Lack of Jurisdiction

by G. K. Parks

  Forcing myself to focus on the stack of files on my desk, I let out a sigh. My private sector days were coming to a close, and before that happened, I needed to finalize a couple of corporate gigs and an investigation I was conducting. The work was already completed, but I had to mail my reports, evidence, and invoices to the relevant parties.

  Supervisory Special Agent Mark Jablonsky, my mentor, opened the door to my office. He looked around, making sure I was alone, before flipping the sign to closed and locking the door. He took a seat in my client chair and snatched the top folder off the stack.

  “Ready to leave this behind, Alex?” he asked. I gave him a bittersweet smile and continued writing out the envelope. “You were never meant for this. I’m glad you’re coming home. The Office of International Operations hasn’t been the same for the last two years, despite the numerous occasions you’ve graced us with your presence.”

  “But strangely enough, I’m going to miss this.” I stuffed a few documents in the envelope and sealed it. “Not the corporate crap with security consultations or acting like the scarlet letter brigade, but some of it did matter.”

  “Like Marty?” Mark asked.

  James Martin was my first client after I resigned from the OIO and entered the private sector. I cut my teeth working personal security for him and then corporate security for his company, Martin Technologies, but that was before our relationship took off. Now we were just pleasure, no business. In my mind, the two didn’t mix, even if he offered to rehire me on a regular basis, almost as often as he attempted to get me to move in with him.

  “Yeah, I guess we can say he counts for something. But I will miss the guys at the precinct. Consulting for the police department and helping out the major crimes division gave my life some perspective.”

  Mark snorted. “For god’s sakes, Parker, you act like you’re moving to Antarctica or something. You’ll still see your cop buddies, and you’ll remember just how aggravating and cumbersome it is to deal with other law enforcement agencies, particularly the PD.” He laughed. “You’re coming back to work. You wanted this. It’s time.” He pressed his lips together, worried what my reaction would be. “You decided a couple of months ago to try to get reinstated.” He swallowed. “You’ve finally dealt with the real reason you left, so it’s time.”

  “Who are you kidding, Jablonsky? The only reason I got my badge back is because of the security breach. Thirty-seven active ops were compromised, and every undercover agent had to be recalled. You were running low on manpower and resources, so you had to scrape the bottom of the barrel.”

  “That’s not completely accurate, and you know it.”

  “Did Director Kendall tell you what’s going to happen after I complete this assignment? Maybe I shouldn’t be throwing in the towel on my private sector work just yet.”

  “Let’s take things one day at a time. The official briefing is in two days, but I can tell you now it’s a long-term undercover assignment. It’ll take some time to get your background planted in order to ensure your cover doesn’t seem rushed or questionable. This will be slow going.”

  “Great,” I muttered sarcastically. Undercover work was never my favorite, but it was part of the job. And I loved the job, or at least there was a time that I did. Then I spent a long time hating the job and myself. At the moment, I still wasn’t sure where I would land on any of this. “Do you know how long this might last?”

  “A few months at least.” He shook his head. “They’ll tell you more at the briefing. But no one can know you’ve been reinstated. After the security breach, everything at the office is hush-hush.”

  “I do remember how this works.”

  “Unless you file the proper forms and move things through the official channels, you can’t tell Marty either. It’s for his safety and yours.”

  “Which is precisely why I didn’t bother with the forms.”

  After discussing the possible ramifications in-depth with Mark, it seemed keeping my personal life separate from my work life was the best course of action. The point of the secrecy was to safeguard undercover operatives and their loved ones by creating an information black hole. The less everyone knew, the better.

  Mark stood, giving the stack of paperwork a final glance and dropping the file he skimmed back on top. “For official reasons, I’m not saying this, but if you want to continue your P.I. work, just make sure it stays under the radar. Moonlighting is frowned upon by the federal government, even though we all do it occasionally. But if it’ll make you feel better to continue helping the downtrodden, I won’t take that away from you.”

  “Right, because I’m gonna have tons of spare time, especially if I get stuck pretending to be someone else 24/7.”

  “This assignment shouldn’t be like that. We’ll see, but from what I’ve been told, your cover won’t require anything that extensive.” He went to the door. “But just in case, I’d suggest you enjoy the rest of today and tomorrow.”

  “Thanks. I’ll try.”

  A couple of hours later, I finished the paperwork. Giving my office a final look, I collected my belongings, made sure the mini-fridge was empty, grabbed my credentials out of the top drawer, and locked up. There was no telling when I’d be back. Was another chapter of my life closing? Or was this a book I would reread after my assignment at the OIO concluded? Only time would tell.

  After dropping the stack of mail into the box, I drove to Martin’s. Two days wasn’t a lot of time, but I wanted to spend it with him. Of course, he would be spending most of it at work since multinational corporations didn’t run themselves.

  To kill time, I decided to put in a few hours on the equipment in his home gym. I work out often, but it was important to be back in fighting shape. Undercover assignments typically mean minimal support, so a girl needs to be able to take care of herself. Maybe when Martin gets home, I could convince his bodyguard, Jones, a.k.a. Bruiser, to spar a couple of rounds. Bruiser had extensive military training, and he and Martin sparred on occasion. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind mixing it up with his predecessor.

  After a hundred push-ups, I dropped to the floor. My arms and back were the least toned because of my previously mending ribs. Thankfully, they finished healing just in time. It had only been a few days since my reinstatement, but this was the most aggressive workout I’d undertaken in a while. So there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that I’d be sore tomorrow. Still, that was a much better price to pay than to be easily overpowered by some goon. Granted, I was only a hundred and ten pounds, but those hundred and ten pounds had kicked the asses of men twice my size. Unfortunately, in a physical fight, size does matter. So it was best to avoid a brawl whenever possible. However, when push came to shove, I needed to be able to hold my own.

  I was in the process of stretching when the garage door opened. A few seconds later, Martin appeared with his driver and bodyguard in tow. He smiled, arching an eyebrow at my pose.

  “I thought you hated yoga,” he commented.

  “It’s not yoga,” I insisted, straightening up. “I was stretching.” I shifted my focus to the two other men and gave them each a friendly nod.

  “Well, whatever you call it,” Martin smirked, deciding to keep the cruder commentary to himself, “it looks like it’s working.” His eyes twinkled, and I knew it was working for him.

  “Shut up.”

  “I was just about to send Marcal to pick up dinner. Do you want anything special?” I shook my head, and his driver disappeared back the way he came. “Are you staying tonight?”

  “And tomorrow, if that’s okay.”

  “It’s more than okay.” He remembered Bruiser was standing awkwardly behind him. “Jones, you can take off, and don’t worry about meeting me tomorrow at the office. I’ll be working from home.”

  “Okay,” Bruiser said, moving toward the door.

  “Hang on,” I called. “Can I persuade you to go a couple of rounds before you call it a night? It’s been a while since I’ve stepped into the ri
ng, and I’m itching for a sparring partner.” Bruiser stopped dead in his tracks and spun to face me, an amused grin on his face. This would be fun.

  Martin pointed an accusatory finger at me. “Don’t hurt my bodyguard.” He headed for the stairs. “I have a couple of calls to make, but I’ll make this quick if you do the same.”

  “Absolutely.”

  He brushed past, kissing my cheek and lingering just long enough to let out an appreciative little growl. “Bruiser, you don’t have to agree to this,” he said, disappearing up the steps.

  While Bruiser changed and limbered up, I stepped into the boxing ring that Martin had set up in the middle of his first floor. After shoulder surgery, Martin decided to take up boxing to rebuild muscle mass. So he purchased a ring and more boxing equipment than any normal person could ever need, particularly when his interests tended to change as often as the weather. But he had the money, and it seemed like added incentive for me to visit.

  “So what gives?” Bruiser asked, stepping into the ring. “You’ve never made a request like this before. Why the sudden interest?”

  “Well, I can’t exactly go mano a mano with the boss man. He’d pull his punches, and I’d probably break his jaw,” I joked. “Basically, I just want to make sure I still got it.”

  “All right,” he shrugged, “what did you have in mind?”

  “Grappling, basic self-defense, nothing too violent.”

  “Just to be clear, you’re not gonna break my jaw either, right?” He grinned.

  “As long as you don’t break mine. And the nose is off limits too.”

  We spent the next forty-five minutes working on different holds, breaking out of them, and alternating between a mix of jujitsu and Krav Maga maneuvers. By the end, I was on top of Bruiser with my arms around his neck and my legs scissored around his torso. He slapped his palm against the mat, and I released him.

  “I don’t think you’ve lost it,” Bruiser complimented, running a hand against the back of his neck. “But I’m gonna call it quits before I lose something besides my dignity.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “Anytime.” He grabbed his bag and clothing from earlier and disappeared just as Marcal came in with dinner.

  “Perfect timing,” Martin said, appearing out of nowhere and reaching for the takeout bag. He handed Marcal something. “You and your wife enjoy the play tonight.” Marcal wished us a good evening and disappeared after Bruiser. “It looks like it’s just the two of us.”

  “Let me guess, I’m playing bodyguard for the next forty-eight hours.” It was a joke of sorts. But since his staff had been dismissed and he pulled some strings to stay home, technically, my nine millimeter and I were the only line of defense, not that he had personal security guarding the perimeter under normal circumstances.

  “I’m hoping that won’t be necessary.” He waited for me to meet him on the stairs. “But some privacy might be.”

  “Well, this impromptu bodyguarding requires payment. A massage might be in order,” I added, heading toward the guest bathroom that somehow ended up being stocked with the same products I used on a regular basis.

  “That can be arranged.” He began unpacking dinner. “But only if you teach me that last hold you performed.”

  “You were watching?” I turned on the water and stripped out of my sweaty clothes.

  “Well, someone needed to make sure Jones was protected.”

  “And what about me?”

  “If he hurt you, I’d kill him. The only question would be if I fired him before or after he was dead.”

  Rolling my eyes, I stepped under the hot water. Two days and then everything would change. If I disappeared for months at a time, what would Martin think? What would he do? And it’s not like I could tell him what was going on in any real detail. A lot had changed between us, and I wasn’t sure how we’d fare in the face of my reinstatement.

  When we first met, James Martin was a womanizing playboy. But at some point, that came to an end. And when we started dating over a year ago, I made it very clear that monogamy was important. We’d been through more life and death situations than seemed statistically probable, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that he loved me and would, in fact, try to kill someone who was intent on hurting me, Bruiser aside. So how could I hurt him like this? Suddenly, going back to the OIO didn’t seem like a good decision, but it was too late now.

  After showering, I returned to the kitchen. Dinner was on the table, but before I sat down, the phone rang. Martin looked at it and then at me.

  “Go ahead.” I jerked my chin toward the ringing. “I’m not going anywhere.” Yet.

  Two

  “Good morning, beautiful,” Martin cooed in my ear, brushing his lips against mine. His fingers ran through my hair, and I opened my eyes. It better be a decent hour, or I would hurt him. “I’m going downstairs to get some work done.”

  “Okay,” I mumbled, wondering why he felt the need to share unimportant details like that. “I’ll be here.”

  His brow furrowed with an obvious question he wanted to ask. “Alex, I love it when you’re here. I wish you’d stay all the time, but why are you here?”

  “What?” Blinking, I struggled to process through the question.

  “It hasn’t even been a week since you kicked me out of your apartment.” He exhaled. After my last case, he abruptly cut a business trip short and practically moved in because of a recent string of close calls. “But here you are. And you accuse me of being the clingy one.” He smirked. “Shall I call you Reynolds or Saran?”

  “I’m not cling wrap. But I have another job starting soon, and I don’t know what the hours will be like. There might be some traveling involved. We might not get a chance to see each other much for the next few months.”

  “You’ve mentioned it,” his eyes narrowed, “but you didn’t say what it was.”

  “Nothing I haven’t done before. It’s a lot of paperwork. Some analysis. Y’know, the usual.” Well, the usual for a federal agent.

  He nodded. “Go back to sleep.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I’ll come back to bed when I finish work, and we can have a repeat of last night.”

  “You still owe me a massage,” I murmured, rolling over and snuggling under the blankets.

  * * *

  “You seem different,” Martin said. He had spent the last few hours sneaking glances while he reviewed the paperwork for dissolving the short-lived merger he made with Hover Designs.

  I looked up from working my way through a book of Sudoku puzzles and arched my eyebrows. “How so?”

  He tucked the paperwork into his briefcase and closed the lid. “I can’t seem to put my finger on it.”

  “Well, let’s make this easier. No, I didn’t get a haircut. And this isn’t a new outfit. Maybe you’re just not used to seeing me this often.”

  “Or maybe it’s the lack of bandages,” he quipped. “I greatly prefer you in one piece without the assistance of Ace or Band-Aid.” He continued the uncomfortable scrutiny. “But it’s not that either.”

  I put the book down, no longer needing to find something to do. “What can I say? It’s a mystery.” He went to the fridge and opened the door, grabbing the steaks that were marinating. “Do you want help?”

  “Not with dinner.” He pulled out the red potatoes, a handful of spices, and a couple of pans. “But maybe you can help me figure out what’s different.”

  Nothing was different. The only thing different in my life was my return to my old job. Was he on to me? Did he overhear one of my conversations with Mark and was trying to goad me into admitting what my new job really was? Or was I just a paranoid lunatic? It was probably the latter, which meant nothing had jeopardized the status quo.

  “Everything’s the same. I start a new job tomorrow, and you’ll go back to the office. The only thing different is the way you’ve been acting since that incident at my apartment. The old Martin would never take off work or cut trips sho
rt because I was spending the night.”

  “Well, he was an idiot.” He smirked, dicing the potatoes. “If a man in my position can’t work from home on occasion, then there is definitely something wrong with this picture.” He went to the pantry for the olive oil. “That’s it.” He spun to face me, some magnificent revelation reflecting in his eyes. “You’re calm, relaxed, maybe even happy. For the first time since we met, you actually seem comfortable in your own skin.” He put the container down and leaned against the counter. “You haven’t wasted your breath berating my choices or unilateral decisions in,” he checked his watch, playing up the dramatics, “the last five days. I’d definitely say that means you’ve found some inner peace.”

  I snorted. “Are you telling me I’ve actually learned to tolerate you?”

  He smiled. “Perhaps.” He went back to preparing dinner. “But whatever it is, I’m glad that you seem content. It’s a nice change from the way you normally carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, always so grim and morbid.”

  “I think you’re delusional.” But I contemplated just how true his words were. “The reason I’m so relaxed is because someone finally rubbed those kinks out of my neck and back. Thank you, by the way.”

  We bantered and playfully flirted through dinner and dessert. It felt normal. It was the perfect evening, and it was something that I was glad to have the memory of in the event I was cast into a long-term assignment with no contact. The first time I clipped on the badge, I didn’t have any personal ties. I didn’t have a family to worry about, and my only friends were on the job. This time, things were different, particularly since I couldn’t tell him what was about to happen.

  The next morning, he watched as I packed my belongings into my weekend bag and conducted a final check for anything I might have left behind. Normally, I wasn’t too worried, and he sensed the difference. His brows knit together in confusion, but he remained silent.