Above the Law (10 page)

“What angle?”

Elaina was standing to the right of their booth and Lindsey wondered how much of their conversation she’d heard. “Just tossing around ideas. I got a good lay of the land tour today and we’re scheduled for interviews tomorrow. What did Larry want?”

“Nothing much. We went over a few details. So, you think we can wrap this up by the day of the event?”

Lindsey searched Elaina’s face for a clue. The wrap it up comment indicated a budget concern, but she detected something more than money at play. She didn’t want to rat Alice out, but she did want to know what Elaina and Larry had been arguing about, so she cast about for a way to ask. “Is Larry micromanaging as usual?”

“What? No, I mean, he’s on us to get the story put to bed so it can air in the next couple of weeks, that’s all.”

“What’s the hurry?”

“I don’t know. Hey, are we doing our job or theirs? How about we focus on what you’ve got planned for the next few days and let the network worry about programming?”

“Sure.” Lindsey offered the simple assurance, but she had no intention of letting her curiosity go unsated. Everything about this story, from the vanilla content, to the network’s insistence that she be the anchor, signaled something was off, and she intended to get to the bottom of things.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHT

The next morning, Dale pushed through the doors of Judge Niven’s courtroom and slipped into a seat in the back row. Thankfully, she didn’t see any other agents she knew. Bianca was at the front of the room, making a spirited argument for keeping the orange-jumpsuit wearing defendant seated at the other table in custody pending trial. Dale zoned out after a few minutes—this wasn’t her case and she really didn’t care what happened. She just wanted it to happen quickly since she didn’t have much time before she was supposed to meet Lindsey and her crew for round two of busywork.

After the meeting at Peyton’s last night, she’d done a little research on Lindsey, courtesy of LexisNexis. Lindsey owned a small apartment in Manhattan where her network was based, but it was currently sublet to someone else. She was single and had a substantial net worth, but without running a full credit report, Dale didn’t have a clue where she kept her assets. She’d won several Emmys for her work, including one for her reporting while embedded with the US forces in Afghanistan. She’d spent more time as an embedded reporter than any other US journalist, her most recent stint with the Afghan Security Forces, reporting on the drawdown of US and NATO forces.

Dale had run into several reporters while she served, but they were there for the short term, not embedded like Lindsey, and their stories were nothing more than a glossy finish over the dirty truth of the war that claimed more lives than it saved. Like most living, breathing souls, she’d heard about Lindsey’s expose on General Tyson, but she’d never watched any of Lindsey’s war coverage, preferring not to relive any aspects of the experience she’d left behind. The only good thing that had come out of her three tours was meeting Maria, and she had many more pleasant memories of Maria right here at home.

When the bailiff called out “All rise,” she was on her feet, unsure how much time had passed while she was lost in thought. When the judge ducked out the side door to his chambers, Bianca turned and motioned for her to wait. She watched while Bianca handed some papers to the defense attorney she’d just argued against, and then vigorously shook her head when he asked her to cut his client some slack. Bianca Cruz was a baby prosecutor, but she was catching on fast. Show strength, exude confidence, and grant mercy only sparingly were the keynotes to gaining respect.

When Bianca finally broke free, Dale joined her at the counsel table. “I have less than an hour before I have to meet the film crew. What do you have for me?”

Bianca dug around in her bag and pulled out a plain manila envelope about two inches thick. “I printed this out at home. It’s a start—a list of the suspicious transactions Gantry made over the past year. The FBI financial guys put it together from the information they got from their C.I. I haven’t had time to look for patterns. I also included a list of all known border crossings for anyone associated with the Vargases.”

Dale took the folder and tucked it in her jacket. “I’ll get through this today and call you tonight.” Hopefully, she could carve out some time today to comb through the records. “Have you talked to Mary this morning?”

Bianca nodded. “Her boss has her back on the cases she had before she started working with us, a few of which are on my docket, which will give us cover if anyone catches us working together.”

“Good. Any idea what Gellar’s next move will be?”

“He’s not sharing any info, but he does have the grand jury scheduled to meet later this week. I don’t know if they have enough to hand down an indictment for Gantry, but they definitely have enough to indict Arturo.”

Arturo Vargas had been moved from the hospital to a cell at Seagoville, and they’d been closely monitoring his phone calls and visitors for signs he was communicating with his fugitive brother, but so far it seemed he was keeping a low profile. “You think he’ll go ahead and indict Arturo?”

“He might. Word is he thinks he can put pressure on Arturo to flip on Gantry.”

Dale noted Bianca’s skeptical expression. “You don’t agree?”

“I don’t think Arturo has anything to gain. By the time they finish stacking up the charges, he’s looking at a life sentence. Even if Gellar filed a motion for a downward departure based on his cooperation, a judge isn’t going to shave off enough to matter. Not for the head of a cartel. And that’s the other thing—the little guys snitch, not the big ones. If Arturo talks, he’s not necessarily going to implicate his brother, and I don’t see that happening. Ever.”

“Good points,” Dale said. Bianca rose a few points on her respect meter. “You have any ideas about flushing out Sergio?”

Bianca looked around before whispering, “I do, but I don’t want to talk about it here.”

“At the ranch then?” Dale asked. They had another “poker game” scheduled for the next night.

Bianca shook her head. She scrawled a note on a piece of paper and folded it in half. As she handed it to Dale, her eyes appeared to lock on to something over Dale’s shoulder, and she said, a touch too loudly, “Thanks, Agent. I appreciate you letting me know. Have a good day.”

Before Dale could process what had happened, she saw Herschel Gellar enter the well of the courtroom. She slid the paper into her pocket. “No problem. The event is next Saturday and obviously, we’d like to have some folks from your office on hand to help out with the educational component. Thanks for spreading the word.” She nodded to Gellar as she left the courtroom, and prayed Bianca was quick enough to handle his curiosity.

Moments later, she retrieved her truck from the parking garage down the street and drove to Lindsey’s hotel on the other side of downtown. As she pulled into the parking lot, she reflected that whoever had put them up at this hotel didn’t know their way around the city. The Anatole wasn’t far from downtown, but there were other hotels that were more convenient to all the places they’d need to be over the next week. At least the spacious lot meant it was easy to find a space to park. She killed the engine and fished the note from Bianca out of her pocket.
7 p.m. J.R.’s. Just you.

Dale drummed the seat cushion with her fingers. She’d expected a little more in the way of detail, but it looked like she’d have to wait until that evening to find out what Bianca had in mind. She tucked the note away and pulled another piece of paper from her glove box—the schedule she’d received from someone named Elaina on Lindsey’s team. Today she was supposed to accompany the whole crew to interview a few local law enforcement officials. She’d already whined to Diego about it, but he hadn’t budged. When she’d pointed out she was being wasted in the role of chauffeur, he’d insisted her presence was essential to ensure the program had a consistent message across all agencies. Her presence wouldn’t guarantee that, but she didn’t have a choice in the matter and she might as well accept it.

A sharp knock startled her out of her pondering. Her hand flew to her shoulder holster as she jerked her head to the window. Lindsey stood next to her truck, looking like a model in an expensive looking navy suit and perfect hair and makeup. Dale motioned for her to back up, and she opened the door and stepped out.

“Sorry if I scared you,” Lindsey said, a teasing grin playing at the corners of her mouth. “I just happened to walk outside for a breath of fresh air when I saw you drive up.”

“You didn’t scare me,” Dale lied. “I was just looking over the schedule. Pretty ambitious for a day’s work.”

“It’s the story of my life. Too much to do and not enough time to get it all done. I’ve become the consummate overachiever.”

“And you have the awards to prove it.”

Lindsey smiled and cocked her head. “Aw, you noticed.”

Heat rose up the back of Dale’s neck, slow and tingly, and she brushed at her collar.

“Are you okay?” Lindsey asked.

Dale felt the flush through her entire head now, but the last thing she wanted to do was talk about it. “Uh, yeah, sure.” She cast about for a change in subject, but before she could settle on something Lindsey asked, “Are you hungry?”

“Hungry?”

“Food, you know, sustenance. I’m starving. The others won’t be ready for a little while. Do you mind if we grab something?”

Dale looked at the schedule in her hand. They did have a decent window before they were supposed to be at the first location. Besides, it was Lindsey’s shoot. If they were late, what did she care? “Sure, why not?”

She jammed her keys in her pocket and followed Lindsey to a bistro inside the hotel. The hostess sat them at a booth in the back. Dale buried her face in the menu while she tried to process her body’s strange reaction to Lindsey’s flirty banter in the parking lot. “Twenty dollars for a salad! That’s crazy.”

“You don’t strike me as a salad person.”

“Good thing.”

Lindsey swatted her with the menu. She’d caught a glimpse of this playful version of Dale yesterday and it was good to see it again. “Lunch is on me. Have whatever you want.”

“I can buy my own lunch.”

And just like that, crotchety Dale was back again. Lindsey set her menu on the table and leaned forward. “Look, I feel like we got off on the wrong foot and not just because you ate most of the bacon off my breakfast tray.” She smiled and counted the beats until Dale returned the gesture. “So, I had you come a little early today because I wanted to see if we could start fresh. I figured we could share a meal, get to know each other. So have a steak, have a salad, whatever suits you. Next time you can pick the place and pay my way. Deal?”

She watched and waited for Dale’s response, finally breathing a sigh of relief when she said, “Deal.”

Dale ordered a burger and fries and Lindsey told the waitress to double the order.

“Now see, I would’ve pegged you for a salad girl,” Dale said.

“Shows how much you know,” Lindsey replied. “Five miles every morning means I can eat what I want, and I almost never want a salad.”

“I approve.”

“Are you used to women who only eat salads?” Lindsey winced internally at the unartful question. She hadn’t asked Dale to lunch to dive into details about her deceased wife, but their playful banter seemed like a good time to broach more personal areas. However, now that she’d started down this road, she felt like a heel for acting like she knew less about Dale’s personal life than she did.

“I’m not used to anything in particular.”

Nice sidestep. Dale was going to be more difficult to crack than the average subject. “I have a tendency to accidentally date the salad-loving women. Doesn’t bode well for the long-term.” There, she’d tossed out the bait. Would Dale bite?

“I was married for seven years. We both worked our asses off, and when it was time to eat, we ate whatever we were hungry for at the time.”

Lindsey listened carefully for any undercurrent in Dale’s tone that signaled this avenue of conversation had hit a dead end. No, Dale sounded matter-of-fact, but she didn’t detect any traces of anger or annoyance. “You
were
married.”

“My wife, Maria, is dead. It’s been a year.”

Her voice was quiet and lifeless, and Lindsey wasn’t sure where to go from here. She had a thousand questions, but they were all based on knowledge she’d now pretended she didn’t already have. Where were you when your wife was shot down? What was the last thing you said to her and she to you? Have you been trying to find out who killed her? What progress have you made?

She couldn’t ask any of these things. Not here, not now. In this moment, when Dale had displayed such vulnerability, the right thing to do was to be a person, not a reporter. The challenge was toeing the line between the two. She’d spent so much time digging for stories, she wasn’t entirely sure she could compartmentalize her truth-seeking queries from well-intended curiosity. For now, she settled on a simple, “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything. It’s just…”

Lindsey reached over and grasped Dale’s hand. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I’m here if you do.”

Dale met her eyes, and Lindsey struggled to read the emotions reflected there, but before she could get a fix on them, Dale smiled and said, “Thanks, but I’d prefer if we talk about a lighter subject. Something along the lines of the great salad versus burger debate, if you don’t mind.”

“Fine by me.”

Their food came quickly and they dove in. The rest of their conversation was light-hearted. Lindsey asked questions about Dallas in general. She’d flown through Dallas tons of times, but had never really spent any time in the city. Dale was describing her favorite burger joints when Lindsey got a text from Elaina that the crew was ready to go. She settled the check and they walked out of the restaurant.

Dale pulled the list of afternoon appointments out of her pocket and pointed at the attached map. “I see you already mapped out the locations for today.”