Stealing Justice (The Justice Team) (6 page)

Donaldson hated sarcasm. His watery eyes stared Grey down. “The situation has gotten more involved than…before.”

Before
. Before Grey and Monroe discovered the line of evidence on the killings led to a Lebanese diplomat. Before Donaldson was bribed by the Secretary of Defense to kick Grey and Monroe off the case and sweep their evidence under the rug. Before Monroe punched out Donaldson and Grey refused to arrest him, then helped him disappear into the ether. “What now?”

“Lebanon may be open to letting us prosecute their man. Nothing official, just some hearsay.”

Every deal had a price. “In exchange for what? Nuking Israel?”

Once more, Donaldson refused to rise to Grey’s bait. He withdrew a USB stick from inside his jacket and tossed it next to the Glock’s magazine clip. “All the information we have is on there. Mariam Rashid. The wife of an assassinated Prime Minister. Six months ago, she wanted to replace her husband and ran for Prime Minister. Now she’s dead. Raped and murdered two days before the election. The killers have not been apprehended and Lebanon wants them. Bad. My guess is The Lion did it. Mariam’s murder fits the pattern and the timeframe Khourey was last there. All we need to do is convince Lebanon. You get me what I need and we’ll be heroes. It’ll make for good diplomatic relations.”

Sitting back in his chair, Grey shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t seriously be asking me to manufacture evidence to prosecute this killer. The real evidence is there. I just have to find it.”

Donaldson shifted forward, tapped a chubby finger on Grey’s desk. “I want this monster stopped as discreetly and effectively as possible. If that means screwing over The Lion to get him out of my country, then so be it.”

His country. “Since when are you willing to break the law?”

Again the Special Agent In Charge gave him the evil eye. “Don’t play the self-righteous card with me. What you did was wrong, Justice. This is politics, plain and simple.”

“Translation: FBI agents can’t investigate the members of the Panthera without riling up the Secretary of Defense and the other political heavyweights involved…” He held up a finger. “But The Lion has to be stopped, one way or another, or he’ll expose the Panthera and all the dirty politicians using it. Expose them or go postal and kill a bunch of them. He’s getting bolder with this last kill. Bolder or more reckless, take your pick. Either way, the politicians who use the place are cowering in fear.”

“You need to move fast, so I can wrap this up and reassure the president and his peers they have nothing to fear. Stop The Lion before the shit hits the media fan.”

Or another innocent woman gets killed
. Of course, Donaldson was more worried about his career than the life of a prostitute. “I stop him and you get the credit for it? Still living in denial, I see.”

“Better than living as an outcast.” The SAC waved a hand at the poorly lighted and too small office. “Personal protection training? You can’t tell me you get your rocks off teaching stay-at-home moms and used car salesmen self-defense techniques under an alias,
Jason
.”

It’s good enough. Most days.

“You know this assignment is your key back to the Bureau.” Donaldson nudged the USB. “Do this extra and I’ll get your record expunged, find you a new partner and get you back into ViCAP. You can rebuild your career, Grey.”

He only let friends call him by his nickname, but friends were few and far between these days. Step on a few politicians’ toes and your name, rank and serial number showed up on lists so black nobody so much as looked at you. Front Range didn’t care. They liked renegades, but they’d insisted he change his name as insurance. The new diplomatic service they offered might struggle if the main security agent was a fired government employee.

Fingering the USB, Grey brought up a recurring fantasy of returning to the Bureau’s halls, regaining his lost career. Like Donaldson said, this was politics. Plain and simple.

Nothing in life is plain
or
simple
. For over a year, Grey had lived and breathed The Lion. His obsessed brain was still filled with the killer’s profile. But diplomatic immunity had tied his hands from obtaining real evidence. Politics under the table had stopped his mission.

And now The Lion had struck again. The sadistic bastard would never stop.

Unless
I
stop him.
“I’ll do whatever it takes to bring this killer down.”

The SAC stood, a knowing smile on his face. “Knew you would. You never could resist catching a killer, and I know you want your career back.”

It wasn’t about the killer. Or the job. It was about something intangible. Like the way a man wasn’t the sum total of his parts. Something Donaldson would never understand. “On one condition.”

Donaldson’s smile faltered. “You’re in no position to make demands on this, Grey.”

“I think I am,
Harold
. You want me to stop a serial killer without raising the media or bringing to light what our government is doing behind closed doors for foreign dignitaries and visiting diplomats. And in order to do that, you’re asking me to work a black ops mission and fabricate false information in order for you to prosecute the killer. You wanna play politics, then you listen to my deal, because it’s the only one you’re going to get.”

Silence hung between them as Grey’s former boss realized he was backed into a corner. “What do you want?”

“Protection for a woman. You don’t need the details yet, but when this is over, she may have committed a crime or two in order to acquire specific evidence against The Lion.
Real
evidence. Any and all crimes she may be accused of will be ignored. Capisce?”

“Entrapment? That’s your plan to catch The Lion?”

His plan was to put a bullet in The Lion’s groin so he never got his dick up again, but covering his partner’s backside was no different than maintaining a flawless weapon…nonnegotiable. “Do we have a deal or not?”

Again, silence descended; Donaldson’s watery eyes as challenging as ever. This wasn’t politics. This was personal. “We have a deal.”

As she’d done every Saturday morning for the past seven years, Sydney pulled to the gate at Edwin Hospital.

“Morning, Lyle,” she said.

The weekend guard greeted her with his usual wide smile and handed over her visitor’s pass. “Hello, Syd. Fine morning.”

She grabbed the pass and hung it on the rearview. “It is indeed. I’ll see you on the way out.”

She gave the gas pedal a push and her ancient compact carried her up the curving driveway where the morning sun bullied its way between towering trees lining the path to the main building. The three-story brick building at the end of the drive was her mother’s home. The home Sydney could never share with her.

“I’m so sorry, Mama,” Syd whispered.

She pulled into a parking space, stared straight ahead and focused her mind on the task ahead. Visits always drained her. As much as she loved her mother, time spent with her reminded Syd that her life, once again, had been torn from her clutching, desperate hands. When it came to her mother, all she wanted was to hang on when, in reality, she’d already been forced to let go.

She shook off the guilt and sorrow. No sense in wallowing in it. She’d made her choices and kept her secrets. Her mother’s awful story would never be public fodder.

Not if Syd could help it.

The woman had suffered enough.

Syd locked the car and walked the path to the front door while drawing deep, even breaths and concentrating on staying upbeat, positive. Not always an easy task. The prep work for her visit was almost as taxing as the visit itself. Still, she needed to be ready.

After checking in at the desk and dropping off a fresh batch of lemon drop cookies for Eve, the receptionist, Syd made her way to the second floor and was buzzed into the west wing. Stale air enfolded her and she stopped to center herself. How did the patients live without windows that could open?

Keep moving
.

She marched to her mother’s room, knocked lightly and opened the door. A room with bare, concrete walls—glass from picture frames could be used as weapons—greeted her. The bed, as usual had been made and the lone vinyl recliner sat empty.

“She’s in the game room.”

Syd turned and saw Becky, one of her mother’s day nurses. “Thanks, Becky. How is she today?”

“She’s okay. A little off.”

That could mean a lot of things, but Syd didn’t need to question the nurse further. If there’d been a major problem, she would have been notified.

Becky pointed at the room next door. “Mr. Hawkins is giving us a run. We’ve got him stabilized.”

Mr. Hawkins had been her mother’s neighbor for the last five years. Given that he never received visitors, Syd liked to look in on him. At fifty-one years old, the poor man was living inside the mind of an unstable teenager. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah. Just stay away from his room today, will you?”

“Of course. Please tell him I asked after him. I don’t want him to think I forgot.”

“I’ll tell him. Go see your mom. She’s waiting for you.”

Syd entered the game room where two patients sat at a corner table playing cards.
They must be new
. Both men looked to be in their thirties, and Syd imagined she’d learn their story over the coming months. When someone entered this hellish place for treatment, they weren’t on the express train out. They were here to stay. Which gave Syd ample opportunity to figure out who was plagued by what illness.

As psychiatric hospitals went, this was the best. When Syd left here, she knew her mother was in good hands. Lord knew anything could happen when the mentally ill were locked in a building together, but the staff did amazing work keeping everyone safe.

“Hello, Syd,” the aide sitting by the door said.

“Hi, Brian. It’s quiet in here today.”

He nodded and shifted his gaze back to the men in the corner to resume his watch. None of the patients were allowed to be alone with another. The situation could become too volatile. Precisely why none of the windows had blind cords that could be used as weapons.

And her mother belonged here.

The deep, gutting ache that Syd constantly fought nagged at her. Was a little peace too much to ask for? Considering the lifestyle she’d chosen, what was the point of even hoping? She pushed the ache back into the hole it had crawled from.

Mom sat by the window, staring off at the gardens below. Maybe she could take her for a stroll.

“Hi, Mom.”

Slowly, her mother shifted and gazed up, her hazel eyes cloudy and dull. Medicated. Forget the stroll.

“He’s here,” Mom said.

Of course he is
. Sighing, Sydney dragged a chair over and sat close. So much for positive thoughts. She squeezed her mom’s hand. “It’s okay, Mom.”

“The bad man. He’s here. You should go. It’s not safe.”

Oh, Mom.
“It’s over now. You’re safe. No one can touch you here.”

“That’s not what Number Two says. She says we’re not safe.”

Number Two. One of the personalities rooted into her mother’s mind. “I’m sorry Number Two feels that way, but really, you’re safe here.”

“Shut up,” Number Two said from somewhere deep within her mother’s tortured mind.

“Number Two, I’d like to speak with my mom alone. Would you give us some privacy please?”

Her mother stared out the window again and Sydney waited. She never knew just how many personalities she’d be dealing with. Hopefully, with her mother’s obvious medicated state, only a couple.

“Mom?”

“She’s gone,” Mom whispered.

“Good. Now we can have a chat.”

Mom stared. Cocked her head sideways. “Hello, Sydney.” Her voice had gone raspy—the smoker’s voice.

Considering her mother had never once smoked a cigarette, Syd was continuously baffled by the sound. Once again, a little piece of her died. It would be one of those days. All she wanted was a quiet visit. A day where traces of the single-mother she remembered, the one who laughed at silly jokes and curled under a blanket with her to watch romantic comedies would return. The mother who taught her men were nice to have around, but a woman could support herself and her child without them. That’s the woman Sydney craved. And grieved for. Instead, today would be about navigating the bombsite that had become her mother’s existence.

“Hello, Number Seven,” Syd said. “Would you mind giving us privacy?”

Number Seven swung a disgusted gaze over Sydney’s gray slacks and silk blouse. “You look like a slut. You know what happens to sluts, don’t you?”

“Yes, Number Seven, I know. I’ll do better next time.”

Arguing with a schizophrenic never accomplished much, so Syd typically patronized the abusive Number Seven in hopes she’d go away.

Number Seven huffed and then the harsh stare was gone. That fast, Mom was back, her body visibly relaxing as she leaned forward and whispered. “You don’t look like a slut. You know Number Seven is crazy, right?”

At this, Syd laughed. So did Mom, and Syd wanted nothing more than to capture this moment, to enjoy the brightness of it. So much of their time had been spent in dark places and these little breaks offered solitude and hope for a teenager who had grown into a woman robbed of her mother.

And then—
dammit
—Syd’s throat clogged, the tears backing up because she refused to cry. Life had dealt them a shitty hand. They’d lived with it. For many years. Today would be no different. They were still that mother and daughter managing their way through life.

It just wasn’t the life most people had.

Mom cupped her hand over Syd’s cheek. “Don’t cry, my girl. I’m still here.”

Syd’s tears gripped her, pulled her further down, dragging her under until her breath was gone.
Nothing left
. Nothing. Syd doubled over in her chair and concentrated on deep breaths. She’d been here before, understood the emotional blackness that came with it and would pull herself out.

Yes, her mother was still here. Patches of her anyway.
She’s still here
. And she was safe from the predators of the world. Syd focused on breathing.
That’s it, Syd, settle down
.