Fight Dirty Page 4

  “Why do you need all that?” Caren asked, one hand fisted at her throat as she glanced up.

  “We’ll need to show BreeAnna wasn’t suicidal before she entered ReNew. Even better would be any indication she shared with her friends that something happened there that drove her over the edge.”

  “She was only home a day, isn’t it obvious?” Greene said.

  “If all you want is reassurance, that’s one thing. But if you really want to see ReNew closed down, save other families from the pain and suffering that you’re going through, then we’ll need hard evidence.”

  Andre had a thought. “How about a psychological profile?”

  Jenna nodded. “Good idea. We can ask Nick—Dr. Callahan is a psychologist who consults with us on difficult cases like this one.”

  Caren twisted in her seat to glance at her husband. “I’d like that,” she told Greene, her voice now laced with steel. “I can’t stand the thought of anyone thinking this was my fault.”

  The woman’s emotions jackknifed so quickly, Andre wondered how anyone kept up. Being in the same room with her was exhausting.

  Greene didn’t seem too happy about the idea but finally nodded. Caren turned back to Jenna. “Do it. Whatever it takes to shut down that awful place before any more children die.”

  CHAPTER 5

  If shutting down ReNew is your goal, we can do that.” Jenna paused. Baiting the hook, Morgan knew. If their initial interview with the Greenes was any indication, nothing about this investigation would be easy. “But I need you to understand it will mean using unconventional means. Usual methods of gathering evidence, financial records and witness statements, aren’t going to work. Not with their money shielded by the church and the witnesses all being underage troubled teens.”

  “I don’t care what you have to do,” Caren practically shrieked. Her husband squeezed her knee again. This time she shoved his arm aside. “We have the money. Whatever it takes. Just do it. Find the bastards who did this to my baby girl, and make them pay. I don’t care if you can prove it in court or not. Just shut them down.”

  “Now, Caren—” Robert Greene ignored Jenna to stare at his wife. “You need to calm down. Think this through.”

  Caren launched herself to her feet. “I’m tired of everyone telling me how I should feel. My baby is dead!” She whirled to look down at her husband. “They killed her, goddamn it. Your own daughter. Now do something about it!”

  Greene blinked, his expression totally blank for an instant. Morgan wondered if anyone else noticed. But then his face crumbled with grief, and he sucked in a breath as if struggling to pull himself together. He looked down at the dark cherry floor, past his wife out the window, finally back at Jenna. “What kind of unorthodox techniques are you talking about? Nothing illegal?”

  Caren sank back onto the couch. Instead of appearing satisfied that she was getting her way, she seemed unhappy she was no longer the center of attention. “Who cares what they have to do?”

  Watching Jenna manipulate the parents was like watching a conductor and his orchestra. Morgan noted how she toed the fine line between pushing the parents to get the info they needed and pissing them off so much that they’d walk. Seemed like with the Greenes that line was as thin and fragile as a spider’s strand of silk.

  Jenna waited a beat, letting the emotions settle to a mere simmer. “We could send someone in. Posing as a student.”

  Morgan straightened at that. Not liking the implications. Jenna was trying to manipulate more than just her grieving clients.

  “You mean undercover?” Caren said, clearly liking the idea. “Like they do on TV?”

  “Something like that. We’d create an identity, a false background of emotional disturbances, drug use, minor criminal offenses—basically a typical picture of a troubled teen.”

  “Like BreeAnna,” Greene said.

  “Yes. Like BreeAnna.” Jenna’s voice brightened, and she studiously ignored Morgan’s glare. “It would be expensive—you know ReNew expects full tuition up front. Plus we’ll have the costs of building the cover identity. And while we have an operative for the undercover investigation, we’d need to hire an actor or actors to play the role of her parents. Mr. Stone and myself are too well known.”

  No one asked Morgan what she thought. Just like no one had asked her if she wanted to go undercover at a residential treatment center, locked in with a bunch of messed-up kids and the adults who controlled them.

  No way in hell was Morgan going anywhere near that prison masquerading as a school. She stood and opened the office door.

  “All right,” Jenna said, hurriedly. “We’ll need a retainer up front plus expenses billed by the hour.” She handed their contract and liability waiver to Greene. “I’ll give you a minute to look that over, then we’ll answer any questions you have and begin collecting our intelligence. We’ll be back in a minute.”

  By the time she and Andre had the door shut behind them, Morgan was halfway across the reception area.

  “Morgan, wait,” Jenna said, pitching her voice so it wouldn’t carry through the door to the office where the Greenes sat. “Hear me out.”

  Most people felt fury as something hot, something that made their blood rush so they couldn’t think clearly. Not Morgan. Just like fear, anger left her chilled—and her mind moving with lightning precision. Gauging reactions, calculating choices, sifting possibilities, searching for the path with the greatest reward and least pain.

  Getting locked up was exactly what she was working so hard to avoid. It was why she’d sworn she wouldn’t kill again. And Jenna, the person closest to a friend, wanted her to waltz into the one place where Morgan would go insane?

  Morgan didn’t even slow at Jenna’s voice. But she did stop at Andre’s hand on her shoulder. He didn’t grab her or pull at her. Merely laid his palm down, stopping her just as she reached the outer door.

  “It’s a bad idea, sending you in,” he said in a low voice that wouldn’t carry back to the Greenes. “You don’t have any training. You’re too young and inexperienced to be put in that position.”

  Morgan slowly turned. This is why she loved Andre so much. He knew she wasn’t a normal teenager—although he had no clue about who she really was—yet, he never treated her as anything but normal. Until she proved him wrong, he would accept her as she was.

  His friendship was another benefit of living life as a Norm, fitting into this warped society where emotions ruled instead of cold, hard logic.

  He looked down at her, now with both hands resting on her shoulders, and said, “I’m sorry, Morgan. We’ll find another way.”

  “Stop treating her like a kid, Andre. She can do this. Hell, you want to do it, don’t you, Morgan? That’s why you wanted this job, right?” Jenna said it like a challenge—no, a dare. Her voice held a touch of triumph as if Jenna expected Morgan to fail her. Prove to her that any faith she had in Morgan was misplaced. Or simply payback for Morgan resurfacing in Jenna’s life, spying on her, intruding in her business. “C’mon, let’s get back inside.”

  Before Morgan could say anything, Andre rushed to her defense. “Jenna, don’t bully her.” He turned to Morgan, so tall that she had to crane her neck to meet his eyes, but she didn’t mind. “We’ll think of something else.”

  “Like what?” Jenna argued. “Morgan, you did the background research on ReNew. Did you find anything more than what I did? Any way to shut them down, any evidence of wrongdoing?”

  Morgan didn’t blink. She merely stared at Jenna, not breaking her gaze.

  “C’mon,” Jenna continued in a friendly tone. “You said you wanted to be here, a part of our team. You’re perfect for this. Who else could pull it off?”

  Morgan was not about to allow Jenna to manipulate her like Jenna had their clients. Jenna would just have to learn to accept the fact that Morgan wasn’t going anywhere. She was
a part of Galloway and Stone. Whether Jenna liked it or not. But that didn’t mean Morgan would be taking orders from her.

  “Sorry,” she said in a businesslike tone. Much more businesslike than Jenna’s. “I’ve got an appointment. We can discuss this later.”

  And she was out the door before Jenna could make a move.

  CHAPTER 6

  Why did you do that?” Andre asked as the door slammed shut behind Morgan.

  “Do what?”

  “Treat Morgan that way. The girl once saved your life. She almost died for you, Jenna. You act like she’s a piece of garbage stuck to the bottom of your shoe and all you want is to scrape it off. Can’t you see how much she looks up to you?”

  Jenna’s laughter was both surprising and unpleasant. Not her usual full-bodied laugh that warmed his insides with anticipation. This laugh was tainted by contempt. And accompanied by a look of pity.

  “You have no idea who or what that so-called girl really is, Andre,” she said in a strained voice. “Trust me. You don’t have to worry about Morgan going inside a school filled with a bunch of emotionally disturbed and violent juvenile delinquents. It’s them you should worry about.”

  “I’m not an idiot.” A spray of spittle escaped his lips—the mouth the burn surgeons had reconstructed didn’t work quite as well as the one he’d been born with, especially not when he was too upset to focus on using the right muscles. “You don’t think I believe that whole emancipated-minor, got-her-GED-early bullshit, do you? But I do remember how she acted when you were the one in trouble. She’d kill for you, Jenna. And she’d take a bullet for you.”

  He paused, took a moment to draw in his breath, tried to temper his emotions. “I’m just saying, don’t toss that kind of loyalty aside like it’s nothing. I have no idea what happened between you two before I met you, but it’s clear that girl is trying her best to do right by you. Least you could do is have enough respect not to treat her like she’s some trained monkey you can order about as you please.”

  It was the longest speech he could remember making, his anger propelling the words out so fast he wasn’t sure Jenna even had a chance to absorb them. Sure, he hadn’t trusted Morgan when he first met her—he had a feeling he might never.

  SCKs they used to call them in Afghanistan. Stone-Cold Killers. Dangers to themselves and every marine and civilian around them. No fear but also no boundaries.

  Morgan reminded him a lot of them. So, no, he didn’t believe her or trust her. But that wasn’t what had him so upset. It was seeing Jenna act this way, totally out of character from the woman he’d grown to admire and respect.

  “What happened, Jenna?” he asked, reaching across the space between them to lay his hand on her hip. “You can tell me. What did Morgan do?” Besides almost getting herself killed while rescuing Jenna from the Zapata cartel in December.

  Jenna turned her face away, biting her lip. He thought she was about to say something, to finally tell him everything, but instead she shook her head. “Ask your friend. Nick Callahan.”

  Nick specialized in trauma and PTSD. He’d helped Andre cope with his own demons after returning from the war and now was seeing Jenna. Jenna never talked about her sessions with Nick, but Andre knew her demons went deeper than what had happened with the Zapatas.

  “I’d rather hear it from you,” Andre said softly. He knew how valuable it was to own your story, to find the strength to share it with those you loved. Telling Jenna everything he’d done in Afghanistan had been the turning point in his own recovery. He wanted her to know she could trust him in return.

  She spun away, squaring her shoulders. “Later. We need to get back to our clients.”

  “You still want to take this case?” he asked. “You know we might never be able to give them what they want. Is it for the money?” Jenna had expensive tastes, and her final paycheck from the US Postal Service had quickly been eaten up by the cost of renovating the offices. Lord only knew how she’d paid for the new furniture Morgan had acquired.

  She stopped, a small inverted V forming between her eyebrows. Glanced up at him without raising her chin, making her look like a little girl ready for a scolding. “Is that what you think? That I’m doing this for the money? That that’s why I want to send Morgan undercover, do anything we can to bring down ReNew?”

  Andre hesitated, then went for honesty just as he always did. “A contract with Greene’s company would be a huge win—”

  “A fourteen-year-old girl killed herself,” she interrupted. “Don’t you think someone should find out why?”

  Andre smiled. She raised her face to meet his gaze. He grazed a finger along her jaw, tracing its strong, willful lines. This was his Jenna, the woman he’d fallen in love with. Headstrong, volatile, moody, yes, but once she found something worth fighting for she never backed down.

  “Okay, then,” he said, opening the door for her. “Let’s get back to our clients.”

  Morgan sat in her car, an Audi Quattro she’d picked up at the airport’s long-term parking along with her latest house to crash in—God bless anniversary cruises—and listened to Jenna and Andre’s discussion. Morgan had button cameras with mics scattered throughout Jenna’s loft and the office space, all tied to an app on her phone. Oh, how Morgan loved technology.

  As she eavesdropped on Jenna and Andre arguing about whether or not Morgan should go undercover as a juvenile delinquent, she was torn between the challenge of proving herself to Andre and anger at Jenna’s lack of concern over her welfare.

  They were both wrong—and both right. That was the problem with Norms. They always tried to figure every angle, including the emotional ones. If they just looked out for Number One like she did, they wouldn’t have to worry about quirky, random influences like emotions and everyone would be the happier for it.

  And this whole suicide thing? She totally didn’t get that. The girl, BreeAnna, was out of the detention facility, reform school, treatment center, whatever you wanted to call it, it was still a prison. She was free. So why the hell did she hang herself?

  Life was too damn precious. At least Morgan’s was. Suicide. The only situation she could even remotely imagine would drive her to such an extreme final option would be if she faced what her father now faced: being locked away under someone else’s control.

  A few of the fish her father had caught had gone that route, killed themselves. Taken the easy way out, he’d called it. It made him furious, would send him off on a rampage. Not because he cared about the women or their lives—they were under a death sentence as soon as he took them. Rather because it was an act of defiance, taking away his power, spoiling his fun.

  Morgan understood that. Power was everything. She even kind of admired the fish who’d had the nerve to defy her father.

  But killing yourself when you were walking around, free to do anything you wanted? That was just wasteful.

  She glanced at the clock. Nick would be breaking for lunch in twenty minutes. Perfect timing. She called his private cell, knowing it would go to voice mail while he was in with a patient, but it was part of their negotiation: no dropping in without notice.

  “Hey, I’m bringing lunch,” she told the machine. “I want to talk about suicide.” She smiled. That should get his attention. “See you soon.”

  As she ended the call another came through. Jenna. She debated letting it go to voice mail, then decided it was better to go ahead and get the inevitable over with. Jenna would fume and fuss, she would ignore her, and in the end they would do things Morgan’s way. What choice did Jenna have?

  “I don’t know what you’re thinking, barging in on my life like this,” Jenna started. “But I warn you, Morgan—”

  “I’ve taken out all the cameras from your loft,” Morgan lied. “All I want is to help you and Andre start your business.”

  “Yeah, right. Like walking out on us just when we need you
is really going to help.”

  Again with the sending Morgan away to rot inside a prison for kids. Jenna wasn’t getting rid of her that easily. No way. “I can help you more from out here. Just give me a little time, and I’ll dig up all the dirt you need on the Greenes or ReNew or whatever.”

  “Maybe we don’t need your help. Maybe we’re better off without you in our lives at all.” Jenna paused for dramatic effect. Morgan rolled her eyes. “Maybe I should tell Andre the truth about who and what you really are.”

  “I’m surprised you haven’t already.” Morgan’s tone was one of boredom. “Doesn’t matter to me. I never asked you to lie to him—you know that’s the one thing Andre hates. Lies. He’s an honest man, Jenna. If you want to keep him, you should be honest with him as well.”

  Jenna sputtered. Morgan grinned and stopped for a light even though it was yellow. “I don’t need any relationship advice from you. Just leave us alone.”

  “Which is it, Jenna? I thought you wanted me to go undercover, solve this big case for you, so you can get the rest of Greene’s business.” The light turned, and she sped through the intersection and turned into Nick’s office building’s parking lot. “Don’t forget, Jenna. I know some things about you that would be best left forgotten.”

  “Like what?”

  You’d think a former federal agent would have a better memory. Especially about little things like homicide. “How about video of you taking out those two gangbangers last December? You could plead self-defense, of course. After all, the Zapatas pretty much declared open war on any cops. But I have to tell you, Jenna, that video of you creeping up to their car and shooting them without warning . . . it makes you look pretty damn guilty.”

  Silence. Morgan strolled across the street to the café Nick liked. She’d just reached the door when Jenna finally answered. “What do you want?”

  “Nothing. Just to work with you and Andre. I can be a huge help, Jenna. You’ll see.”