Liz Johnson - Code of Justice

As though she hadn’t asked the last questions, he said, “I’m wondering why that homeless man was in here. Targeting you.”

“I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

“Did he say anything?”

Heather dove into the foggy recesses of her mind until she could see and almost smell the man next to her bed. His lips moved, but what had he said? “Put the tube in the line. Get the fix.”

“Put the tube in the line? Get the fix? As in put the tube of drugs in your IV line and he’d get a fix?”

“His hands were shaking really badly. He had to have been in withdrawal. Someone must have told him that if he gave me the overdose, they would get him more drugs.”

Jeremy nodded in agreement. “That sounds about right.”

A coughing fit caught her off guard, and she wrapped her arms around her middle. The searing pain in her shoulder as she tried to reach for the water cup on her bedside table made her groan, and Jeremy jumped to help her.

“Here. Drink this.” He pressed the straw to her lips, and she gulped greedily. His hands belonged to someone who worked hard, and she studied his knuckles, worn and weathered. “Better?” he asked, pulling the straw away, but keeping it at the ready in case she needed another swallow.

“I think so.” She only managed a mumble, angry with her inability to care for herself. Her knee throbbed, and suddenly she ached all over. Bruises that she’d successfully ignored until now screamed at her. And her brain nearly mutinied under the pressure that was growing beneath her temples.

What if she couldn’t do it? What if she couldn’t figure out what had happened? What if she physically could not bring the person responsible for Kit’s death to justice?

If she couldn’t solve the case, she didn’t deserve to be an FBI agent. And she certainly didn’t deserve to be part of her family. A family still in mourning.

Until she brought justice to Kit’s killer, she didn’t deserve to grieve. And if she never grieved, her heart might never heal.

Latham had leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful, arms folded across his chest. His eyes seemed to look right through her, focused on an unseen target. Heather recognized the look on his face. She’d seen it from Nate and Myles, another FBI coworker. She’d probably even made it herself a few times. He was solving a case deep in his mind.

And if she didn’t join him, she’d fall too far behind to ever take the lead.

With a bum leg and strict orders to steer clear of the investigation, cutting herself off from most of her resources, she’d never crack the case on her own. At least with him, she’d have access to all of his connections, research and mobility.

And he needed her. Needed her insight into Kit, and what she said after the helicopter went down. They could help each other.

Suddenly she wanted to tell Latham everything she knew. Tell him about the crash and Kit’s worries. Tell him that she knew the helicopter going down wasn’t an accident. But what if he wasn’t willing to help her? What if he didn’t want an injured agent trailing after him for weeks or maybe months? She had to get his word, had to get him to agree.

Swallowing thickly, she closed her eyes for a moment. “There’s more,” she said.

“What is it?” He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, an eager light filling his eyes.

“First I have to get your word that you’ll help me.”

His eyebrows clenched together, and he sat back into his chair. “Are you in trouble?”

“Not the way that you mean. My sister died in that crash.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

Heather swallowed again, the sound seeming to fill the whole room. “I owe it to her to see this investigation through. I need to know what happened, I need to know who’s responsible.”

His face relaxed. “Sure. I’ll keep you in the loop every step.”

“That’s not enough. I want to be at the front of the investigation.”

He glanced at the enormous brace covering her leg, and when his gaze lifted, his eyes filled with bewilderment as he let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re kidding, right? How could you possibly be on the ground investigating? You’re not exactly mobile.”

“I know,” she conceded. “That’s why I’ll need your help. You could help me get around, take me whenever you’re going to be looking into anything related to the crash. In exchange, I’ll give you all the details from the crash, and tell you anything you want to know about my sister.”

“So you think the crash had something to do with your sister?”

“I’m sure of it.” She reached out to touch him, ignoring the sting in her shoulder. His forearm jumped when her fingers brushed the dark hairs growing there. “I can help you. I need to help you.”

He scrubbed open palms over his face, eyes still squinting. “No. You need to be at home recovering. You’ve been through a traumatic experience. I get that.”

“No, you don’t! What would you do if it was your sister?” Desperation made her voice jump half an octave, and she took a calming breath.

His nose wrinkled as he took a deep breath as well. Something like regret flickered across his face and disappeared in an instant. “I understand. Please trust me. I do. But this isn’t healthy for you, physically or emotionally. You need to recuperate. Do something to keep your mind off your sister.”

“Like helping you with the investigation.”

His shoulders rose and fell, but the sigh was silent. “Like reading a book.”

“Please. I can help you. I have information that might be helpful.”

Frown lines crinkled around his eyes. “You know I could arrest you for hindering an ongoing investigation if you don’t tell me what you know, if you don’t share with me whatever it is that makes you so sure this crash was about your sister.”

“I know. But I also know that you need me. And I need you.”

He stood, pacing the small room with purposeful strides. “I just don’t know.” He sighed, running long fingers through his hair. Head bowed, he turned slightly to look at her.

“I know what I’m asking. I know it won’t be easy. For either of us. But I have to do this for my sister. And you need the information that I have. Besides, when I tell you what I know, I think you’re going to have a bigger case than you realize.”

“But you’ve just been through major surgery.”

“I’m also a special agent with the FBI. I can handle this. I won’t slow you down. Much.”

“Why don’t you just ask your friends in the Bureau to get involved?” he asked. “I bet they’d work with you. Give you the information you want. Help you launch your own investigation.”

“I can’t.” She couldn’t hold his gaze when she continued. “My Special Agent in Charge told me to rest. He ordered me to stay out of it.”

Latham’s face turned smug. “Smart guy. Listen to him.”

She squinted at him, praying that he would understand her heart in just that moment. She’d been broken. This was her only hope at healing. “You know I can’t. Let me help you. We’ll solve this case together.”

He remained silent for several moments, running his palms over his cheeks and stretching his facial skin. Finally he nodded. “All right. Tell me what you know.”

Swallowing the lump in her throat and pushing the pain in her heart to the side, Heather said, “Kit was a Deputy D.A. here in Portland. She handled some pretty major cases.”

“I know.”

“After the chopper crashed, Kit was still conscious.” Jeremy suddenly looked very interested. Sliding back into the plastic chair, he leaned closer. “She told me—” Heather swallowed thickly again, blinking away the moisture threatening to pool in the corners of her eyes. “Just before she died, she told me…to follow the drugs.”