Protecting Justice (The Justice Series Book 4) Page 13

  “Emmett.” Tony accepted the handshake. “Good to see you. You made it into the inner circle, huh?”

  “Finally. Six years I’ve been at this Secret Service gig. The wife was threatening to leave me if I didn’t get POTUS’ private group.”

  They shared a chuckle and Emmett nodded at her. “Ms. Pasche,” he said, motioning her across the sidewalk to where the motorcade was pulling up. How many times had they driven around the block waiting for her? “This way.”

  Tony followed behind them and Emmett didn’t stop him. At least not until the agent hustled Fallyn into the back seat of The Beast quicker than she could say, “all hail to the Chief.” Right before the door closed, she saw Tony’s jaw tightened as Emmett backed him off and sealed her inside with the president.

  “Fallyn.” Abraham Nicols smiled from the seat opposite her, sincerity not quite reaching his eyes. “So lovely to see you. Again, I must extend my condolences once more on the loss of Heather. She was a great person and a savvy senator.”

  The spacious interior of the car was black leather and burled wood. The president sat alone, his brushed cashmere coat unbuttoned, legs crossed and fingers interlaced. The picture of relaxation, yet there was something in his eyes that told Fallyn he was anything but.

  The president’s expensive, if completely overpowering, cologne made her eyes water. Considering she probably still smelled like sex, it was probably a good thing he was so fragrant.

  She covertly sniffed the air as he continued to speak about Heather, and yep, she caught a whiff of Tony’s aftershave—that combo of musk and citrus—mixed with her own perfume and post-sex scent.

  Great. Nothing like meeting with the president in close quarters while smelling like a porn star fresh from filming.

  Nicols finished praising Heather and went on to say what a nice funeral it had been. Then he looked at Fallyn as though waiting for her to comment.

  She worked with men on a daily basis who needed their egos stroked. Some powerful women as well. They often gave her the same look, as if because they strung a few words together, the heavens should part and adoration should rain down on them.

  Work the case. Give him what he wants so you can get back to the fiddle and get what you want.

  Working the case, in this instance, required she handle the president with kid gloves. “It meant the world to Dad and I that you took time from your busy schedule to honor Heather yesterday. So, please, tell me what I can do for you.”

  Nicols gave her that smile. The smile that said “good girl.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “The capitol police have brought it to my attention that there is an investigation going on into Heather’s death. I’m told there may have been drugs involved?”

  Oh boy. He was making it sound like Heather was into something illegal. Probably worried about a scandal that could harm his next presidential campaign. “The autopsy showed there was an elevated level of a prescription drug in Heather’s system. A drug that could have caused her to have a heart attack and was not prescribed by any of her doctors. Detective Hollister from Metro is looking into it, along with the FBI. I received a call from Special Agent Bronco just a little while ago.”

  Her phone buzzed in her pocket, the vibration making her jump. It was probably Tony, wanting to know what was going on, and since pulling your phone out and checking it in front of the president was beyond rude, Fallyn ignored it.

  Nicols frowned. “I see. I can’t believe Heather would be so reckless as to take a drug that would knowingly cause a heart attack.”

  There it was again, that insinuation that Heather’s death was something she’d done to herself. “Heather was never reckless, sir.” Hadn’t he just been singing her sister’s praises? “You know that.”

  She wanted to add more, so much more, but she’d learned silence was often more effective at getting her point across. So she sat.

  Waited. Saw the expression on the president’s face that told her he didn’t like the tone she’d just used on him.

  Get used to it, buddy.

  Her phone quit buzzing in her pocket. The president stared at her, waiting for her elaborate. She didn’t.

  Abraham Nicols was good at tactical maneuvers too.

  Finally, he broke the standoff. Sitting back, he fluffed his coat and crossed his legs again. “Along with the investigation into Heather and the drugs, I’m told you’ve been poking around the Foreign Relations committee about their conclusion in the CanAir disappearance. May I ask, why would you care about that?”

  Bingo. That was what this little visit was all about.

  Play your cards carefully, Fallyn. Her phone started going off again. Rudeness be damned, she needed to stall, so she pulled it out and saw it was the number from earlier, the FBI agent calling again. Apparently Special Agent Bronco had left a message, persistent little prick, but was bombing her with calls anyway.

  Shutting the phone off, she jammed it back into her pocket. An idea came to her that wasn’t far from the truth. “Heather was quite interested in that plane and what happened to it. You know how she hated flying over the ocean. That plane’s disappearance unnerved her since she had that big Asia tour coming up.”

  “Her paranoia about flying over open water made you start poking around the committee?”

  More than anything, Fallyn wanted to come out and ask why he ordered Senator Oren to drop any inquiries, if in fact, he had done that. Right now, all of it was speculation. Carefully crafted speculation. She’d prefer to be straightforward, get right to the heart of the matter.

  In Washington, you never went right to the heart of anything without consequences, and being as how she was at the mercy of the president and his driver at that moment—with no real proof of anything—she decided not to tip her hand. “Heather left notes and questions she had about the whole thing in a…diary. I wondered if she had gotten answers to those questions, so I started asking around. That’s all.”

  Nicols set forward again, pinning her with his stare. “This is highly classified stuff, Fallyn, not some tabloid rumor mill. That plane’s disappearance is a tragedy but it was a terrorist act. Don’t go digging around in it or you could be charged with a felony for impeding a federal investigation.”

  “I thought the investigation was over.”

  She nearly slapped a hand over her mouth. Insubordination at its finest, folks.

  Like all men in power, the president didn’t like being corrected or questioned. “If there were a continuing investigation, and I’m not saying there is, it would be top-secret and undisclosed in the name of national security. My top Foreign Relations committee members would be handling it in conjunction with the FBI and CIA. If someone were to stir things up again…well, you know, Fallyn.”

  He let the threat hang, twisting and blowing between them like a balloon that could pop at any moment.

  Fallyn gritted her teeth and pasted on a fake smile. Time to get the hell out of here before steam rolls out of my ears. “Top secret. National Security.” She gave him a thumbs up. “Got it, sir.”

  The good girl smile took over his face once more. He patted her knee. “I knew I could count on you. I haven’t forgotten what you did for me last year. My son is the most important thing in the world to me. Anyone who helps him, I consider a friend.”

  She tried not to recoil from his touch. Tried and failed. Shifting in her seat to propel her knee away, she smiled. “I was happy to do it. Now, if that’s all, Mr. President, I really need to get back to my meeting. I have a lot to wrap up with Heather’s belongings and paperwork before I head back to New York.”

  “Of course, of course.” He waved her off, now eager to get rid of her. “We’ll talk again soon.”

  Sure they would. Fallyn reached for the door handle. The minute she touched it, it flew open, thanks to Emmett still standing guard. Behind him, leaning against the hotel wall, stood Tony. A wave of relief swept through her.

  Silly really. It
wasn’t as if she’d given the president a hard time, he would have hauled her off and disposed of her body, right?

  Emmett gave her a hand out and she brushed her coat down and thanked him, feet once more on the sidewalk. Tony boosted himself off the wall and headed her way.

  “Tell your father hello from me,” Nicols said, leaning forward to catch her eye. “Carl tells me his new restaurant downtown is all the rage. It would be a shame if anything happened to it.”

  And bam, another threat. This one at her father.

  Rage, hot and slick, burned through Fallyn’s veins. She took a couple of steps back, out of earshot of Emmett and the other Secret Service agents and murmured, “Did you seriously just go there?”

  No one heard her, thank goodness. Casually throwing up a hand to wave goodbye, she called out, “Great seeing you, Mr. President. Have a good evening.”

  And then, seething, she turned on her heel, ready to hit something.

  Or in this case, someone, as she came smack up against Tony.

  “I take it that went well,” he said looking down at her as he held her arms to keep her from falling. Sarcasm dripped from his voice. “You look like you’re ready to go a couple of MMA rounds.”

  The presidential motorcade drove off and Fallyn ground a heel into the sidewalk, fighting the urge to flip off the entourage as it glided away. “The president warned me to steer clear of the CanAir disappearance and everything related to Heather’s role on the subcommittee. He actually stooped to threatening not only me, but my father.”

  “So we’re on to something,” Tony said, staring after the disappearing cars with her.

  “Damn straight we are, and we’re not stopping this investigation. Nicols is hiding something and I want to know what.”

  “I’m sure he’s hiding a lot of things.”

  “Something specific to that plane—it seems almost personal—and I’d bet money it has to do with Ryan. An Air Force pilot who works top-secret missions.”

  Tony gave her an incredulous look. “You think Ryan Nicols brought down that plane?”

  “Either by accident or on orders.”

  “Digging into this could get dangerous.”

  She withdrew her phone and flipped it back on. Agent Bronco had left her two more messages. “Bring it on.”

  Tony smirked. “Do we have time to…finish up…before we take on the president of the United States?”

  She wished, but she was so distracted by what had just happened, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to focus in bed. “While I could use a good tumble to blow off steam, I have something to take care of first.” She held up the phone log for Tony to see. “The FBI wants to talk to me, ASAP, regarding Heather’s death. Apparently our good detective, Hollister, let everybody from the Capitol police to the FBI know he was investigating her suspicious drug interaction. Now their panties are all in a twist.”

  “Standard procedure, I’m afraid.” He looked pissed. Or maybe sexually frustrated. She knew the feeling. “I suggest you wash off more…strategically…before we hit the FBI office.”

  Gah. She knew it. “I smell like sex, don’t I?”

  He held up his finger and thumb about a half an inch apart. “Just a little.”

  And then he laughed at her as she stomped upstairs to clean herself up.

  * * *

  Tony followed Special Agent Allan Bronco down a long bland-as-hell corridor with nicked white walls that needed a fresh coat of paint. Fallyn strode alongside him, easily keeping up as Bronco swung around a corner and waved them into an equally bland conference room. Nothing fancy here either.

  “Have a seat,” Bronco said.

  The table sat ten and Fallyn grabbed the first chair on the left. Tony pushed her chair in, made brief eye contact, and hoped to hell her smart mouth didn’t get her in trouble with the feds. He claimed the seat beside her and Agent Bronco took the head of the table.

  Of course he did.

  From the second they’d stepped into Bronco’s space he’d had that shoulders-back, I’m-in-charge, stance about him that immediately rankled.

  Feds. No wonder Grey and Mitch had bailed on the Agency.

  Fallyn settled into her chair and folded her hands in her lap. “Special Agent, what can I do for you?”

  “First, thanks for coming in.”

  She smiled. “Your rather ardent attempts to contact me indicated it was an emergency.”

  Fallyn. Total ball buster. Tony dipped his chin, rolled his bottom lip out to hide a grin and pretended to study a piece of lint on his pants.

  “Well, we’re investigating your sister’s death and we assumed you could help us.”

  And, oh, boy. Tony didn’t like his tone. The raw arrogance that was supposed to let all the little people know he’d do whatever the fuck he wanted.

  Tony glanced at Fallyn, then at the agent who met his gaze, almost daring him to speak. Yeah, he’d speak.

  Swiveling his chair, he leaned back a little. “Special Agent, I’m sure Ms. Pasche is happy to help in whatever way she can. She’s already had calls from Metro and the Capitol Police.”

  “And,” Fallyn added, “I just buried my sister. It would be extremely helpful if all the agencies could work together and not put me through this three times.” She looked back at Tony, gave him a sarcastic smile. “But, that could just be me. What with the grieving and all.”

  Ha. Total ball buster.

  Bronco focused on Tony. “Who are you again?”

  “Close family friend,” Fallyn said. “He’s staying.”

  They both turned back to Bronco. His eyes bounced from Fallyn to Tony and back to Fallyn. If he were a smart man, he’d stand down. Between Tony and Fallyn, two people unafraid of conflict, Bronco had his hands full.

  He cleared his throat and flipped open his file.

  Smart man.

  “I’ve received a copy of your sister’s autopsy report.”

  That sucker traveled fast.

  Silence extended into the awkward territory and Fallyn rolled one hand. “And?”

  “I assume you’ve seen it?”

  “I have.”

  “You’ve read it?”

  “I have.”

  This poor bastard. He’d definitely drawn the short straw with her, a woman who made a living at molding information. She wouldn’t give him anything she didn’t want to. No need. She had Grey and his team on her side. This guy? His pay grade didn’t give him access to the memo that explained the Justice Team had jurisdiction. That Grey and his crack team would find Heather’s killer. Special Agent Bronco, much less the public, couldn’t know that though. Not if Grey’s super-secret Bat team was to stay covert.

  Thus, Bronco. The figurehead. The trophy agent who thought he’d landed the case of the month. Only…nah…the brass had probably handed him Heather’s case so it wouldn’t look like the FBI was doing nothing about a dead senator while the Justice Team ran point.

  Bronco sat back, flopped out a hand. “Okay. I see how this will go. Clearly, you don’t appreciate being dragged down here—”

  “That’s not it at all, Special Agent. What I don’t appreciate is the fact that my sister has died and three law enforcement agencies investigating her death expect to put me through the same battery of questions. What I don’t appreciate is the fact that you boys, in your infinite wisdom, didn’t think to coordinate with each other so we could have done all of this at once.”

  Atta, girl. But Bronco’s head looked about to blow off. Ding, ding. Time to engage.

  Tony leaned right, set his hand over Fallyn’s. “I’m sure Agent Bronco will note your suggestion.” He glared at Bronco. “Can we move on with this?”

  Bronco nodded. “Absolutely. I apologize for the inconvenience. So, it seems you’d like to get right to it.”

  Ya think?

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  “Were you aware your sister had a heart condition?”

  “Before the autopsy, I was not.”

  “
All right. Then I’m assuming you didn’t know she was taking Perisoladol?”

  “I did not.”

  Really, it was hard not to laugh. Tony did his best though. This woman was too damned much fun. He wished he could have eavesdropped on her meeting with the prez. Smart as whip and fearless, she might be his perfect match.

  Assuming the two of them didn’t get each other killed because they didn’t know how to hit the brakes before charging forward. The two of them together?

  Dangerous.

  Agent Bronco flipped his file closed. “Ms. Pasche, does it concern you that you’re sister had a heart condition, and yet, she was taking massive amounts of a drug that could cause her to go into cardiac arrest?”

  Finally, Fallyn leaned forward, rested her hands on the table. “Of course it concerns me. But I was unaware of any of this. What is it you want from me?”

  “I want you to give me something.”

  “Like what? I’ve turned over all of her medications already. Every vitamin bottle, every pill bottle. I’ve answered all the questions I can as honestly as I can. What else can I do?”

  “Where were you the night your sister died?”

  And, whoa, cowboy. What the fuck?

  Tony’s spine went rigid. “Hang on. Does she need a lawyer in here?”

  Fallyn gasped. “You think I killed her? Are you insane?”

  “Fallyn,” Tony said, “shut up. Special Agent Bronco, does she need a lawyer? And, let me remind you, she hasn’t been Mirandized.”

  Fallyn put her hands up. “I’ll answer that question. I was in New York City where I reside and work. I had a client meeting in the afternoon and then a dinner. All of that can be verified. I hadn’t spoken to my sister in more than a week. Check the phone logs.”

  “When did you hear of your sister’s death?”

  “Jordan—her assistant—called me. My sister didn’t show up for a meeting and when Jordan couldn’t reach her, she called my father.”

  “Your father found her?”

  “No. Jordan didn’t speak with him, so she left a message. When she didn’t hear back after a few minutes, she went to Heather’s to see what was happening. By that time, my father received Jordan’s message and rushed to Heather’s. He got there just as Heather’s body was being loaded into an ambulance. They called me but, of course, it was already too late.”