Page 18 of Missing Justice
Chapter Four
The Smithsonian was relatively quiet for a Tuesday morning, which Taylor suspected was exactly how Grey preferred it.
She sat on a bench in front of a floor to ceiling sculpture and wondered what Matt was doing.
Who cares?She hadn’t heard a peep from him after he’d dropped her at the J. Edgar Building the previous day. Not even an emoji response to her thank-you text for Felicity’s dental records.
She’d halfway expected a booty call last night, but no dice. Zip. Her hours had been spent in the bowels of her department with the other three members of her team going over every note, picture, and statement pertaining to the Jarvis case until well after ten, then a frozen dinner and a glass of wine consumed at her laptop at home while she Googled Matt and the firm he worked for.
Schock Investigations consisted of Meg and Charlize—Charlie—Schock, two sisters with a diverse and extremely sought-after team of professionals who specialized in missing persons and cold cases. Their claim to fame was taking on the cases law enforcement had failed to solve.
Meg was an elite forensic sculptor. A Yale fine arts graduate, she taught forensic sculpting for an international forensics organization. Previously, she’d worked with law enforcement agencies worldwide. Charlie had gone to school for psychology and specialized in criminal forensics, evaluating and profiling criminals, and also providing expert testimony in judicial cases. She had field experience, too, having one time been an agent for the FBI for a few short years before she left the Bureau to join her sister in building their own investigative service.
Sometime around midnight, Taylor had finally crawled into bed, setting her phone in its charging station and double-checking her texts and voicemails to make sure she hadn’t somehow missed one from him.
Again, zip. She might as well have fallen off the face of the planet.
She was stupid for hoping all those things he’d said to her the previous day had actually meant something to him.
Maybe he caught another case, she told herself for the third time since she’d gotten up that morning. But really, how much time did it take to send a text?
“Well, that’s depressing,” a male voice said from behind her.
Taylor looked over her left shoulder to find Mitch Monroe eyeing the Nevelson sculpture, hands in his jean pockets as he rocked back and forth lightly on his heels. A red T-shirt under his jean jacket read, “Don’t piss me off or I’ll stop taking my pills.”
The smartass shirt seemed appropriate for the former agent who’d gone to the dark side and had a nasty reputation for taking people down with him.
Please tell me Grey didn’t pawn me off on him.
Taylor returned her attention to the sculpture. “Where’s your boss?”
“Why did this artist use all black?” Mitch asked, ignoring her question. “Is this some kind of Goth shit or something? It’s so…bleak.”
A sigh escaped Taylor’s lips. “Goth didn’t exist when Ms. Nevelson created her art. The program says she liked black paint because it conjures totality, peace, and greatness.”
“Greatness, huh? Maybe I should wear more black.”
God save her.
Getting away from the land mine behind her would be a smart move. She grabbed her bag and started to stand when Grey slipped onto the bench to her right.
Damn, he moved like a stealth bomber. “Wasn’t sure you were going to join the party,” she said.
He wore dark sunglasses, a smart suit, and tie. Unlike his partner, who now stared at the sculpture with a new appreciation on his face, Grey was clean-shaven and had his hair slicked back. He might have left the FBI, but he was Bureau to his bones. “Sorry. Had to park the car.”
“His new Challenger,” Mitch said with a hint of jealousy. “He totaled his last one, and he’s particular where he parks the shiny new wheels now.”
Grey gave her the tiniest of affirmative smiles. Taylor lowered her purse again, glancing around to make sure they were alone. No one else was in this section of the 4th floor. Maybe it was too early for art connoisseurs or other people didn’t like black either.
“Dental recs confirm it’s Felicity,” she told Grey, settling back into her place on the bench.
He stared straight ahead as if he were enjoying the art, even though they were alone and his sunglasses had to darken the black sculpture even further. “You obtained dental records already? That was fast.”
“I sweet talked the PI who’s working for Walt—he had a copy. Then I dropped your name with the ME. I told her I had your notes from the case. Dr. Smith fast-tracked the bones with the forensic anthropologist assigned to the case. Thank you for that, by the way. I don’t throw your name around often, but it does help with certain people. The forensic gal had a preliminary report on my desk before I got to work. Being as how the whole thing revolved around the senator, it wasn’t hard to expedite the process, but I do appreciate using your name as an ace card. Sorry I didn’t ask you first.”
Grey chuckled. “I would have done the same in your position.”
“Who’s this PI?” Mitch huffed.
