Justice Incarnate (15 page)

"Sure thing, Ms. Michaels. You said I hanged you two hundred years ago."

"Yes."

He advanced. She held her ground. This would be good. "Why would I do a thing like that?"

"Duty."

"It was my duty to go around hanging women?"

"It was your duty, as sheriff, to see a murderer swing for her crime."

He circled her as she answered. She didn't flinch. He came back around to face her. "Who'd ya kill?"

Her eyes hardened. "The town preacher."

Brian took an automatic step back. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"I found him raping an eight-year-old girl from his orphanage. I strangled him with my apron."

Game over.

"Shit. You're serious."

"Don't believe me, Thomas," she hissed. "Find an archive for Cedar Hill, Iowa. I was the devil's tool against a good man. A fine, upstanding man of God." The words were ground out between clenched teeth. "A good man with a taste for young, untried flesh and a master of manipulation."

She pressed in closer, eyes flashing. "Let me tell you how I know. In that life, I grew up in the orphanage he founded, helpless as the rest." Her hands fisted and he braced his jaw for a punch, but she whirled away. "Tell me how good is a man who promises a lonely girl a family if she'll just show a gift for obedience?"

"A gift for...oh, Lord, no."

"Don't say it!" she cried, spinning back to pummel him in the chest. He let her pound, knowing he deserved much worse. "It's too damned late now! I did everything I could and he wouldn't stop. I stayed and worked with that bastard. Tried to intervene. He wouldn't stop." Her fists slowed and she dropped her head to his shoulder. "He fooled everyone. Even you. And he wouldn't stop."

He wrapped her in his arms and denied himself the luxury of apologies. "You insisted on wearing your best dress. And refused your last meal."

Her head snapped up. "H-how? Do you remember?"

He shook his head. Tenderly, he dried her tears with his thumbs and went with the most convenient explanation, for now. "I just know my criminal history."

Jaden watched Brian sleeping on the couch, still marveling at the tenderness he'd shown by tucking her into bed. It seemed like days should've passed rather than mere hours.

She believed he knew his criminal history. Just as she believed there was more to it. She'd seen the clouds in his eyes before he'd shut her out.

And she'd been turning over the recent antics of the Judge. She understood his desire to eliminate her, but what good could come of eliminating Brian? Or had his presence at the explosion truly been an accident?

In the time she'd been awake, she'd skimmed the diary and letters again, finding no indication that Brian had memories of their shared history during that incarnation. She'd also made a list of Internet searches she wanted to try, providing she could grab a few minutes alone with a computer.

She sipped from her over-the-limit coffee with sheer gratitude and studied his restful face. Had she always found him handsome? No. There had been lives she hadn't known him at all until he struck the deathblow. Of course there had been lives in which she dreamed of the earthly pleasures of husband and family. Those dreams had starred the man with the penetrating pewter eyes.

Her watch hummed against her wrist, reminding her of the eight o'clock class. She rose, set a thermal mug of coffee within his reach and left, wondering which sort of ending her life would bear this time.

Brian came awake to the heavenly scent of coffee. Real coffee. Listening, he realized he was alone and decided Jaden's gift for stealth must serve her well in the security industry. Sitting up he scrubbed at his face, then scalded his tongue on the coffee.

She hadn't been gone long.

His stomach growled, but he ignored it in favor of checking on the necklace. Holding it, Jaden's face filled his mind, but it wasn't a recent memory. The woman was dressed in costume from a long dead era, the same era as the display they'd robbed. Gabriella.

Brian blinked the disturbing images away, replaced the necklace and headed to the bathroom. But his brain wouldn't be distracted with mundane routines. What had she said last night about suffering from strange dreams and restlessness?

It was the perfect opening and he'd let it pass. He understood the disconnection she felt. And the dreams, well, his could only be counted as nightmares. Rather than use the information to bond with her, he'd chosen silence. To deceive.

For a man sworn to uphold the law, he was getting damned good at deception.

He'd even overcome his guilty conscience where the necklace was concerned. If the owner, Judge Albertson, didn't care about it and the museum wasn't wasting manpower on an investigation was it really 'stolen property'?

The old adage about trees falling unheard in the woods popped into his mind, unbidden and unwelcome.

The soft hum of the ionic shower ceased and Brian cursed the impossibly short setting. Slick Micky was sure miserly for a smuggler. It might be smart to look closer at the operation, though, seeing how his career in law enforcement might be over.

Brian slid back into his own jeans, but raided the closet for a new shirt. He wondered if it was like the small hotel refrigerators from years ago. Would Micky charge a ridiculous fee when Brian 'checked out' to resume his real life?

And how soon could that be arranged, he wondered. With a glance toward the opal's hiding place, Brian dug out the redlined evidence report he'd stolen from his own desk.

He'd asked for a rush on the charred webbing of Larry's restraints and now he was grateful. He hadn't killed his own man after all. It had been an act of sophisticated sabotage. He knew enough to recognize a Special Forces op. And he knew just who to call for a quiet inside favor. Reading through Loomis's notes confirming remnants of the same rare chemical solvent in the van, Brian still couldn't figure who would gain from Larry's death.

Jaden would surely blame the Judge Albertson. But maybe an overlooked detail in one of her cases could help him find another answer. Time to find her.

Striding down deserted hallways, Brian followed his instincts to Micky's office, but sounds from the main warehouse floor piqued his curiosity. At the door, he smiled at the scene below.

Jaden stood in front of forty or fifty women demonstrating combos of kicks and punches for purely aerobic benefit. They'd been at it for some time if the sweat was any indicator. She had the lithe, graceful and well-controlled body of a prime athlete. He watched her muscles bunch and stretch, coil and release and cursed the testosterone heating his blood. There wasn't room on this assignment for lust. He had to preserve the remote, undercover mentality. Anything less and he'd be lost with no hope of return.

"A woman on a mission," Micky said, beside him.

"Looks like."

"I appreciate it. My girls need the confidence out there."

"I'd think rough work would breed enough attitude to carry them through."

Micky's mouth thinned. "It's not rough work. I give these girls a roof if they need it, two meals a day and enough cash to function comfortably."

"And all they're giving is their lives." He wondered what got into him. Jaden's lecture or his own conscience?

"It's safe work," Micky snapped back. "They go to work, make a drop and come home. Maria was one of my best."

Before Brian could ask anything specific about the threat to the smugglers, Jaden's voice filled the room.

"Now, let's work on how to break away from an attacker." Her eyes landed on Brian, then slid down and over to Micky. "A little help, Slick?"

Micky made a quick descent to the front of the room to good-natured jeers and applause.

In Brian's estimation Micky didn't make a very convincing threat, so he slowly worked his way down the stairs and around the class.

"One. Elbow jab back." The mules repeated the move on imaginary opponents.

"Two. Weight on back foot."

Compliance across the room.

"Three. Turn and drive knee to groin."

He winced, but agreed with her choice. A woman needed every advantage to buy a moment to escape or call for help. And no matter what sort of hormonal cocktail a man juiced himself with, his balls were always vulnerable.

"Okay. Now grab your purses."

General shuffling, chatter and water intake swirled around Brian.

"Your assistance, Mr. Thomas?"

He looked up at her, smiled and vaulted to her slightly elevated position, accepting the dare flashing in her eyes.

"Let's make this count," she said with a half grin. Then, donning a shoulder bag she turned to the class. "If you're approached from behind–"

Brian stepped into place and held her with one arm at her waist, the other on the bag.

"Let him think he has the bag." She relaxed her body.

Brian's mind blanked with the sudden pliant feel of her. He inhaled the contrast of honest sweat and her rose scented hair. Then he landed hard on his stomach, gasping for breath. He blinked, but the class was still there, laughing. Twisting around he saw her, triumphant foot planted between his shoulder blades, eyes blazing with humor and awareness.

"Can I get a rematch?" he managed after a moment.

She simply sparkled. "Maybe later."

He welcomed her assistance as he got to his feet. "Too bad I didn't know that little maneuver when I was toting a purse," he muttered for her benefit alone.

"Oh, you held your own."

"High praise from you."

"Yup." She straightened his collar. "Now outta here. I've got a class to cool down."

A wave of relief and a smattering of applause accompanied his return to the relative safety of Micky's office. He had a system to hack if his body would stop humming and let him sit still.

Dropping onto the stool in front of the computer Micky had brought in for him, Brian began the task. While he waited for the black screen to change to something informative, he scrubbed at his face.

The woman had assaulted his senses more than his body in the brief demo. And if the look in her eye was any indication, she knew, and enjoyed making him edgy. But there'd been something more in her gaze.

Brian recognized it as passion. Not sexual, this passion was deeper than the mere physical. The same passion he felt for upholding the law, she felt for arming these women to protect themselves. The same passion that drove him to play dead to prove Albertson's innocence drove her to evade authorities to prove the opposite.

Brian pressed his hands into his gritty eyes. It wasn't the sort of epiphany that gave a lawman comfort.

The speakers chimed and he brought the first search results on the screen into focus and sighed. It would take hours to unravel the long list of corporate dealings to find if Albertson himself owned anything outright.

Then a property address jumped out at him. Brian keyed in a more specific title search and gaped. What use could a judge make of a former steel mill in the ghost town of Gary? Based on Jaden's accusations, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Well, damn."

"Another knock down?" Jaden teased from the doorway.

"You could say that." He waved her over, no point trying to hide this. "Just promise you'll take me with you when you go."

He watched her face, tired from exertion, light up with anticipation as the information sank in.

"In Gary?" she breathed.

"Apparently." He relished one minor consolation. "We'll have to take the el."

She groaned. "A car would give us a better egress."

"Throwing big security words around won't change my mind. We're going in together and we're taking the el."

"Whatever." She shrugged, but the casual gesture didn't fool him. "Check his court schedule. I can't go before tomorrow. I'm pinning the tail on Lorine today."

"Beg pardon?"

She grinned. "Just following your out-dated speech patterns. Thought it sounded better than 'tailing a mule'."

"I'll go with you."

"No."

Her whole body stiffened, making Brian realize her protective walls weren't so invisible. Again he regretted last night's missed 'bonding' opportunity. "I thought we were working together."

"We were. Are." She moved toward the door. "You work here today. I'll work out there." Halfway out the door she added, "Unless you're in a skirt-wearing mood?"

"No." He shuddered for effect and earned a quick laugh. "Be careful," he called, but she'd already gone.

In the scramble that was currently his brain, he decided to take his own advice. He couldn't be too careful or leave anything to chance.

Pulling the diary out of hiding, he scanned Byron's pages and a sample of his current handwriting and sent them to a buddy in forensics for analysis.

Yes, he'd be careful. And thorough. He entered web addresses from memory, ones well used in his hobby, and began a search for historical evidence to support her wild claims and his nightmares.