Justice and Lies Page 3

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Is she okay?” Mason asks Jess, pointing at me.

  “The wine hit her hard while she was in there,” Jess says. She moves, trying to readjust how I’m leaning on her.

  Before the high heels, I’m still half a foot taller than she is. With the heels, I’m closer to a foot taller.

  “It was really good wine,” I say. “I’ll never have it again though. I saw that bill.”

  “You are a mess,” Jess says.

  “No, she’s okay. Do you have a way to get home, Cassie?”

  “Maybe a taxi or an Uber. Might walk.”

  “No, you are not walking home,” Jess says. “If you don’t want to take a car or person with you, you can stay here until Kevin or I are finished and crash on the couch.”

  “Your couch reminds me of summer in Texas. I don’t want to stick to the leather while I’m drunk,” I say.

  “I’ll take her home, if that’s okay,” Mason says. “I live just down the block from her, so it’ll be on my way. Hayes is already in the wind anyway, so I suspect I can get out of here for the night.”

  “Are you okay with that, Cassie?” Jess asks.

  I nod. Even tipsy, I’m not afraid of Mason. I don’t think he’ll make any moves on me, and if he does, I’ll kick his butt. “Are you armed right now?”

  “Got my service weapon, why?” Mason asks.

  I nod, happy to hear, but I don’t want to elaborate to him right now. Anyone on my team could look at my file and see what a career I’ve had in the FBI and my connection to the mob and Brent Rossett.

  If they have, they’ve never admitted to doing so and I don’t give that information out willingly. However, if Mason is going to walk me home, it’s probably best that I fess up and explain why our goal fell apart tonight.

  Since we’re walking to my apartment and I know that the mob has someone following me now, I just want someone who is armed to go with me.

  “Hey Jess,” I say. “My keys are at work, in my desk. Can I borrow your spare so I can get into my apartment?”

  She laughs, rolling her eyes. “Sure. Hold on.” She pulls out her keys and finds the spare to my apartment. Sliding it off the key ring, she hands it to Mason. “Make sure gets home safe. Count the locks when she locks them, she’s got three deadbolts.”

  “Jessica!”

  “Gotta make sure you’re safe,” she says. “Which is why he gets the key right now. You’ll lose it.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say.

  “We need to get you home,” Mason says. “I’ve got your key and a gun, for whatever reason you need them for, and we’re ready to get going. Let me go talk to the team real quick before we do, and then we’ll go.”

  Mason jogs back to the middle of the street to go talk to Juan, since he is the supervising agent in charge.

  “Will you be okay while I talk to your team? I can get your statement tomorrow,” Jess says.

  I nod, moving to take a few steps to make sure I can walk all the way home. If I can lean on Mason, I’ll definitely be able to do so, but I don’t want to give him the wrong idea that I’m interested in him.

  We come around the corner and finally make it out to see the street backed up after being closed.

  “Be careful, Cassie,” Savannah says as she walks up to me. “I don’t know what’s going on tonight, but just be careful.”

  She doesn’t need to tell me that twice, that’s for sure.

  “We are good to go,” Mason says. “Are you ready?”

  I nod. I’m ready to get off these shoes and ready to crawl into bed. That’s what I want to think about, because before I know it, my alarm will go off.

  Mason gives me his arm to lean on as we walk away, and I hope that we make it all the way home without me spilling on the ground. I wouldn’t put it past myself, though, to spill all over the place.

  “So, what happened tonight?” We’re far enough away from the group that no one will hear this conversation.

  “With the people and the clock?” I ask.

  “Yes, with them.”

  I don’t want to tell this story, but given that he’s walking me two miles to my apartment so I’ll be safe, I owe him something.

  “Have you heard of the Assassin?” I ask.

  “The serial killer? Yes, I have.”

  “Let’s start there.”

  We stop at the intersection of two streets and wait for the light to change, but before we do, I swear I see someone moving on the other side of the street.

  A car drives past the person and I catch his face in the light of the car. “Fuck,” I whisper.

  “What’s wrong?” Mason asks.

  “That man, we have to stop him.” I point to him, knowing that Mason won’t know who the man is.

  I do, though, but I know that I can’t stop him now in heels.

  “Shit.”

  As quickly as he appeared, he’s gone in the wind. If the mob popping up in my life again wasn’t enough of a flashback, now he’s back in town, too.

  This past of mine is never going to die.

  chapter four

  The moment the alarm on my nightstand goes off in the morning, I groan. In my tipsy ways last night, I forgot to close the blinds to my bedroom so the room is full of morning light.

  Never a fan of mornings to begin with, I roll over and shove my head into the pillow for just a minute more. I need to take a moment to recollect my thoughts about last night.

  The bomb that wasn’t a bomb, the mob is probably, almost definitely coming back, and then there was the surprise spotting before Mason and I managed to get to my apartment. None of that, and I really do mean none of it, is a coincidence.

  My only question is, why? Why would he be the one watching at a distance? So that I know loud and clear that they’re coming for me?

  If I could, I’d call out for the day and clock it up to a hangover. But I know that I need to go in and answer some questions about what happened last night.

  As a kid, I spent most of my life not knowing what happened to my parents. The only thing I did know was that he killed her and went to jail. No one seemed to be able to find family members and shortly after, I ended up in foster care.

  At a point, when you realize you will never know the truth, you have to let it go. I learned that lesson at an early age, giving up hope I’d ever find out my story. Now the story has taken so many twists and turns, I almost long for the days when I thought I knew the story but not the details.

  My mom has been dead since I was a baby, she’s never coming back. By the time I was a teenager, I didn’t want to care, couldn’t let myself care, and even know with knowledge of what happened, I still don’t want to let myself care.

  Everyone thinks they know the story of what happened to me. Everyone thinks they’ll know what happens when I take the stand this week and tell my story.

  They have no idea.

  I take one deep breath before forcing myself to roll over and face the sun. Sitting up, I toss the covers over the bed, close the blinds, and head to the bathroom.

  With the makeup still smudged all over my face, I sigh. I start with cleaning my face, wiping away the makeup that’s still left over. While I give my skin a quick break to breathe, I go to the kitchen to make some coffee.

  When I do get back, it’s time to get ready. It takes extra concealer to hide last night from under my eyes. Today, the makeup might be plentiful, but I can’t care to look all dolled up with my clothes.

  I grab a pair of earrings, small gold bars that will add some instant professionalism, but aren’t flashy. After the events of last night, I wouldn’t be shocked to be called into the Director’s office. Wouldn’t be the first time and it certainly won’t be the last.

  The case involving the mob landed me in the Director’s office several times when I was younger, a little more hot-headed. I blurred the lines more because I knew that I had a serial killer on my tail.

  Didn’t know that he wold be the one who killed my mom twenty some odd years earlier, but now I do.

  This mob and I have deep history together now, and it looks like we’re about to write a new chapter.

  As I finish up the makeup, I go back to last night and wonder if anything could have been done differently. Could I have arrested him or was it always going to end up with him getting away because of the mob?

  I don’t have an answer to that, to be honest.

  Maybe Jess is right. Maybe we will find Hayes again. If we don’t, I have to tell myself it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t invite the mob to come ruin my night. I didn’t ask them to show up or throw a ticking clock at me.

  If there’s one thing I struggle with, it’s knowing that I had no control over that. Any other agent would have responded the same way in that situation and yet I feel like I should have done more.

  Anyone we look to arrest is dangerous to a degree, but a billionaire with a love for little girls is on the loose. There is someone out there twisted enough to help him with his twisted desire. I’d love to find him and put him him in jail to rot for the rest of his life.

  Today is not that day though. Today is the day I get to tell my story and bare it all to my team.

  “Fuck,” I say. I’m not ready to do this.

  I walk to my bedroom and try to find my phone. Then I realize it’s in my desk at work, along with my purse, my keys and my badge because I left them all there when I went to arrest Hayes.

  Didn’t think that one through last night.

  Okay, if everything is at work, I suppose it’s time to get it over with and head over there.

  I grab a quick breakfast, the spare keys from the counter and head off. During the day, it takes longer to get to work, as I have to fight all the pe
ople who are out on their way to work, too.

  It does take longer than normal, but I finally make it to the office, have to sign for a guest badge after verifying that I am who I am in about ten different ways and then finally make my way upstairs.

  First stop is Juan’s office, knowing I need to check in with him before I explain anything else. I need to report to him and go over my story. It’s time to just pull the band-aid off and face him, face the rest of my team.

  Since Juan is a supervising agent, he gets a little office (so does Jess), unlike my cubicle. Even after almost seven years at the agency, my cubicle is pretty bare. I don’t have a life of personal memories I need to spread out for everyone to see.

  When I come to his office, I take a moment and knock before I open the door.

  He’s sitting at his desk, hunched over his laptop, typing away. Probably writing a preliminary report on everything that happened last night. Or that would be my guess, anyway.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Oh good, you’re here,” Juan says.

  “How are you feeling?” Mason stands up from a chair to walk over to me.

  “I’m all right,” I say. The last thing I want to do is deal with Mason right now and his puppy dog endurance.

  “We’re still waiting for a few more people to show up for the day, but we need to discuss last night.”

  “Yeah, that’s why I’m here.” I don’t feel like explaining the rest of it twice, so I take my spot in a chair in the corner.

  Mason follows, taking the seat next to me. Is he trying to have some kind of hero moment, thinking he’s here to protect me? First with taking me home last night and now here, making sure he’s close to emotionally protect me?

  That I don’t need. I almost feel bad for him, knowing that he’s never going to get what he wants. I can’t do that, not with Mason.

  I look at him and I feel nothing in particular. He’s just there, a friendly coworker.

  In the past, they used to frown on agents dating each other, for fear it could cause issues with agents seeing partners getting hurt. Then they realized there was a benefit to agents dating each other, because all the secrets would be safe. Not that you’re supposed to share those case details, but if something slips, at least they’re still safe in the agency (and after years of “will they, won’t they”, that’s how Jess and Kevin finally figured it out).

  My ex-boyfriend worked for the DEA, and I wouldn’t dare share secrets from the FBI with him. He didn’t like that, accused me of always having something to hide with a coworker, like a romantic relationship. That didn’t happen, but he was hellbent on this story he made up in his mind.

  Even now, I can’t imagine what it must be like for Kevin and Jess to go home each night and know they can’t discuss cases with one another. Or they shouldn’t. I think this case would be an exception to that rule, since they’re going to be involved with it.

  The wedding is just months away, and even with the stress of being FBI agents, they’re both fine as can be. They just can’t wait to be married.

  I’m ready to see them walk down the aisle and say their vows, to celebrate two friends I wanted to get together for so long, but always wondered if they ever would. I’m not ready for the two weeks that they’ll be on their honeymoon. Even now, when we aren’t working together, we all talk to each other every day. I’m very much the little sister to them, and I love it, especially since Jess and I don’t have biological sisters.

  The door opens and Savannah walks in with coffee with her hand and her face in her phone. “What a morning,” she says. When she looks up to find a seat, she locks eyes with me. “The morning is just getting started.”

  Well, damn. Someone isn’t happy this morning. I can’t blame her though, because last night was a mess.

  Rachel follows in and stops when she sees me. “Oh, Cassie.”

  I won’t pretend that they’re happy with me, but the way she says my name is all I need to know that they were talking to their other agent friends about how we fucked it up last night. Or how I fucked it up.

  “Do we know where Isaiah is?” Juan asks.

  “He’s on his way,” Mason says. He’s sitting on the edge for his chair, the edge that is closest to me.

  As he moves in his chair, I catch a whiff of his cologne and realize he’s at least nice smelling. Does he always wear that cologne? It smells nice, but it’s not enough to change this gal’s mind.

  Once Isaiah comes in, I’m going to have to share the whole story with the team, the story of how my life changed when I crossed paths with a serial killer who had a lust of redheads.

  The investigation into Brent Rossett is still ongoing behind the scenes, but on paper it’s over. The investigation has changed overall from just focusing on him to focusing on the mob, too. We can’t still crack the code that connects the two of them, except for one thing.

  About eight months after Brent Rossett escaped prison and went back to prison, I worked with the DEA to bring down a ring of drug dealers. There was a man involved in that who had been connected to the mob and knew Rossett.

  We brought most of the dealers in that specific ring, but there is still much more we need to uncover. Most of them won’t crack.

  Since Jess and her team are still trying to crack this, there are certain details that probably need to stay private. The story we’ll give at trial will be a little different than the real story. Someone’s existence was completely removed from the story.

  Wish I was that lucky. Brent Rossett is my cross to bear, and he will be until one of us dies. I don’t want to say I fantasize about his death, but I have a few times. I’ll never truly be free from him until he dies. My only saving grace will be that he’s going to go back to his prison cell for the rest of my life.

  He was there, before he created all these issues for me. If Rossett just took the plea deal, he’d go back to jail and stay there for the rest of his life. He’s eating this up though, the trial and notoriety, to be in the news. He doesn’t care about he’s taken from people, he just wants to create the chaos.

  A part of me is a little scared to face him during his trial. I’ll be surprised if he doesn’t make a scene when I appear to testify.

  The door opens one more time and Isaiah walks in. He doesn’t say anything, he rarely does, and gives Juan a little head nod.

  Isaiah picks the other chair next to me, sitting me between the two men since the women don’t want me today.

  “Thanks for coming in team,” Juan says. He turns in his chair to face all of us. “I know that last night did not go the way we thought it would, as there was an interruption that caused quite a scene,” he says.

  Calling last night an interruption is a very diplomatic way to put it.

  “Either way, we’re working with Special Agent Moore and the bomb squad to go over the semantics of the package we received. We know now that it’s not a bomb, but we’re still working with his team to go over the process. We don’t know where our suspect is right now, but we need to keep looking for him. Special Agent Morgan will be the point “

  There’s something odd and cold about the way he calls me by my formal title, Special Agent Morgan. I’ve been a part of this team for three years now, we should be beyond formalities.

  “Case isn’t done until the man has stood trial and been found guilty,” Mason mutters.

  “I’ll keep monitoring the suspect’s house and apartment, along with his associates. He’s bound to reach out to someone for help at some point,” Savannah says.

  “You do that,” Juan says. He leans over to make a note on his paper. “For now, we need to focus on locating him. We won’t be able to seduce him into a trap, but if we can find him, we have plenty of evidence to bring him in. We just need to do it, before he goes and runs into a different country.”

  “I can go lean on his clients today,” Isaiah says.

  “Appreciate it, but we need to lay low today. There are rumors from the higher ups that we’re going to have a press conference later this morning or this afternoon.”

  We all groan, knowing that if there is a press conference, we’ll all need to be there. I don’t want to be on camera, everyone already knows my face. Everyone will be sick of me and my face.

  “Hey, I hate to break this fun up, but Daniel Hayes just tweeted.” Rachel holds her phone up to show the tweet. “He’s bragging that he ‘escaped the FBI’ and that we’ll never find him.”