The Price of Grace (Black Ops Confidential 2)

It was a good twenty minutes before Mack showed, wearing a suit as trim as his lanky frame. In all the time he’d known Mack, he’d never seen him put on an ounce. Not of muscle. Not of fat. He was immune to both, apparently.

In his dark suit, with his Mission: Impossible shades and his swagger, Mack couldn’t have looked more fed if he’d had a bard follow him around singing about his Quantico exploits.

Guy could tone it down. Look less uptight. Huh. Maybe Gracie and her vigilante ways were rubbing off on him. She sure had last night. He pushed the hot image of her away, far away.

Mack slid into the booth. “You look distracted.”

No shit. Dusty shook his hand. “No more than usual. How’s the fort?”

“Still secure. How’s the investigation?”

Here we go. “Investigation stalled. No leads. Getting nowhere with the asset.”

Nowhere he could put in a report, anyway.

Mack’s eyebrows rose. The waitress showed up, dropped off two glasses of water, and tried to hand Mack a menu. He shook his head. “Burger. No bun. No fries. Black coffee.”

“You’re going to live to be a thousand, Mack. And not one day is going to be even a tiny bit fun.” He handed the waitress his menu. “Give me the same with cheese fries and a sesame bun.”

She smiled at him before leaving. He took that as approval for a healthy appetite.

Mack’s dark eyebrows pinched together at the bridge of his nose. “Kind of surprised you admitted that about the investigation, Dusty. That’s part of why I asked you to come today.”

It was?

“I think you should let this case go.”

Dusty opened his mouth to argue, object. Closed it. Mack had just rolled a girder off his shoulders. After the last year working his way in with the Parish family, getting to know their business practices, getting to like the family—more than like some of them—he’d been fighting a growing sense of wrong. Judging by Gracie and Tony, those kids were raised to care for others and themselves. And what they did outside the law was a drop in the bucket compared to some. A drop that weighed toward justice.

Dusty clenched and unclenched his hands. The relief nearly staggered him. Mack took his silence the wrong way.

“I know what you’re thinking. You put it all on the line. Your job, your life, your own money, and ended up with the same results. Could’ve just stayed home.”

“Way to cheer me up.”

Mack grimaced. “Sorry. But I think you’ve got to face facts. We’re never going to get them on the vigilante stuff. Whatever they were doing, they’re not doing now. They’re spooked from the drone attack, from having our guys all over them. They’ve gone underground.”

True. Plus Gracie had pegged his cover the day he’d strolled into town. But it was over. His heart began to beat faster. His mood to soar. Couldn’t wait to tell her, see her face. They could start fresh. Find out what this was between them. She had to know, way down where it mattered, that this was more than sex. He could set up shop in town for a while, help protect her.

Mack turned his water glass, as if sizing up its cleanliness. Satisfied, he removed the paper from his straw and took a sip. “Look, all the doom and gloom silence isn’t necessary. It’s not a total loss. I want you to concentrate on the blackmail.”

Dusty sat up straighter, like someone had shoved a steel pole up his ass. “What?”

“I know what they have on Rush—or pretend to have. Mukta Parish has an old video of Gracie’s mother claiming Rush raped her. After he drugged her.”

Rush drugged and raped Sheila Hall? Did Gracie know? “How’d you—”

“Digital copies were anonymously sent to the Chester office last night. No sooner did I hang up with you than I had that proof in my hot hands.”

“Anonymous copies? As in more than one?”

“Yeah. Turns out Mukta has been extorting multiple government officials. They’ve been doing it for ages.”

Dusty leaned forward. His heart rate picked up. “Explain how they do it.”

“Take for example Rush.”

“Yeah. Start there.”

“Rush slept with that woman—”

“You mean Gracie’s mom, Sheila? The woman he raped?”

“What if it wasn’t rape? What if she lured him to sleep with her? Then the Parish family makes a tape with Sheila, looking so young and innocent, claiming Rush drugged and raped her.”

Looked like Mack had already condemned Sheila. “Who’s to say he didn’t?”

“Exactly. Except he wasn’t the only one the family set up this way. I don’t know how many, but I’ve seen a couple of these recordings. Same girl, Sheila. But each recording accuses a different man.”

“So you have recordings with Sheila Hall claiming different men drugged and raped her?”

“She never mentions them by name. There’s someone asking her leading questions. She answers the questions.”

“So the interviewer asks was it this guy, was it that guy?”

“Yeah.”

“So different questions, different names, but the same answers?”

Mack nodded.

“And you have proof this was sent to other men besides Rush, proof the Parish family blackmailed them all? Along with men willing to say so?”

“Not yet. The videos are thirty years old. Out of the recordings we got, Rush is the only person still in government. The only one who apparently produced a kid. Two of the blackmail victims are dead. One had a heart attack six months ago. The other shot himself in the head two weeks ago.”

Victims? “Anybody else?”

“That we know? A federal judge. No longer on the bench. Got Alzheimer’s. I went to see him this morning. Saddest shit ever. Kept asking for his wife.”

He’d been to see the judge? Investigating on his own? “So except for Rush, none of these recordings are currently in use. And there’s no way of corroborating the other stories? Sounds like a convenient way to get Rush off the hook for something pretty damn heinous. He could’ve altered the recording sent to blackmail him and sent them to you. Had to suspect the truth might come out. Might be trying to muddy the waters. Have you had the tapes authenticated?”

Dusty leaned back as the waitress put their food on the table, asked if they needed anything else. He smiled at her. “No thanks.”

She looked at Mack. He waved her off, picked up his fork and knife. “Give me a day or two. You’re being a little hostile considering I’m giving you what you want. The Parish matriarch will go down for this. She’s been controlling government, changing laws, diverting government funds to support this crazy women-centered agenda. I just need more proof. As you pointed out, so far this is weak.”

“So the answer to that is no.”

Mack sliced his burger, delivered a bite to his mouth with the fork. For such a dainty action, he didn’t seem to care about talking with his mouth full. “The recordings are copies. I got the lab on it. We’ll see. But I’m pretty sure we’ll need the originals to determine that shit.”

Dusty pushed his plate away. He couldn’t stomach food right now. “Any other proof?”

Mack gestured with a fork full of meat. “Years ago, someone filed a lawsuit worth tens of millions against one of Mukta Parish’s companies. The case was thrown out by the same judge, Judge Roberts, that I mentioned. Months later, Roberts was photographed at a fundraiser with Mukta Parish. It shows her and the judge in what looks like an intense conversation.”

“That’s light beer mixed with water. Weak.”

“Yeah. Well, like I said we’re just getting started. Mukta Parish is devious, but we can get her on blackmail.”

“You sound pretty sure.”

Mack cut another triangle of meat. “Last night, I reached out to Rush’s son, Porter. Talked to him. This morning he got back to

me. His father might be willing to testify against Mukta.”

He’d reached out to the guy who, along with his father, might be trying to kill Gracie? “He’s willing to testify? Admitting he’s been Mukta’s puppet will ruin any chance at the presidency.”

Chewing, Mack shook his head. “Not necessarily. He never played ball with her. Any decisions he made for legislation aligned with his values. It wasn’t until she tried to secure a cabinet position that he came to us.”

Dusty leaned back in his seat. What was he saying? Of course, Rush and his son would love to play victims fighting back. Standing up for what was right even if it might cost him the presidency. Mack knew that. He had to. “And you think his constituents will buy that?”

“Buy what? Rush is taking on people like Mukta, women who would use and abuse the system, claiming victimhood in order to gain money and extraordinary rights. He’s standing up to them. Let’s face it, his base will eat up the idea of Mukta getting her comeuppance.”

Fuck. Mack was all in. People always imagined informants as lowlifes, but it was the assets in high places that rated. No higher place than the presidency. “Mack, tell me you aren’t trying to free up a candidate for president,” at the expense of Mukta’s family, “a guy who once in office would be beholden to the bureau?”