, kudzu, knotweed, and other spiny, invasive groundcovers. The fence was electrified and the gate operated on a security system he and Monroe had installed. Grey placed his thumb on the scanner and the gate opened automatically.

“Where are you taking me?” Sydney asked without a hint of spark.

Gutted.

“Somewhere you can blow off steam.”
Somewhere where you’re safe.

“I really just want to go home. Clear my head.”

You are home
. He wound the car along the curving drive, parked inside the garage. Shutting off the engine, he faced her. “Clear your head here. With me.”

In her eyes, a change occurred. The walls she’d thrown up lowered a bit. Reflected in the stormy depths, he saw trust. She trusted him. He’d let her down and she still trusted him.

Without a word, she got out of the car, looked around the tricked-out garage before following him to the door attached to the house. He hit the proper buttons on the keypad and the door clicked open. As the two of them wound their way through the first floor, lights came on automatically. He reset the alarm system, took Syd by the hand, and led her to the bedroom.

There, he rummaged through his drawers until he found a clean T-shirt and a pair of his basketball shorts. “Bathroom’s in there.” He pointed at the door. “I’ll be downstairs. Come find me when you’re ready.”

He left her alone, shucked his gun and holster, and made his way to the training room.

Ten minutes later, he was blowing off his own steam with a lifelike punching bag when Sydney found him. She looked a little lost in his clothes but her expression had softened, her muscles were loose again. Holding out her hand, she showed him the fabric she’d been clutching in the car. “He wanted me to wear this.”

A veil. Like the one he’d seen hanging on Nabil’s bedpost. Taking it from her, he set it on a nearby bench. Probably didn’t mean a thing, but he’d check into it later. He needed to talk to some of the other escorts who’d serviced The Lion and Nabil and see if this was a new MO or one he and Monroe had missed.

But right now, he needed to take care of his partner.

He tossed a pair of punch mitts at her. “Put these on.”

She gave him a
you’ve got to be kidding
look.

He picked up two small strike shields, padded to deflect a boxer’s punches, even boxers twice her size. Then he motioned for her to come at him.

She played with the mitts, acting all indignant and wasting time. For once, she seemed short on words. The motion of putting on the mitts seemed to break through her apathy. “This is a waste of time.” Her actions belied her statement as she finished donning the gloves. “I’m not going to punch you.”

“Imagine The Lion’s face right here.” He pointed at the center of his right shield. “Give it everything you’ve got.”

She sighed, hands at her side. “Why didn’t you take me to the shooting range so I could blow his head off?”

“What he did to you was personal. You need to get your hands dirty. Hand-to-hand is more satisfying.”

A brow rose. “There is nothing satisfying about hitting someone.”

“Don’t get all high and mighty, Syd. We’re not talking about abusing an innocent person. We’re talking about taking back control. Our basic nature as human beings is to fight. So shut off the ethical and moral crap, put up your fists, and give that asshole what he deserves. And don’t tell me you’ve never wanted to take revenge on other men, the ones whose wives and girlfriends come through your shelter with broken bones and broken spirits.”

Bingo. The light in her eyes shifted. Hardened, but in a different manner. “No. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” He danced around her, light on his feet, and gave her a small shove with one of the shields. “Come on. Hit me.”

It went against everything she stood for. Sure, she’d hold a gun to a man and threaten him if her life was on the line, but hitting someone? That went against her moral fiber. She’d seen the damage fists could do time and time again.

“Don’t push me,” she ground out.

“Why? You scared?”

And then miracle of miracles, she took a swing at him.

Her fist barely connected with the shield, didn’t even cause a dent. “That all you got? Hit me like you mean it.”

The quip triggered another jab, this one making solid contact. “That a girl.”

“Not. A. Girl.” She landed another punch and another.

Once she got going, he estimated it would take a minute, maybe a minute thirty before she’d drop. Boxing, even if it was only light sparring, was hard work and she was unconditioned.

Three minutes later, he gave her props. Sweat poured from her and her breaths came in deep gasps, but her punches were just as hard, just as fierce. When she finally stalled out, he shucked the shields and removed the gloves from her hands. Then he grabbed a white towel from a freshly laundered stack and wiped the sweat from her face and neck. Did the same to his own. Her hair was wild and her cheeks flushed. Best of all, her eyes were clear and her body had released all the pent up shit she’d been carrying for God knew how long.

From the built-in fridge, he pulled two cold bottles of water, opened them both, and handed one to her. She accepted it without comment, downed half and wiped her mouth with the back of one hand. “Nice place.”

“Thanks. Hungry? I can fix us something.”

“Nah. But I’d like a shower.”

There was a shower in the training center, but it wasn’t as nice as the one off his bedroom. “Sure.”

He led her upstairs, deposited her back in his room. The clothes she had on were soaked with sweat, so he got her a new set. She took them with a small smile, grabbed his hand, and drew him toward the bathroom, giving him a sly look.

He knew that look and he had to adjust himself. Syd, soap and water. Ah, yeah. That would relax
him
.

He wasn’t going to stop her. Wasn’t going to accuse of her using him for sex to blot out the mess still haunting her brain. If she wanted to have sex to forget what had happened earlier—if she felt safe enough with him to even think about sex after what she’d been through—he gladly let her take whatever she needed.

And enjoy the hell out of it while he was at it.

Chapter Eighteen

The next morning, Grey was sliding eggs around in a pan when Monroe came through the back door. “Smells good. I’ll take some bacon too.”

He’d bypassed the system’s security. Again. Which of course he knew how to do since he’d helped Grey install the damn thing. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The man poured himself a cup of coffee, slouched against the counter. “Let’s see, a homemade breakfast in the luxury of Justice Greystone’s kitchen or two-day old pizza? You do the math.”

“How did you know I was cooking?”

Monroe tapped his ear. “I always know what you’re doing, partner.”

The fucker had tapped his house.
Again.
“What else did you hear on your two-way?”

Monroe’s grin nearly made Grey drop the spatula. Had he listened in on his night with Sydney? Grey raised the spatula and pointed it at the man’s nose. “What. Did. You. Hear?”

“You’re awful testy this morning.” Monroe’s eyes scanned the kitchen, took in the breakfast bar set for two, the double glasses of orange juice, and swung his wide gaze back to Grey’s. “No you didn’t…”

“Yes I did. Now get the fuck out of here.”

“Sydney? She stayed all night?”

Grey laid down the spatula. Picked it up again. Got busy with the eggs, ’cuz—shit—they were already overcooked. “Do not say one fucking word about this.”

“You kidding me? You bring a woman to your house and you think I’m going to pretend to look the other way? You’re going all domestic. Isn’t that sweet?”

“You didn’t hear anything last night, did you? Tell me you were not listening to us.”

“What are you worried about? She sounded satisfied.”

Grey smacked him upside the head, making the coffee slosh. Monroe laughed long and hard. “I have better things to do—most of the time, anyway—than to listen to you, especially since you’re such a goddamn Boy Scout anymore. For your information, I was busy myself with a certain lady.” He laughed again. “I didn’t hear a thing.”

There is a God
. Now to get Monroe out of his house before Sydney got out of the shower. “Leave now and I won’t shoot you.”

“You brought a woman to your sanctuary
and
you let her spend the whole night. I can’t believe it. You’ve never done that before. She’s totally whipped you.”

Grey slid the eggs off the heat. Jammed down the toaster handle. “She was nearly raped by The Lion last night.”

Silence. Monroe’s cup clanked against the marble countertop. “You rescued her?”

“She rescued herself.”

“Good.” He eyed Grey with knowing suspicion. “Tell me you’re not going He-Man on her now.”

“I’m pulling her off the case.”

In the background, the shower shut off. Monroe shook his head. “You said she handled it. She saved herself from being raped. Why the hell would you pull her off the case if she can do that?”

Toying with the knife he’d laid out to butter the toast, Grey lowered his voice. “Because he’s not only a rapist. He’s a killer. Next time, he’ll be ready for her to fight back.”

“And how does Syd feel about that? About you taking her off this mission?”

“It doesn’t matter how
she
feels about it. It’s the right thing to do. There will be blowback from what happened last night. I’ll keep her here, where she’ll be safe, until I wrap up this case and put that bastard in prison.”

His ex-partner huffed. “That’s the problem with your systems, Grey. You build them so they’re rock solid, but then the enemy goes and screws them up and you freak. That’s the art of war, buddy. You can’t control what happens. You dodge, he parries. You can’t keep everyone safe. The enemy will yank you around and do things you don’t expect, but you can’t retreat every time he does.”

Retreat?
Hell
. “You don’t understand.”
She’s all I’ve got besides you.
“She’s not a trained undercover agent. And after last night? She’s got a big red target painted on her back. You want me to say, ‘oh, well’ and see what happens? I’ll tell you what’ll happen. He’ll kill her, that’s what.”

“Or maybe he won’t. She’s smart and tough and you’re watching her back. I’d say The Lion’s met his match.”

The toast popped. Grey snagged a piece and buttered it with too much strength, ripping the top. Grabbing the next piece, he tried again, only to rip that one too. Screw it. He tossed the knife, let it clatter on the counter.
Molly
. “If she dies...”

“She’s not going to. Not on your watch.”

He braced his hands on the counter. “She’d be crazy to want to go back in.”

“If she’s willing, you’d be crazy not to let her.”

Oh, she’d be willing. After all the years of profiling people, that was one thing he knew. She never backed down from a fight. “I’ve spent two weeks with her and I know her better than I know the killer after profiling him for a year.”

Monroe slapped him on the back, refilled his coffee cup. “Sounds like love to me.”

A stomach cramp brought him upright. “Just because she’s the first woman I’ve brought here...it doesn’t mean squat.”

“If you say so.” Down the hall, Grey’s bedroom door squeaked. Monroe headed for the back door. “But remember, He-man, she makes the call about The Lion and this case. Not you. Art of war, buddy. Art of war.”

His exit was as quiet as his entrance. Grey stared at the mangled toast, testing his mental strength over sending Syd, with that God-awful target on her, back into The Lion’s den.

“Who were you talking to?”

Her voice startled him. He swung around, looked into those beautiful eyes, and felt his heart pinch. How could he ever let her set foot outside this house again? “No one.” Holding up a piece of toast, he noticed she was wearing another of his T-shirts, the hem hitting her just above her sexy knees. “I was swearing at the toast.”

Her eyes cut left, then right. She didn’t believe him. “You killed the toast.”

“I’ll make more.”

She laughed, grabbing the piece from his hand and sinking her teeth into it. “Tastes fine and I’m starved. Let’s eat.”

The eggs were definitely overcooked, but she ate with relish. Meanwhile, he pushed the food on his plate around with his fork, wondering how to bring up the case and the fact he wanted to take her off it.

She wiped her mouth with a napkin and brought it up herself. “I’m not quitting, Grey. I know you’re going to stroke out about this, but I’m bringing down The Lion. Period. No arguments.”

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he ignored his heart, beating hard and fast. He’d been kidding himself to think his new partner would let him pull her off this case. Now more than ever, after the torment and mental agony she’d endured, she was determined to bring Ahmed Khourey to justice. He’d have to deal with it. Or lose her completely.

“Okay,” he heard himself say through gritted teeth. “Let’s talk about our next step.”

Chapter Nineteen

Syd heard Ian’s voice in the shelter’s entry hall and closed her eyes. Barely nine o’clock and she had to face him already. She knew it would happen eventually, she’d just hoped it would be later in the day.

But, here she was, seated at her desk waiting for her boss to rip into her because she’d refused to be degraded. Because she’d refused to let a man make her a sexual slave and defile her in any way he saw fit.

Wasn’t that what Syd had been fighting for all these years? So women would respect themselves and not let horrid men abuse them?