Page 18 of 4th Silence (Schock Sisters Mystery #4)

Charlie

T he headline screams at me from my laptop: “ FBI Scandal: Forensic Psychologist Charlize Schock Accused of Misconduct. ”

Breathe …

It’s one of a dozen articles splashed across media outlets. I stare at the words until they blur, my fingers hovering over the keyboard as if I can delete them through sheer will. My Louboutins tap an anxious rhythm against the floor beneath my desk, matching my racing pulse.

“This can’t be happening.” I scroll through details supposed “inside sources” shared, alleging an affair with my former Bureau boss, Garrett Hastings.

I feel lightheaded. Dots dance at the corner of my vision. My fingers and toes tingle.

“Shit.”

I’m nearing a panic attack.

Charlie Schock does not panic.

Ever.

Breathe, dammit.

The implications cascade through my mind like falling dominoes. My reputation. My credibility as an expert witness. My FBI consulting role. All of it—built from years of sacrifice—threatened by a lie.

Someone wants me off this case. Someone wants me ruined—someone like Mary.

My gaze drifts to the framed credentials on my wall—my doctorate and FBI commendations—symbols of a career I bled for.

I’ve fought too hard to get here. Too hard to let some tabloid-worthy fiction derail me.

I close my eyes again and grip the edge of my desk. Inhale, exhale. You can handle this .

“Charlie?” Meg’s voice precedes her as she appears in my doorway. She looks brighter, steadier—like someone who slept for the first time in a week. “What are you going to do?”

I draw a final deep breath. Release my death grip on the desk. “I’m going to do exactly what Mary doesn’t want me to do.” Tiffany’s face flashes in my mind, clear as ever. I close the browser tab with a decisive click and open my case files.

The facts are what matter now, not some fabricated scandal. “I’m going to find who killed Tiffany.”

“It’s okay if you need to take a break to deal with this new wrinkle,” Meg offers.

“When have you ever known me to back down from a fight?” I reach for my notepad and scribble a three-step action plan. Step one: prove Mary’s dirty. The other two steps I’ll play by ear once I do that.

My professional armor slides back into place. One panic attack averted. “This is a distraction, nothing more, and I refuse to be distracted. Tiffany deserves justice, and I’m not about to let her down because someone is trying to smear my name.”

Meg stares into her cup. “Have you talked to JJ?”

“Not yet. I take it things went okay with Jerome?”

A sly smile crosses her face. “Better than okay.”

Another crisis averted. “You’re not going to make me wear some god-awful maid of honor dress, are you?”

“The wedding is on hold for now. We’re going to try an intermediate step—living together.”

“Aren’t you doing that already?”

“Not officially.” Her grin is good to see. It softens the edges of my anxiety, if only for a moment. “Ready to get back to work?”

I close my laptop. “Whoever did this made their first big mistake. They’ve shown their hand—they’re desperate.”

I love the unwavering belief I see reflected in her eyes. “And desperate people make mistakes.”

My phone rings, displaying a name that sends a complicated flutter through my stomach—JJ. I stare at it for two rings.

“I can see on your face that it’s him,” Meg says. “Take it. I’ll be in the conference room with Mom when you’re done. She’s on a revenge rampage.”

Oh Lord. I nod and accept the call. “Hey.”

“Charlie.” JJ’s deep voice has a clipped edge. Cool. Contained. Disappointed…?

“Took you long enough to call.” I maintain a neutral and professional tone. Despite our history, despite everything, JJ is still the U.S. Attorney, and I am a liability to him. Now more than ever.

“Are you okay?” The question comes out in a whoosh, genuine concern breaking through his professional veneer.

“I’ve been better.” I absently caress the edge of my notepad with its action plan. “But I’m still standing.”

His voice drops to that familiar baritone that can command attention in any room. “It’s utter garbage. The lowest of the low.”

No hesitation, no doubt in his tone. His voice is pure steel, the kind that melts anxiety on contact when it’s directed at your enemies. One of the tightly coiled threads in my chest loosens. “It is. Garrett is a good friend, but we never?—”

“Of course not. You’re a professional above all else.” Like me . He doesn’t add those words, but they hover there, nevertheless.

“I know that, and you know that, but the rest of D.C. is having a field day.”

“Listen to me.” Rustling in the background. Pacing. Classic JJ when he’s scheming. “This impacts both of us. Your reputation, obviously, but also the Hartman case, which means my office is in the middle of the tsunami. The timing is suspicious as hell.”

“You think?” I can’t help the sarcasm. “I know this puts you in a tough spot. Again . You can save the lecture. I’m truly sorry that it’s affecting your office and Garrett. I wish I could shield you both.”

“I didn’t call to lecture you.”

“You didn’t?”

“What kind of cad do you think I am? I’m concerned about you.”

“Oh.” I can picture him perfectly—jaw set, those blue-gray eyes intense with that protective look that both comforts and irritates me. JJ always thinks he can fix everything.

“I want to make a statement,” he announces. “Today. Go on record saying these allegations are baseless and politically motivated. I can affirm your professionalism, your integrity?—“

Mom’s not the only one on a revenge rampage. “JJ?—”

“Hear me out.” His voice slides into that jury seducing cadence. “You forget I’ve known you for ten years, Charlie. I can speak to your character. The Emperor of Cold Cases defending your honor will carry weight.”

Something warm unfurls in my chest at his willingness to stick his neck out.

He’s willing to go public. To risk political fallout…

for me. “That’s appreciated, but I’m not letting you ruin your political capital.

You’ve been positioning yourself for a Senate run for years. I won’t let you throw that away.”

His voice grows rougher. “Some things matter more than politics.”

He’s certainly had a change of heart. “Do they?” I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but maybe it’s reassurance. “That’s...true, but there’s no need to panic.” I’ve got that covered .

“Whatever is between us, this is wrong. Let me do this, Charlie. For once in your stubborn life, let me help you.”

The offer is impulsive. Grand. Genuine. And utterly JJ. He never does anything halfway.

“I can fight my own battles,” I say, softening my tone to take the sting out of the words. “But thank you. Truly. Right now, what I need most is for you to look at a new development in the case.”

There’s a long, awkward pause. His ego just got sideswiped. “And that is?”

“We spoke to the security guard on duty the night Tiffany died. He gave us a copy of the security camera footage— untampered footage. The version you sent me—yes, I know it was you—was altered to delete a scene where Mary left the house, went to the cottage, and ditched the purse before she called nine-one-one. We think the murder weapon may have been concealed inside it.”

Dead silence. The knots in my chest start tangling again.. “I’ll review it. But we keep this off the books for now.”

Better than I’d hoped. “Tonight, my place. Say, eight?”

“Make sure no reporters are hanging around. We don’t want to feed the sharks.”

Chum. That’s what I feel like right now. “I owe you.”

“I expect payment in single malt scotch. The good stuff, not that mid-shelf crap you tried passing off the last time.”

“Deal,” I say, almost smiling despite everything. “See you tonight.”

After we disconnect, I notice the flashing indicator of a waiting call on the landline. I buzz Haley. Her reply makes my stomach clench. It’s Garrett Hastings.

The last person I want to talk to is the man I’ve been accused of having an affair with. But I owe him an explanation. “Garrett,” I say. “Let me lead with, I’m sorry.”

“Charlie.” His voice is strained, little of his usual smooth confidence evident. “My phone’s been ringing non-stop—the director, the Justice Department, every journalist from here to hell and back.” He pauses, exhaling heavily. “Talk to me. What in the name of God just happened?”

Like me, his reputation and career are on the line, not to mention his thirty-some-year marriage. And I’m the grenade that just exploded in the middle of it.

I can’t sit, so I jump to my feet and go to the window. Frost has gathered in the corners, and the view is not impressive, but if I crane my neck, I can see the front sidewalk. Now it’s clean, but my life’s a wreck.

Breathe . I stare at the framed credentials on the wall again, drawing strength from them.

“Someone’s trying very hard to discredit me, and they’ve dragged you into it.

” I give him a brief rundown on our investigation into Tiffany’s case.

He interrupts more than once to ask questions.

To express disbelief. I refrain from telling him my theory regarding who’s behind the attack.

Finally, he sighs. “Those with power and fame often believe they’re above the law.

You and I know differently. They attack us personally when they’ve got no other means of stopping us.

We’re not going to let them destroy your investigation—or your reputation.

The work you and Meg are doing matters too much, and you have friends here at the Bureau.

” The sound of his door shutting and the squeak of his chair amplify his message.

“I’ve got resources, databases, and enough balls to face this head-on.

Whatever you need, it’s yours. No strings attached. ”

That’s the Garrett, I know—formal, fearless, and full of brass.