by RC Boldt
He settles into the chair a few feet away from me and unpacks his laptop. “Just a heads-up…if you’re planning to complain to my agency about me working on this with you, it’s out of their hands.”
“And by that, you mean…?” I murmur, already only half listening. I’m distracted by the notably significant white crescents on each of the man’s thumbnails in the image before me.
“Like I said before…the command came from higher up.” There’s the briefest pause. “Above my agency.”
My breath lodges in my chest as his words register, and dread trickles through my veins. Above the FBI?
Schooling my tone to be nonchalant and almost bored, I ask, “Exactly how high above your agency are we talking?”
He shifts in his chair, the wood creaking slightly, the movement indicating discomfort or nervousness. Reticence to answer. “From the Vice President himself.”
My lungs seize, and my heart skips a beat. The Vice President is the one who appointed Agent Lattimer?
You knew you’d be walking into a motherfucking hornet’s nest.
Using every ounce of my willpower to calm my heart rate and ease my breathing, knowing he’s watching me with hawk-like attention, I feign studying the image on the screen to buy myself time to regain composure.
“Is there a particular reason the VP would request your involvement?”
His hesitation sends shivers of unease rippling through me and has my eyes snapping up to observe him. “I’m good at what I do.”
I don’t bother to stifle my skepticism, and he scrubs a hand down his face, suddenly appearing weary before my eyes when he huffs out a harsh, humorless sound. “Relentless is what I’ve been told. I don’t rest until I get the bastards who hurt these kids.”
I inspect his features for any indication that he’s being dishonest but come up empty. Deep creases between his brows attest to his sincerity, which further complicates this quandary. My involvement in this investigation is being watched by an FBI agent, but is Agent Lattimer’s intent to cover up the truth? Or is he simply a pawn?
“You do a ton of work with law enforcement.” This is a statement, so I remain quiet and wait for him to continue. “You don’t strike me as a pushover or the pearl-clutching type, so I’m going to speak frankly, if you don’t mind.”
I nod, curious as to where he’s going with this.
His eyes are in a continuous state of surveying, ever so watchful. “I’m always ready to nail asses to the wall. Anyone who breaks the law.” A muscle in his jaw flexes. “Especially anyone who dares to fuck with innocent kids.”
The latter I support one hundred percent. The former...not nearly as much. But I get it. This is all he knows—perhaps all he’s ever known.
An average person doesn’t seek revenge on a near-daily basis. They don’t have ghosts of their past haunting them.
They don’t suffer nightmares that never cease.
“The Vice President trusts that I’ll be objective and unbiased with everything pertaining to this investigation.” Then he shrugs. “And he knows my stellar record of putting nasty bastards away.”
I raise my eyebrows. “I was under the impression agents worked in pairs.” Casting a pointed glance at the door, I challenge, “Am I to assume your partner’s not far behind?”
A sudden intensity rushes into his features like a rapidly approaching thunderstorm.
“I’m with the FBI’s child crimes division. And I’m not just blowing hot air up your ass when I say I’m the best at what I do.”
Without tearing his eyes from mine, he leans toward me, and the fierce urgency in his voice is compelling. “I never give up on these kids, which is why I’m currently without a partner. They back down when I don’t.”
The conviction in his tone has me wishing he’d been around to save me years ago. But if I’ve learned anything in life, it’s that tossing around wishes is pointless.
I make my own fate these days.
Clearing my throat, I get back on track. “Are you closely acquainted with the mayor?”
It’s difficult to keep my tone devoid of distrust. Lattimer’s explanation of being good at what he does doesn’t quite cut it. It leads me to believe there’s much more there than he’s letting on.
There must be an underlying reason for Lattimer’s appointment on this investigation. If I hadn’t been blindsided by him being added to the mix, I would’ve been able to do my homework and research him.
“No, I’ve never even met him,” he answers quickly, and it seems honest. But that only makes this all the more intriguing.
“Hmm.” That’s all I say in response. I allow myself to study him once again, and instead of further addressing what he’s just revealed, I decide to lob a surprise question at him. “So, Agent Lattimer… I assume you have a first name?”
“Landon.”
“Landon.” I let the name roll over my tongue slowly while I survey him, never breaking eye contact. His gaze drops to my lips for the briefest of seconds. “Landon Lattimer.”
He stares at me, expression deadpanned. “My mother had a thing for alliteration.”
“Interesting.” After a brief pause, I continue. “Well, Agent Lattimer—”
“Yes, Dr. Alexandre?”
“Call me Kennedy. Please.” With a brief pause, I continue. “As I said, I normally work alone. This way, I have no distractions, and I know I’ll be able to verify evidence accordingly, and most importantly, accurately. But now…” I trail off, frantically scouring my brain for a way to unload him from what was meant to be my investigation.
“But now, I’m on board, already throwing a wrench in your plans.” He leans back in his chair and links his fingers behind his head. “Not only that, but you’ve probably never had the opportunity to work with a handsome and intelligent FBI agent like myself.”
The odd dichotomy of a sarcastic and somber delivery of preening words has me struggling to bite back a tiny groan. I drag my eyes from his, but my attention snags on the way his button-down shirt draws tight around his biceps and the way the fabric clings to his flat stomach.
Oh, fuck. What’s happening to me? It must be the sudden and unexpected appearance of this man who exudes confident masculinity.
“Can we keep the conversation to a minimum? Because I need to get to work.”
“I’m ready to hit the ground running, Doctor.”
“Kennedy,” I grit out, turning my eyes to the file contents before me. “Just Kennedy’s fine.” I have a feeling he’ll call me Doctor just to irritate me if I don’t at least throw him this little bone.
“Kennedy,” he murmurs softly. The way he says my name sends a shiver rolling through me. Irritation at my odd response stifles it. “You tell me what you’d like to do first.”
Without looking at him, I study the image. “My first order of business is to get a look at the hands and forearms from the video footage and compare them to those taken of the mayor.” I sift through a few more frames of the video.
Politicians are known to be the most cunning of bullies. Like wolves in sheep’s clothing, they’re devious to no end, and they’ll stop at nothing to get their way.
If the mayor is the man in these videos, it’s guaran-fucking-teed that his cronies will attempt to silence the girl. These kinds of people stick together and have far too much at stake.
If one falls, it’s like a house of cards.
“I figure for Chad to be on board, these videos have to be pretty damn disturbing.” He hesitates. “Look, I know it’ll come off as me thinking I’m better than you—and I don’t mean it that way—but if you want to look at those videos together, let me know.”
Sliding him a curious glance, I prod, “You don’t think I can handle it?”
Does he know something I don’t?
He scrubs a hand along his sharp jawline, brown eyes focused like he’s a predator out for blood. “Not at all. It’s just…never easy to witness the rape of a child. I’ve seen hardened agents
and detectives with years of experience empty their stomachs after seeing some of that shit.”
“I appreciate your concern, but I’ve learned to detach from my emotions to have a clear mindset. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to gather the necessary evidence or detect nuances.”
What I’m not disclosing is that this is one of the prime reasons I prefer working alone. Because I’d be arrogant to claim there’s no possibility of me being triggered by some of the vile abuse I witness in certain investigations.
I’m not always able to remain detached and come out unscathed. But the last thing I want or need is some cocky FBI agent gaining knowledge of this.
Each time I see video or photographic evidence, simply knowing that the crime has already been committed and the child will never be the same—that they will never be able to look at life through the lens of innocence as they once did—eviscerates me.
Every. Single. Time.
It’s one of the hardest facets of this job, because deep down, a part of me that’s been buried is forced to relive the past. But I do this—I sacrifice my own peace of mind—for these children in hopes that one day, I’ll somehow gain redemption.
That I’ll be a little less tainted.
That maybe—just maybe—someday, someone out there will deem me worthy of their love.
Chapter 26
Kennedy
Two and a half hours later, Agent Lattimer remains quiet in his intense concentration, which I’ve been grateful for.
In the single glance I sent his way earlier, a deep crease had bisected his brows while his fingers danced along the keyboard intermittently. He’s been scouring for any leads on digital footprints for the uploaded video as well as tracing alibis.
When his cell phone rings, I don’t spare him a glance. I’m too entranced by fine details I’ve noticed in the man’s left hand.
When Lattimer’s deep voice rasps out, “How’s the most gorgeous woman on this earth?” an unexpected jolt of dismay staggers through me. I heave it aside, intent on dismissing it. This goddamn man has disrupted far too much of my day and plans. That’s all it is.
His voice holds the barest trace of a Southern accent that wasn’t present earlier. It’s unlikely the average person would notice now, but for someone like me, paying close attention to every detail matters exponentially, so it stands out.
I wonder if he says that to everyone or if he’s in a committed relationship. Not that I care. I don’t.
“What’s that?” He pauses as the woman on the other end speaks, then lets out a subtle rumble of a laugh. It has a husky yet affectionate quality. “Of course, it’s not a problem. You know I’d do anything for my favorite lady.”
I wrinkle my nose while still studying the video still-shot. I shouldn’t be listening to this conversation. Normally, nothing fazes me nor draws my interest away from my work.
This damn agent has thrown me off, and it pisses me off.
“I’ll look at it after work.” A pause. “Oh, yeah. That sounds real good. I can’t wait.” What the hell? He’d better not be engaging in sex talk while I’m sitting here a mere three feet away. “Mmm, you know that’s my favorite.”
For fuck’s sake.
“Yes, ma’am. Love you, too. Bye.” He ends the call and shifts in his chair, leaning toward his laptop.
I wait a beat before offering a noncommittal, “If you need to call it a day, go on ahead,” without sparing him a look. “I’m just about finished.”
“I’m fine, but thanks for the offer.”
I note the intriguing bulge in a particular vein along the back of the suspect’s hand. “It sounds as if your girlfriend needs you. Like I said, I’m about to call it quits anyway, so feel free to head out.”
A trace of jealousy flares to life, which is absurd. I’m not the jealous kind, nor have I ever been. Not only that, but I don’t get jealous over a man I barely know.
When I finally cast a glance his way, the pit of my stomach churns at his expression, and I’m quick to avert my eyes. I scramble to remain cool and note where I will pick up in watching the video footage.
Amusement colors his voice just like it etched his features. “What makes you think I was talking to my girlfriend?”
I power down my laptop, disconnect it from the projector, and slide my items inside my bag, avoiding his eyes. “No need to interrogate me, Agent Lattimer. It was simply a remark.”
“Ahh, but was it? Because I swear I detected a bit of jealousy.”
It’s far too tempting to slap the smugness out of him. Rising from my seat, I zip up my bag and sling the strap over my shoulder, leveling Lattimer with a cool look. “Goodbye, Agent Lattimer.”
Before I can brush past him, he darts up from his chair and blocks me. Irritation melds with each of my words. “If you would be so kind as to let me pass.”
He leans in closer. “Did you think just because I called her the most gorgeous woman on earth that I was talking to my girlfriend?”
I force my words through gritted teeth. “Have a good evening, Agent Lattimer.” I attempt to skirt around him, but he blocks me with his body once again.
Lowering his head, he brings us eye to eye. His voice descends to a gravelly murmur that curls around me in what feels like a soft caress. I find my eyes tracking the movement of his mouth as he speaks, following the slope and the fullness of his upper lip. “My mother’s the most gorgeous woman on this earth, and I’ll challenge any man who says otherwise.”
It takes a second for my brain to snap out of its idiotic trance and register his words. I jerk my gaze from his mouth and collide with his eyes. Tiny lines fan out from the edges.
“Tell the truth, Doc. You were just a little curious, weren’t you?”
I let out a tired sigh. “Move aside, Lattimer.”
He studies me for a long beat before turning to allow me to pass. I make it to the door, my hand landing on the handle when he speaks.
“Same time tomorrow, partner?”
My spine stiffens, and I honestly don’t know how I’m going to suffer through day after day with him lingering about. Regardless of how charming he may seem, I can’t let him dismantle the defenses I’ve had in place for years.
Too much depends on this. Too many people depend on me. I can’t afford to have weak moments like I just had.
I exhale a slow breath and slip out the door without a word.
I need to set my mind to rights and there’s only one way to go about that.
It’s time to hunt once again.
Even the most secure sites can be hacked if you’re committed and patient. I learned that long ago.
Forensic computing knowledge is something anyone can teach themselves if they commit to it. It’s well worth the time and effort spent learning it and has paid off in my case.
The FBI’s database takes some time before I can sneak past its safeguards, but it’s worth it when I access the file.
And by file, I mean it should probably have its own database. Once I read through his military record—former Marine, specifically a scout sniper who received a Medal of Honor—I drum my fingers along the table and squint at the screen as if there’s a hidden message for me to decode.
Cynicism and doubt have ruled me for years…and with good cause. After everything I’ve been through, there’s no way in hell I’m going to shit rainbows out my ass and go around singing that life is perfect and everything’s hunky-dory.
But when I read what he did for his men while they were deployed, it gives me pause.
A scout sniper with the Marines, when members of his squad went missing after being ambushed by insurgents, Lattimer was the one who found their bodies.
Under heavy enemy fire, he’d dragged the bodies of his fellow Marines to temporary safety until they could be extracted and had singlehandedly killed insurgents who had been in the process of stripping the fallen men’s bodies of their weapons, armor, and radios.
I stare at the screen. “You did something her
oic, but you’re tied up with the VP now…” Drumming my fingers again, I murmur, “What’s your real story, Lattimer?”
Clicking to dive deeper into his file, moving on from his four years in the Marines, I scour the part of his personnel file dedicated to his time with the Bureau. It’s eyebrow-raising but not shocking, because I can easily imagine Lattimer doing what’s been documented.
His official reprimands include punching and breaking the man’s nose in order to “make him get his goddamn hands off” of a young female victim. Afterward, Agent Lattimer claimed his actions were warranted because the assailant had not cooperated with the agents involved in the arrest.
One account after another describes incidents where Lattimer used brute force on a pedophile while each one of the young victims involved corroborated his claims and emphasized how grateful they were for his intervention.
Interesting. Still…I’m hesitant to place any trust in him. Something doesn’t quite fit. Between the odd and completely unexpected assignment given to him by the Vice President, it reeks. And I’ve been acquainted with that nasty smell for years.
It’s the scent of depravity and evil. I need to remind myself that anyone associated with it, regardless of how charming and handsome they may be, is guilty by association.
I cover my tracks and exit the database, shoving back from my laptop. Tipping my head from side to side to stretch my neck, I straighten and head over to the kitchen and reach inside one of the lower cabinets.
To the far rear right corner is where I affixed my syringe needles. Carefully withdrawing one, I shut the cabinet door and stare down at the weapon I’ll use on the next monster.
I should feel remorse or guilt at the prospect of taking a human life. But I don’t. They broke something in me long ago that can’t be repaired.
They branded me for life, stealing something that I can never again have.
It fuels me, serving as a reminder of the horrors still out there. It reminds me that although my job is never-ending and can exhaust me emotionally and physically, I can’t give up on the kids who still need me. Because if I do, I’ve failed and become the utmost traitor.