Cheating Justice (The Justice Team) (9 page)

Caroline held out a hand, wiggled her fingers. “Ready?”

His cock jumped. “For what?”

“Aren’t you going to blindfold me again?”

“Oh, right.” He shucked his shirt, saw the way her gaze skimmed his chest. God, just don’t let her lick…

Too late. Her tongue shot out and licked her lips. “You realize,” she said, “with our history of joint stupidity, we’re going to wind up screwing each other blind at some point.”

He could only hope. He eased behind her and drew his shirt across her eyes. “Let’s go to New Mexico, Caroline.”

Chapter Seven

Caroline followed Mitch down the steps of the private plane her father had
loaned
them, tipped her head up to the bright blue sky and breathed in the warmth of a 92 degree October day in New Mexico. According to the weatherman, that temperature was still climbing due to a freak warm front plowing through the Southwest. She slid her blazer off, but left the sleeves of her blouse in place. She wouldn’t have minded rolling them up, but no; keeping some sense of her professional armor would keep her focused on the case and not on…

What the hell am I doing in Roswell with Mitch Monroe?

Well, if she disappeared, everyone would say she’d been abducted by aliens. With these two, that might not have been far off. Brice, sensing a major corruption story about to break, had decided he wasn’t happy sitting in the shadows of his blog. Not only had he come up with a source for them, he came on the trip, saying the guy wouldn’t talk to them without Brice being there.

“Leave it to me,” Mitch said, “to hook up with a girl who has connections.”

Connections. Right. Considering her father ran a company that provided the U.S. government with technical advice on space missions, yes, they were darned lucky. Darned lucky the company owned a private jet, darned lucky her father trusted her enough not to ask questions, and darned lucky she knew how to lie. Because make no mistake, she’d given her father a line of baloney when she told him a friend from New Mexico needed to see a specialist in D.C. but due to her medical condition, couldn’t fly above 32,000 feet. Only a private jet could guarantee that and Caroline wanted to help this friend.

Now she was lying to her parents like a fourteen-year-old wanting to sneak off with her boyfriend. And Mitch was the boyfriend.

Someone must have whacked me on the head.

Behind her, Brice whistled. “I tell ya, that was a helluva flight. First time flying private and it didn’t disappoint.”

Mitch reached the bottom of the stairs. “Yeah, Brice, too bad you were with us.”

Oh, no.
Pig that he was, she was sure there was some comment coming about joining the Mile-High Club. “Don’t even go there, Mitch.”

He unleashed one of his famous or maybe not-so-famous-but-famous-to-her grins and she rolled her eyes.

Throwing his arm over her shoulder, he gave her a squeeze. “Where to, boss?”

“Rental car. That’s the only thing I couldn’t manage, so I’ll have to rent. No big deal. Donaldson probably thinks I called in sick so I could punish him for putting me on dumpster duty.”

“Yeah, he thinks that highly of himself. Where’s the car rental?”

“About two miles from here.” She smiled. “At least one of us thinks ahead. The rental place said they’ll send a shuttle. We just have to call.”

He pointed to the small office plopped smack in the middle of four airplane hangars. “We going through there?”

“Not if I can help it. The fewer people who see us, the better.”

“There’s a gate,” Brice said. “Next to the hangar.”

Caroline pulled out her cell phone—her personal one—from her bag.

Mitch raised a brow. “Is that your Bureau phone?”

“No. This is one of my Dad’s company phones I carry. Only my family has the number. When it rings, I know to answer it. I took the battery out of my Bureau phone again. That alone might get me fired, but I wasn’t risking them being able to track my location. Even if Donaldson thinks I’m licking my wounds, he’s a bastard and I wouldn’t put it past him to try and catch me taking a mini-vacation when I’m supposed to be sick.”

She called the rental car company—her father had an agreement in place with all the big rental companies for his employees, so she wouldn’t have to use a credit card—and was directed to wait at the entrance to the airport office. Wait they would, but they’d stand at the end of the building, away from the office windows. Maybe she was paranoid, but an FBI agent traveling with a federal fugitive and a disgraced malcontent made for a great headline.

Where’s my gun?

Caroline laughed at herself. Suicide might be the only way to get her stupid self to give up on Mitch. She glanced over at him, casually leaning against the light pole, his long, dark hair once again slicked back into a ponytail. His lean body clad in worn jeans and a short-sleeved graphic T-shirt that read,
I am not a minion of evil. I’m upper management.

Stupid-self let out a little sigh. Something about this man drew her in. Every time. His looks alone could devastate a woman. Throw in the caustic humor and the balls-to-the-wall attitude and Caroline had been sunk from the first second she’d spotted Mitch Monroe.

Where. Is. My. Gun?

Sensing her attention, he lifted his face and met her gaze, smiling at her with that
caught-ya
smirk. Well, so what? They both knew the chemistry between them. They knew before the night they’d dropped into her bed and caused the angels to sing and they certainly knew it now.

Leaving Brice to his phone and answering posts on his all-important blog, she wandered over to Mitch. “Hey, sailor.”

“Hey, Caroline. You were thinking naughty thoughts about me.”

“In fact, I was. Only they involved my gun.”

He threw his hand over his heart, but his quirking lips gave away a laugh. “Evil woman.”

“I can’t help myself.”

“I know. That’s what I love about you.”

Love. There was a word she’d never uttered out loud about Mitch. Maybe she’d thought it a time or two—or twelve—because stupid-self liked to daydream about happily ever after. Well, stupid-self better wise-up. Happily ever after didn’t include visiting Mitch in a federal prison.

“What you love about me,” she said, “is I won’t turn my back on you. I love that about me too. Most of the time. My loyalty has burned me in the past, though.”

“Not this time. I’ve got your back.” He reached up, ran his finger down the side of her cheek and as much as she knew it was coming, that instant
zzzppp
, the little buzz that happened whenever Mitch touched her,
made her flinch. Like always, she craved getting closer to him so she leaned in and did just that, because—well—why not? Brice was obsessed with his phone and no one here knew them so she could pretend for just a few seconds that happily ever after really did exist.

She tilted her head, studied the strong angles of his face, the dark eyes and softness around his lips. “You had my back last time, too. It still blew up.”

Two years ago, when Mitch and Grey had first started hunting a serial killer, they’d zeroed in on a foreign diplomat, but couldn’t get Donaldson to sign-off on pursuing their suspect. Mitch had come up with the genius plan of having another supervisor—namely Caroline who’d just been promoted and was a baby in the relief supervisor arena—enter a report outlining all the evidence into the FBI’s system. Without entering it, the report wouldn’t have been part of the case file and might as well have never been written.

But Mitch, having that giant conscience when it came to people he cared about, had gotten cold feet when the hell-storm came down on them and told Donaldson he’d stolen Caroline’s password and entered the report himself.

None of it mattered. Donaldson, being Donaldson, did his magic and the report disappeared.

“Mitch, I don’t blame you for involving me in The Lion’s case. I’m a big girl and make my own decisions. These things you do are for the right reasons. I know that about you. But this time we could both lose everything.”

“But if I’m right, you’ll be a hero.”

“And what about you?”

He shrugged. “I never cared about glory or power.”

“You’re a liar. There’s something you want, and I’m not talking about this case. I’m talking about Mitch Monroe the man. Down deep, what do you want from life?”

Tilting his head back, he blew air through his lips. “I want peace. No more running. That’s all.”

“So when this is over and we clear your name and Tommy’s, you’ll be happy?”

“Not entirely.”

Classic Mitch. Caroline huffed. “Well, big boy, if I’m putting my career on the line, I’d like to know what the hell we’re fighting for here.”

He turned to her, stared right into her eyes, not wavering for even a half-second. “I want you, Caroline. Then I’ll be happy.”

The look on Caroline’s face said it all. Shock. Total and absolute. Her jaw dropped and she tried to form words, but nothing came out. In her eyes, Mitch saw a hint of fear. He’d scared the big, tough FBI sniper.

Way to go, idiot
. “Don’t worry. I know I’m too fucked up for you, but I wanted you to know. I’m not in it for a single night this round.”

Her mouth slammed shut and she looked away. Glanced at Brice to make sure he was still absorbed with his phone. Then she simply stood, staring out at the runway, uncomfortable silence descending as the oppressive heat added to Mitch’s discomfort. Damn, he was sweating in places he didn’t know existed.

At least he’d said it. He’d never lied to her, but he’d dammed up his feelings for so long, danced around his attraction to her knowing she’d shut him down, he’d hoped his admission would bring him some relief. Her hair, her smile, the way she moved…it all screwed with his internal system. He wanted her and he wanted her bad. He knew she wanted him. But of course, he was a fugitive, not just from the FBI, but on the run for murder now as well.

Caroline didn’t like messes, and he was one big fucking mess.

He slipped his sunglasses on. The shuttle arrived, saving him from any more embarrassing admissions and hopefully the heat. At least she hadn’t slapped him. Or spit on him. He’d imagined both scenarios when he finally put that he wanted her into words.

At least, he’d finally said it. One thing he’d learned in the past year, you never knew when you’d meet the bullet with your name on it.

The three of them boarded the shuttle, riding in silence to the car rental building. Caroline went inside to rent the car, Brice and Mitch hung out by the fleet in the parking lot.

“Got a thing for her, huh?” Brice said, squinting in the late afternoon sun.

Mitch ignored him. “Think I’ll have time to work on my tan while we’re here?”

“If we don’t end up like Tommy.”

Any other day, he’d have knocked Brice cold for that flip comment. Today, the guy spoke the truth and Mitch respected him for that.

Mitch idly scanned the cars. He liked the flashy red Mitsubishi. Or the Cadillac SUV.

The silver Prius
.
That’s the one Caroline will pick
.

A minute later, she came out of the rental company and dangled keys in his face. “I’ll drive.”

Of course she would. And what do you know? She made a beeline for the silver Prius two rows back.

“Fuel efficient and extremely roomy,” Caroline said.

“Extremely cramped,” Mitch said, trying to fit his frame into the front seat.

Brice hopped into the back. “My contact said he’ll meet us at the Le Feria farmer’s market in thirty. He’s pretty nervous, but he’s bringing us information he says might help.”

The car’s GPS—certainly not her phone app with that squeaky voice—gave Caroline directions, and they wound their way through the city. Traffic was heavy this time of day with people heading home from work. They parked half a block from the farmer’s market and walked the rest of the way.

All around them were rows of white tented booths displaying everything from sunglasses to baked goods to jewelry and wood carvings. If the heat was a factor in the attendance, it didn’t show. People wandered the rows, bumping each other as they passed, and Mitch couldn’t decide if being in the crush hid him safely in the throng or left him trapped. If he had to run, he’d be taking people out on his way.

“Big place,” Mitch commented, eyeing a booth with green plastic aliens wearing miniature Roswell T-shirts. “Where exactly is your contact meeting us?”

“Don’t worry.” Brice acted interested in a booth with homemade salsa in every flavor imaginable. “He’ll find us.”

Caroline scanned the crowds of people milling by. “He knew Tommy, right?”

“Yeah.”

They continued to meander and stop here and there. Halfway through the booths lining both sides of the road, a man in a Red Sox baseball cap and sunglasses nodded at Brice.

“Here we go,” he said, taking them behind one of the larger booths and following the guy to a nearby picnic bench.

Brice and the man shook hands and exchanged a few comments. Brice introduced Mitch and Caroline. “This is Ethan Grimke. ATF.”

Mitch shook Ethan’s hand. “Thanks for meeting us.”