Protecting Justice (The Justice Series Book 4) Read online

  Breathe.

  Thank God the casket was closed now. She never thought she’d outlive Heather. Never thought she’d be sitting in a church pew, jaw clenched, eyes straight ahead as the young priest droned on with Heather’s eulogy, their stoic father clenching his hands and staring at the wooden floor.

  The bitch of it was, even with the makeup, the face in the casket had looked a little too much like her own. Talk about seeing her life flash before her eyes…it had so unnerved Fallyn during the visitation, she’d barely made it to the ladies’ room before losing the breakfast Tony had made sure she’d eaten that morning.

  Of course, her mother’s appearance, though brief, hadn’t done much for her either.

  It took guts for Christina to show up and pretend to be in pain over a daughter she hadn’t seen in years. Guts to walk through that visitation line and hug Eric.

  She’d tried to hug Fallyn, too. No way in hell that was happening.

  No fucking way.

  Not after the mess she’d so easily left behind, wrecking two young girls’ lives and ripping out their father’s heart to go live with another man.

  Their mother—Fallyn couldn’t bring herself to call that woman Mom—had said her goodbyes and slipped out without another word, and even though Fallyn was relieved that her mother had left without a scene, her heart felt shredded. There had been no apologies from Christina. No remorse that she’d left her daughters behind and now one of them was dead.

  Stop thinking about her. The woman didn’t deserve the time. Think about something else. Something besides death and abandonment.

  Tony Gerard. She stopped herself from turning in the pew and looking for him. He was behind her somewhere in the church. Keeping an eye on her. Keeping her safe.

  She had to admit, as crass as it seemed at her sister’s funeral, having a competent, if slightly uptight, good-looking man around wasn’t the worst thing. He’d been a rock for her, helping her with everything. After her visit to Heather’s office, Eric had pulled a number on her, insisting they move up the timeline of the funeral. Hence, Fallyn had needed to shift gears the moment they left the old army base and throw herself full-throttle into funeral arrangements.

  The priest turned the pulpit over to one of Heather’s contemporaries, a fellow senator who’d sat on the Ethics Committee with her before Heather had moved to Foreign Relations. Fallyn fidgeted, listening to the glowing praise the man rained down on her dead sister. Behind him, solemn, graceful angels stared down at those gathered, their white plaster bodies in direct contrast to the dark clothes of the mourners. Sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows as the words echoed off the high ceilings.

  As the congressman spoke about Heather’s commitment to justice and her snarky sense of humor, Eric Pasche raised his head, and soft rays from a nearby window caught the grey in his hair. His lips trembled with a slight smile. He reached over and grasped Fallyn’s hand.

  She gripped the big, rough hand, tears threatening to spill out the corners of her eyes. She never flinched from his touch…in fact, she craved it, but her father’s touch was a rarity. He was proud of Heather; happy at the turnout of so many powerful people to pay homage to his favorite daughter.

  Fallyn didn’t blame him. Heather had been a good person, always fighting the good fight. She deserved this. Their father deserved this.

  She hoped President Nicols kept his word and showed up. That would really make her father’s day.

  But what if…

  Fallyn’s head throbbed without mercy. Thoughts scratched and clawed at her brain. Heather had a tablet in her safe with coded—probably classified—information on it. She’d had a heart problem and ended up with some funky drug in her system. Someone was after that tablet.

  On the other side of her, Carl patted her arm. Jordan’s father had a knowing smile on his lips that matched her father’s. The two men had grown up together on the south side of DC. Fallyn knew her father had turned to Carl at least once for financial help with his restaurants during the last recession. Carl was the reason Heather had gone into politics. The reason Jordan had worked for her.

  His pat was brief, just a quick touch and a wink when she glanced at him. He knew how awful this was for her—for all of them—but he’d always encouraged Fallyn as much as he had Heather. Fallyn had confided in him on occasion through the years and was grateful for his help today, getting her father ready for the visitation and funeral, being her support when she had none.

  It was good to have him and Jordan surrounding her. A make-shift family, but one that worked right here, right now.

  The forlorn notes of Amazing Grace brought her out of her reverie. She’d completely missed the end of the senator’s speech. As the congregation rose to sing, two men approached the pulpit in dark suits. The organist stalled and everyone turned toward the back door.

  Fallyn, in her heels, turned too, and looked over the heads of the people near her. More men in suits and sunglasses came down the aisle, followed by the President of the United States. Fallyn felt eyes on her. She glanced around and saw Tony near the rear of the church watching her instead of the leader of the free world.

  Her pulse quickened. From Tony’s look or the president’s arrival? She wasn’t sure. Quickly, she diverted her attention back to the president and his cavalcade. Even though she’d personally spent time with President Nicols, the power that radiated from the man still sent chills over her skin.

  Her bodyguard did a fine job of that too.

  President Nicols approached the front of the church, surrounded by Secret Service, and took a moment to veer over to her and her father. He shook her father’s hand, said a few soft words, and Eric Pasche came alive for the first time in days. He smiled a real smile, his eyes lit up, and he returned the president’s handshake with gusto.

  Nicols then turned to her, sadness and sympathy showing in his eyes. A lump formed in her throat as she shook his hand.

  “Fallyn, my dear,” he said warmly, “we all felt as though Heather was part of our extended family and we’re devastated at her passing. I can’t imagine what it must be like for you, her twin sister.”

  He pulled her into one of those unexpected embraces that left Fallyn gasping for air. When he let go of her, he squeezed both of her arms and she gritted her teeth to keep from jerking away. “If there’s anything you or your father need, please call me.”

  She nodded, forcing a smile. “Thank you, Mr. President. I will.”

  He proceeded to the casket which was draped with red roses, white lilies, and beautiful purple lilacs. As he laid a hand on the flowers and bowed his head, Fallyn caught the scent of the lilacs drifting across the room. For a moment, the president closed his eyes as if offering up a private prayer for her sister, then raised his head and motioned everyone to take their seats.

  He didn’t stand at the pulpit, instead using his booming voice to speak to the crowd from behind the casket.

  As the president told a funny story about Heather, her father beamed. So did Carl. Too bad her mother had missed this part. We turned out pretty good, despite you, Mom.

  The moment was over too fast and the tones of Amazing Grace once more rose into the air as the president made a swift departure. The congregation sang, the casket was wheeled out, and Fallyn and her father were escorted through the back of the church to a limo waiting outside that would take them to the private graveside service.

  Fallyn felt Tony’s eyes on her the whole time.

  * * *

  After the graveside service, Carl offered to take Eric home. The sun was setting, Fallyn was desperate to get out of her heels, and she was anxious to catch up with Tony who was talking on his phone as he waited for her at the bottom of the cemetery hill. The whole time, she’d scanned the area, watching for her mother. The woman had never shown up, but Fallyn’s nerves were still on high alert.

  She waved at her father, Jordan, and Carl as the limo drove off. She needed to get back to the hotel and freshe
n up before she gave the hounding press a statement. No doubt some of them were waiting outside the gates to pounce the moment she showed her face. A face they seemed to like because it had shock value. People continued to look at her as if she were a ghost.

  All she could hope, as she walked slowly down the hill, was that the media had assumed she was in the limo and leave to follow it back to the church.

  Not that she wanted her dad subjected to their questions, but Carl and Jordan would protect him and chase off the reporters. If he’d given her more time, she could have lined up some security for him, but no. He’d been adamant to get this over with, so he had to deal with a little fallout.

  The sun was setting. One long, hard day over. Grief seized Fallyn’s heart and she had to stop for a moment and catch her breath.

  One foot in front of the other, Fallyn. Keep moving.

  Her feet obeyed. As Tony ended his phone call, his dark eyes watched her all the way to his Explorer. He helped her into the seat without a word, squeezing her hand before he pulled out and took off for the hotel without her even asking.

  Chapter Eight

  Tony sat on the sofa in Fallyn’s suite checking his emails on his laptop while his client slept in the bedroom.

  All night he’d sat in that living room, his mind ping-ponging between Heather Pasche, an airline manifest, and Fallyn.

  In a bed.

  Feet away.

  He shook it off, checked the time on his laptop screen. 7:50. He glanced at the closed bedroom door again. Maybe he should check on her? Make sure she was okay.

  But what could be wrong? Aside from a couple of fitful naps, he’d been on watch most of the night and all had been quiet. Not even anyone in the hallway in the middle of the night.

  “She’s tired, idiot,” he said.

  After the last few days, she had a right to that. Plus, it had been after midnight by the time they’d gotten back last night and she’d dropped like a stone into bed.

  His e-mail dinged and he glanced at it. Sister number two making sure he knew what time Mom’s party was.

  Man, these girls ran herd on him. He zapped back a quick “Got it,” and hit send.

  Two down, two to go.

  “Morning,” Fallyn said.

  He glanced up, found her standing in the bedroom doorway, her hair piled in a messy knot on top of her head. She wore one of the hotel bathrobes that hit her just above the knees of her bare legs. She’d cinched it tight at the waist, covering most of her torso but leaving just enough of a V at the neck where more bare skin peeked out.

  And, man-oh-man, his mind went all kinds of places wondering what, exactly, she wore under that bathrobe.

  He cleared his throat. “Morning. Sleep okay?”

  She nodded. “Yep. Yepper. Just gonna hop in the shower and we can get rolling.” She pointed at the laptop. “You’re a busy boy already.”

  “I was up. Figured I’d make use of the time. Clearing emails.”

  His laptop dinged and he glanced at it, shaking his head. “Never frickin’ fails.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “No. My sister.” He fired off another “Got it” and went back to Fallyn. “Three down so far. All highly concerned that I will forget to attend my mother’s birthday party.”

  Fallyn laughed. “You have a history of that?”

  “No. Which is why it’s funny. So far, one has called, two have e-mailed and sometime in the next twelve hours number four will text. They are nothing if not predictable.”

  Fallyn met his gaze and held it for a long second, a small smile that fell short of the full load one.

  Dumbass.

  Whining about his sisters when Fallyn had just buried hers. “Damn,” he said. “I shouldn’t…I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “My sisters. That was insensitive.”

  “Oh, please. Just because my sister is…” She paused, squeezed her eyes closed, tilted her back a second before looking at him again. “Well…it doesn’t mean you can’t moan about yours. It’s fine. It’s nice that they stay in touch. You said your dad passed?”

  “Yeah. Since then, I’m the token male.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m used to it.”

  “It explains a lot.” She rolled her hand. “You have that fierce protective streak. I can see why they have you guarding Supreme Court Justices.”

  “Oh, Christ,” he said. “Honey, you have no idea.”

  “Oh, yes I do. Tony Gerard, think about what I do. I’m not about to let you into my private life, let you stay in my hotel room, while I sleep, without checking you out. I know about the judge.”

  Shit. He sat back, propped his feet up on the coffee table. Mr. Casual. “Yeah. My protective streak failed—in a big way—that time.”

  “He got out of the car after you told him not to. How is that a failure?”

  “How do you know that?”

  She shoved her hands in the pockets of the robe. “The Justice Team doesn’t have the only hacker in this country. One of my staff plucked some reports from the Supreme Court Police files.”

  “Well, shit. You know it all?”

  “I do. I know you tried to quit and they wouldn’t let you. I think that says something about you, no?”

  Pity he didn’t need. Or want. He set his feet on the floor, straightened his laptop. “I don’t know what it says about me. All I know is a man I cared about is dead.” He looked over at her. “And I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “So, listen,” he said. “While you were getting your beauty sleep, I did some research.”

  She wandered over to the sofa, sat down next to him and the faded scent of her perfume—something clean and airy—lingered. “Okay,” she said. “You don’t want to talk about it. I get it. But you saw my emotional nonsense yesterday so I owe you one.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate it. That you care. But I’m good.”

  “Sure you are. Just like me.”

  Two hot messes.

  “Did you know your sister was on the Foreign Relations committee?”

  “Actually, she was on a subcommittee. The subcommittee on Western Hemisphere, Transnational Crime, Civilian Security, Democracy, Human Rights, and Global Women’s Issues.”

  “Wow. You remember all that?”

  She bumped him with her shoulder. “When you’re reminded daily, by multiple people, you do. She was Miss Perfect, remember?”

  “Jeez.”

  “Ach.” She smacked herself on the head. “Did that sound as bad as I think it did? I swear, Tony Gerard, there’s something about you that makes me forget to filter.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “For someone who makes a career filtering messages? You bet it is.”

  “Maybe you should give yourself a break once in a while. Me? I could give a shit about your lack of filter. I’d rather see you ditch the filter. You’re entitled. Especially now.” He turned sideways, tugged on a loose strand of her hair. “Shoving all that anger and hurt away will eat you alive.”

  When did he become a shrink? God knew he had his own issues in that department, but this? No way should he be lecturing her on dealing with grief.

  Her gaze was steady on his, her green eyes drilling into him and if he knew females at all, she was thinking. Analyzing him again like she’d done that first night. About something he’d said, dissecting it, breaking it down into smaller components she could arrange and rearrange.

  All so she could pounce on it.

  “What was it like losing your dad so young?”

  Bingo.

  He snorted. Women. “The usual.” She gave him a look like he’d opened his skull and dropped its contents in her lap. “I was a kid, Fallyn. What did I know about grieving? We buried him and we went back to school and sports and anything else my mom could think of. She kept us moving.”

  “Which is why you know about shoving awa
y anger and hurt. And now we add the judge to that.”

  “We’re not talking about me.”

  “What if I want to talk about you?”

  “Oh, good luck with that,” he grinned at her and made a show of poking the mouse pad on his laptop. “Back to this. Your sister was on a Foreign Relations subcommittee. I find that interesting.”

  “Why?”

  “Not so much that she was on the committee, but the Foreign Relations committee—or a subcommittee of Foreign Relations. And then we find coded files regarding an international incident on her tablet. And, hello? Foreign Relations helps develop foreign policy. You don’t think a terrorist leader who died in a suspicious plane crash, and oh by the way, that plane was carrying passengers from six different countries, has anything to do with foreign policy? If you don’t think so, come join me in Neverland again where we can pontificate on what a peaceful world we’re living in.”

  Fallyn stood, set her hands on her hips, and paced in front of him. “I see your point, but maybe her committee was quietly looking into it, trying to determine if it was an accident or terrorism? I’d expect that.”

  “As would I. Except we think your sister was mur—” He stopped. Caught himself and sat back.

  “My sister was murdered. You can say it. We’re trying to figure this out. Mincing words won’t help. My sister was murdered and someone tried to steal her tablet.”

  “Yes. The data on the plane crash can’t be a coincidence. Can’t be. What I don’t know is how we find out. That’s your area. Who do we ask?”

  She stopped pacing and bit her bottom lip. “Jordan. Or Carl. Between them, Heather may have confided in them. Or Carl, with his State Department contacts might have heard something.”

  * * *

  The blueberry scone Tony bought her at the food truck three blocks from the townhouse was quite seriously the best one she’d ever had. The coffee was a smoky dark roast she loved too. Who knew that little hidden gem of a food truck could give her favorite NYC coffee shop a run for its money any day?

  She was laughing at a story he was telling about his sisters as he unlocked the townhouse door—he always had to go first and ‘clear’ the place—and stepped across the threshold.