Stealing Justice (The Justice Team) (13 page)

Heat rushed through his body. Mentally, he chastised it and his attraction to her. He repeated the words he’d said to Monroe in his head—
Sydney is a tool to bring The Lion down. Nothing more, nothing less
—but that was pure bullshit. He wanted to peel the dress off of her and massage the rest of her muscles, taste her skin, lose himself in her luscious curves and sassy mouth.

“See anything interesting?”

Her voice snapped him out of his stupor but he was too crazy with lust to find a retort. So, like usual, he met her gaze and told her the truth. “You. I find you unbelievably interesting.”

Her lips curved in a seductive smile. She licked the bottom one. “Do you, now?”

In one fluid motion, he ran his hands up her sides, grabbed her around the waist and lifted her so she straddled his lap. “Yeah, I do.”

She wasn’t the only one who went after what she wanted. Sliding a hand behind the nape of her neck, he drew her mouth down to his, taking her full lips between his and kissing her.

Up to the task, she kissed him back, hungry, demanding. Her legs spread farther apart and she pressed down on his lap, raking her hands through his hair.

The taste of her mouth, the feel of her soft curves rubbing against him drove him crazy. This kiss was real, not one of those distraction kisses she threw up as a defense. She wasn’t manipulating him away from digging too deep, she was finally kissing him like she meant it. No pretense, no hiding.

Just Sydney.

Grey trailed his fingers down the side of her neck, hooked one under the strap of her dress and was about to ease it off her shoulder when a muffled buzzing noise came from his jacket pocket. A special ringtone he’d designated for his techie bitch. He wanted to ignore it, but figured he’d better not. Teeg might have found something on Sydney’s mother.

Sydney leaned back, tapped his jacket over his heart. “Is that your phone or am I giving you a coronary?”

He looked into her grinning face and shifted her off his lap. “You wish.”

As he retrieved the phone, Sydney stood, adjusted her dress and headed for the kitchen, leaving him in private to answer the call.

“What’cha got for me, Teeg?”

“I found your girl. Edwin Hospital had four admits in 2005. One of them matches the physical description of Renee Banfield. Looks like she’s still there under the name of Gloria Eastman.”

Grey glanced toward the kitchen. He heard the refrigerator open and close, the clink of glasses. “Diagnosis?”

“Diagno
ses
, my friend. Major depression, anxiety, schizophrenia—complete with delusions—and, get this, dissociative identity disorder. In other words, your girl is looney tunes with a side of whacko. According to the records of the doctor treating her—I hacked into his computer and found patient notes—she has at least nine distinct personalities. Holy fuck, it must be hard to keep track of all those Mini-Me’s.”

Holy fuck was right. Sydney walked back in, an open bottle of chardonnay in one hand and two wine glasses in the other. “Good work,” he said to Teeg. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He disconnected and slipped the phone into his pocket. Watched Sydney pour wine. No wonder she didn’t want to talk about her mother. What had triggered Renee’s mental break? His gut said it had something to do with the foreign ambassador Renee had worked for.

“Now where were we?” Sydney asked, handing him a glass of the chilled chardonnay.

He clinked his glass against hers and took a sip of wine. “When did you start wearing nail polish again? After your mother died?”

She nearly choked on her wine, caught herself, then touched her fingers to her lips and cleared her throat. “Shortly after, yes.”

“She would probably kill me if she was still around. You are definitely calling attention to yourself with this op.”

Setting her glass down, she nodded, but Grey could see the change in her. He had definitely flipped a switch. She grabbed the glass from his hand, sat it next to hers, and resumed her position on top of his lap. Her breath smelled of wine as she kissed him again.

Taking up where they’d left off would be so easy, but this wasn’t the Sydney he wanted. He wanted the one who just moments before was real. He understood her defense mechanism, but he was growing tired of it.

“Enough,” he said against her lips before pulling away. “Talk to me, Sydney. What happened with your mom?”

“My mother is dead. What does it matter?”

Time to press. “How did she die?”

Syd huffed. “Let’s drink more wine, shall we?”

“Screw the wine.”

She snorted. “At least someone will get screwed.”

“Great. Sarcasm again. What the hell is wrong with you? Tell me about your mother.”

She slammed the last of the wine and jumped off his lap, standing over him, one hand propped on her hip. “Why are you so concerned about my mother? And what the hell gives you the right to demand answers from me?”

“We’re partners. I need to know what makes you tick. And newsflash honey, I know your mother isn’t dead. I know your mother is now Gloria Eastman and a resident of Edwin Hospital. I
know
she suffers from major depression, anxiety and schizophrenia. So, do us both a goddamn favor and tell me what the fuck happened to her—and you—that left your mother in this condition.”

Sydney stared at the fucker. The son of a bitch knew about her mother and all along had been pretending otherwise. No wonder she couldn’t trust him.

“Syd?” He reached for her and she smacked at his hand.

Pressure consumed her, every inch of her body stuffed with it and about to explode. She stalked the tiny room, squeezed the wine glass in her hand, pressed harder just to release the tension stretching her skin to its limits.

Dammit.

The glass shattered, the sound filling the air with a chinking sound. The prick of glass brought a slicing pain, but also relief. At least she could feel something.

“Syd!”

Fed Boy stood when he saw the blood on her hands. The last thing she needed was to be touched.

Splaying her fingers wide, she stared at her bloody palm.
Stupid, Syd
. “It’s nothing.”

But that was a lie she’d told many times over the years. When had her mother become nothing? Maybe when she’d locked her away in a mental hospital.

Shame crawled over her, hot, slick and suffocating.

“You’re bleeding!”

He went to the kitchen, grabbed paper towels and ran back to her. “Let me help you.”

Please. She was long past needing help. The things she needed help with would never be fixed. Not unless he could go back ten years and return her mother to her. The sane one. That was the mother she craved. And mourned. Not the crazy one she visited every week.

He stood in front of her, analyzing her face, those brown eyes searching for something she couldn’t give him.

She sighed. “What do you want from me?”

“You know what I want. I want you to trust me. Tell me what happened.” He reached for her still bleeding hand. “And I want you to let me clean this.”

She glanced down at the blood seeping from her palm. Idiot woman. Now that cut was really starting to hurt. Her gaze went to the floor where remnants of shattered glass lay sprinkled around her bare feet.
Idiot
.

She let out a long breath. Maybe it was time to tell someone. She didn’t know. She’d been hiding her mother’s condition for so long she wasn’t sure she knew
how
to tell someone. Did that make her a protective daughter or a selfish one?

And then she was airborne, her feet coming off the floor as Fed Boy boosted her into a fireman’s hold.

“Hey!”

“Shut up. You’ve got bare feet. If you step in that glass, it’s gonna hurt. Plus, you won’t be able to walk in those stilt shoes tomorrow night.

He tossed her on the sofa. That’s what it all came down to. Her being ready for duty. “Maybe you could be a little gentler next time?”

“Really? Maybe when you start being honest, I’ll be gentle. If you want to fight, Syd, I’ll fight. If you want to talk, I’ll do that too. Your choice.”

Bastard.

She glanced up at a looming Grey, his arms folded and apparently waiting for her to say something. Oh, she’d say something. “Well, don’t stand over me like that. Sit down or move. Those are
your
choices.”

He grinned. “Atta girl, Syd.”

He dropped on the sofa next to her and she eased away. Childish maybe, but tough luck. She was pissed at him. She just wasn’t altogether sure
why
she was pissed at him.

Maybe because he knew. And worse, she’d allowed him to get close enough to know. What a mess. And still he waited.

Why not? He knew anyway.

Sorry, Mama
.

“Yes. My mother is hospitalized. She’s...” Syd sat back, breathed in, “…God, I don’t know what she is. One second she’s number two, the next she’s bitchy Number Seven and I’m looking at her, seeing my mother, but not knowing where she went. The mother I loved, and still love, is locked inside there somewhere and there are moments she comes to me and I think, thank you.
Thank you
. And then she tells me I’m dressed like a slut. That’s Number Seven. She’s a flaming bitch that one.” Syd laughed. She had to. The alternative was crying and there was no room for that crap.

She dared a glance at Fed Boy. What could he be thinking right now? Or did she want to know? Because really, any respect he had for her probably flew right out the window. What kind of person tells people their mother is dead?

I’m losing it. They’re gonna lock me up next.

“So, there you have it. The story of my mother.”

“What happened to her? What made her so ill?”

He’s not running
.

Part of her had hoped he would. Tough to admit, but true. His running would save her from facing it all. His running would allow her to keep her secrets. His running would ensure she remained alone. Locked inside her cocoon where only she and her mother existed.

Syd threw her hands over her face, sucked in a massive breath to hold the sob at bay and the sound echoed through the quiet house. Times like this she’d usually just start screaming. Howling like the lunatic she was. Anything to get rid of the agony. But this time, she sat on the sofa next to Fed Boy, the pain in the ass who wouldn’t leave her alone and felt...well...not so alone.

“You okay?” The pain in the ass asked.

She nodded. “Oddly enough, yes. I’m okay.” Finally, she looked over at him, so sure and steady while he waited. Maybe he was crazy too because by now he should be miles away. “I’ve never told anyone. It didn’t seem fair to my mother. She was once so vibrant and somehow, it seemed like a betrayal. I was almost eighteen when she was hospitalized. She’d been working for a foreign ambassador for three years. I found out, from Number Seven, that four months into her employment the dickhead she worked for raped her.”

“Jesus. Why didn’t she file a report?”

Syd made a gagging sound. “Are you kidding? She was a single mother trying to make a life for her and her kid. For the first time, she had a job that paid well and she didn’t have to wonder how the rent would get paid. Plus, her boss told her no one would believe her and he’d make sure she never worked in D.C. again. So she put up with it. Never knowing when he’d come at her.” She turned to Fed Boy. “Every day she went to work, wondering if she’d be raped.”

Grey leaned forward and she backed away. What she didn’t need at that moment was to be touched. He couldn’t help it though. The nice guy in him demanded it. If someone needed comfort, he gave it. She just didn’t know what to do with that comfort.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“I can’t believe how well you’ve handled this situation. You could have rebelled and look at you. Running that shelter, helping other victims, all while carrying this secret. It’s remarkable.”

“I wanted her to be proud of me.”

He inched closer and she shot him a sideways glance.

“It’s okay,” he said.

“I don’t want you to pity me. I hate that.”

Another inch closer. “I don’t.”

She nodded. “Just so we’re clear on that.”

He laughed. “Pretty damned clear.”

Oh, hell. Finally, she gave in and leaned against him, settled her head against his chest where the soft cotton of his shirt rubbed against her cheek. This wasn’t so bad. Something warm spread through her chest and she breathed in.
Trust him
. When had someone last held her? Really held her in that way people do when a crisis looms and their shared love becomes the steel that shores them up. That binds them.

That was it. Her steel girders had been missing.

At least until now.

Chapter Twelve

At 10:30 the next morning, Syd stood on the front steps of the shelter enjoying the warmth of eighty degrees in September. For her, September had always been her favorite month. It grew from her childhood when September meant the start of the school year. Fresh beginnings and new friends.

Perhaps this September could be yet another new beginning. A beginning where she no longer carried the shameful guilt of hiding her mother’s condition. She’d finally, after all this time, confided in someone. And not just any someone. Sure, Grey could be a pain in the butt with all the lecturing about safety and caution, but hopefully, this was a good man. A strong man who wouldn’t bail on her. Whatever their relationship ended up being, for now she’d trust him.

A rare occurrence. One that left her pleasantly uneasy.

The hum of his Challenger’s engine called to her and she waved as Grey parked at the curb.

Not only had she admitted her secret to him, she’d taken the bold step of allowing him to drive her to see her mother for an impromptu visit. Of course, he’d offered to wait in the car. Smart man, this one. He knew not to push too hard.

She stepped to the curb, opened the car door and slid in. Fed Boy was casual today. Jeans and a black graphic t-shirt. She liked it. Then again, she liked just about anything he wore. In her opinion, it all looked good on him.