by RJ Blain
“If I am considered a suspect or accomplice in this kidnapping case, I respectfully request a lawyer and invoke my rights to legal counsel.” I shook, and I couldn’t tell if it was a result of the coffee, my growing rage, or shock at the open hostility of the man standing at the head of the table.
“We’re merely establishing all of the information for this case from your perspective, Agent Johnson.”
I kept my mouth shut, clenching my teeth so hard my jaw ached. The silence stretched on, and chairs squeaked as the gathered FBI employees fidgeted and waited for one of us to crack.
The only thing I was cracking was my mug. The hot coffee on my leg hurt and was annoying, but I forced myself to sit still, chin lifted, back straight, and my gaze focused on the gray-haired man I wanted to kick in the face more than I wanted my next breath.
I had worked too hard and risked too much to have my efforts undermined by anyone.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. This is ridiculous. Someone get Agent Johnson a towel and a new cup of coffee,” Mitch said, rising from his seat and slapping his hand to the table.
My adversary jumped, startled by the interruption. I remained still and quiet.
“No one asked you for your opinion, Agent Jeffreys.”
“Agent Simons, she’s invoked her right to counsel. We’re stonewalled. Good job. Go ahead and question her. We can sit here all day and get nothing done as a result, thanks to you. Did you even bother reading the briefing report, or did you breeze over here from Washington chasing after some conspiracy theory?” Mitch circled the table and headed to the door.
“You weren’t given permission to leave,” Simons said.
“With all due respect, sir, you aren’t my boss, nor are you my supervisor. You aren’t even in my division. I have real work to do, and since we won’t be getting any information out of this session, I’m going to put my skills to good use.” Pausing long enough to fire a glare at Simons, Mitch left the conference room, slamming the door behind him. Clearing his throat, Donny rose from his seat, inclined his head, and excused himself. The other two CARD members followed in his wake.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To work,” Paul answered, hesitating long enough to tip me a two-fingered salute before leaving the room. “This case isn’t closed yet.”
Jake shrugged and rose, sliding his hands into his pockets. “This is sidelined until a good lawyer gets here. I recommend you send for the best. Agent Johnson won’t accept anything less. She isn’t going to say a word until legal council is provided. She won’t move out of that chair, no matter how long she has to wait, no matter how much hot coffee has been spilled on her, and I really doubt she’ll allow anyone to touch her until you’re putting her in cuffs after reading her rights and declaring formal charges. I sure hope you get the lawyer here before you have to take her out on a stretcher. That’s the type of agent she is, has been, and always will be. Good luck, gentlemen. You’ll need it. When you’re ready to proceed, I’ll be down the hall.”
Most agents would have been infuriated by their partner abandoning them, but I knew better. Jake wasn’t my partner anymore, but by leaving, he was supporting me and demonstrating his trust in my decision. He spared himself from watching his prediction become reality, and I was grateful for that.
Jake was a lot of things, including an asshole, but he never abandoned his partner. He had my six, although I had no idea what he could do to help me.
I clasped my hands together on my lap, and I waited.
Agent Simons didn’t order a lawyer called, which didn’t surprise me. Many agents didn’t take me seriously. It was one of the most annoying parts of my job. The only way I could prove myself was to go through with my threat, and once I gave my word, I didn’t go back on it.
The conference room had a phone, and it would have taken him all of five minutes to make the call to bring in an attorney. The two men with him didn’t make a move, although the one who was supposed to be taking notes had tossed his pen onto the table and propped his feet up on the chair Donny had vacated.
“You’re going to be difficult about this, aren’t you?” Agent Simons muttered.
If he hadn’t figured that out when I didn’t move despite being soaked from the knee down in coffee, there was no helping him. I wielded silence as a weapon, wondering if they’d bother with bringing a lawyer in.
I had my doubts.
When I had applied to join the FBI, I had done my homework. I had investigated methods of gathering information. I had taken the time to learn what tactics worked. Interrogation was a hard job made simpler through psychological games and discomfort.
Agents of other organizations, particularly the CIA, were trained to withstand hard interrogations. I had been given the basics as a part of my training, but I had learned a lot more from books on the side.
I was tired of playing Agent Simons’s game, and we were only an hour into it. The conference room clock was on the wall above the portable board, which had turned off from inactivity. I only checked the time when Agent Simons was pacing, his back facing me.
I was hungry, I was tired, I was thirsty, and most of my coffee had ended up on me rather than in me. If I moved an inch, I had the feeling my foot would become a very close acquaintance with Agent Simons’s face. I amused myself with considering the best type of kick or punch I could use on the man.
Retreating into my thoughts, I strayed from my plans of violence to reviewing every word, step, and action I had taken since the moment Phil’s gun had pressed against my temple. I wasn’t even sure how many days had gone by since I’d been kidnapped. I hadn’t thought to check the date on Jake’s phone.
“You’re really making this difficult for everyone,” Simons announced. “We do not have time to waste on your childishness.”
The door opened, and a man dressed in a crisp black suit and tie with white shirt stepped in. He had short-cropped brown hair that stuck up every which way, although it looked like he had made a futile effort to tame it. He took in the room, his gaze settling on me before shifting to Agent Simons. “I must have misheard that. Who is wasting time on childishness? I was unaware a federal agent defending her constitutional rights classified as childishness. Where is Agent Johnson’s attorney?”
Agent Simons straightened, his mouth opened, but he didn’t say a word.
“Agent Johnson, where is your attorney?”
Simons’s note taker picked up his pen and spun it between his fingers. With the addition of a suit, probably someone higher up the chain than I ever hoped to be, my interest increased tenfold. “Agent Simons has not called for one.”
The man was definitely trying to hide a smile; there was a playful look to his blue eyes. A lot of FBI agents had hard exteriors and odd senses of humor.
Once I was dried off and my legs stopped throbbing from their introduction to hot coffee, I’d probably find some humor in the situation.
“Agent Simons, you are off this case. Get out of my building. You’ll be contacted later. Don’t leave town.”
I pinched myself so I wouldn’t grimace at the order. I’d been tossed off cases before, but in my time with the FBI, I had managed to avoid making such a disgrace of myself I had been sent home. Reassignments happened. Sometimes other agents couldn’t handle working with someone small and feminine. Sometimes a case was close to wraps and we were needed elsewhere, but I had never been tossed for violating a basic constitutional right.
Agent Simons turned the shade of the newcomer’s shirt. Some men who were tossed argued and tried to talk their way into staying. Simons swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Nodding, he went to the door, opened it, and left, shutting it quietly behind him.
“Senior Special Agent Johnson, I am Assistant Director Henry Dunhaven. You’re not a suspect, nor are you being charged with anything. You are, of course, welcome to legal counsel if you feel it is necessary.”
I tensed at the emphasis on my rank as a senior special agen
t; Addressing someone as agent met the basic requirements of formality between peers. Everyone in the room was a special agent. Everyone who was a field agent was one.
To point out I had seniority made some point, but I couldn’t tell what that point was, considering Simons’s removal from the equation.
“That’s all I needed to know, Assistant Director, sir.”
“I apologize for Agent Simons’s unbecoming behavior. Someone has a change of clothes for you in the hallway. If you have no objections, I’d like to move forward on this case as soon as possible.”
I rose from my seat, wincing when both of my legs protested the movement. “Of course, sir.”
“Thank you for your hard work, Agent Johnson. I would ask you to not hold Agent Simons’s distasteful behavior against our office.”
If Assistant Director Dunhaven wanted to play nice, I’d play nice, too. “Of course not, sir.”
I left my broken coffee mug for someone else to deal with. There were limits to how nice I’d play.
Chapter Nine
Jake waited for me in the hall holding a pile of folded clothes in one arm. “I’m going to have to make sure your new team has your clothing sizes. Otherwise, you’ll end up running around New York either naked or filthy.”
“Seeing me naked should be classified as criminal,” I agreed.
Sighing, my former partner handed me the pile. “Could you stop attracting trouble? It’s terrible for my digestion.”
“Just point me in the direction of the bathroom, Jake.”
He pointed down the hall.
While someone had found me clothes that fit, I was dismayed to discover the skirt didn’t even reach halfway to my knees. At least the underwear fit, and someone had the foresight to give me a pair of stockings to go with the skirt and blouse. The outfit was formal enough for a meeting with just about anyone.
At least the stockings hid the angry red on both my legs from exposure to my coffee.
A pair of heels rounded out the outfit, and I was sorely tempted to discover whether or not I could kick someone while wearing them.
I needed some time in the ring before I really did snap.
When I finally emerged from the bathroom, Jake was waiting for me, his arms crossed over his chest. “Took you long enough. What were you doing in there? Preening?”
“Never underestimate the struggle involved with wiggling into tights. I burned the shit out of my legs and was trying to decide if I needed them checked. I decided I would survive.”
“How bad?”
“No blisters. I’m good to go.”
“That Mitch fellow handled bringing in the management.”
“Nice of him. Did you have to go into the kids’ section to find clothes?”
“Pretty much.”
“What’s going on, Jake? Give it to me straight.”
“Simons likes to think himself a top investigator who always gets the answers he needs for a case. I warned him you wouldn’t respond to his typical methods. He’s old school.”
The old school type included men who didn’t believe women had any business serving as special agents and often went out of their way to force female agents out of the Bureau. “Same old shit, different state.”
“Pretty much.”
“At least they can’t throw me off a case I haven’t been assigned to, right?” I sighed and ran my hand through my hair, grimacing as I got snagged in a tangle. “You can put me in nice clothes, but there’s no masking this sort of mess, Jake.”
“Despite appearances, I wasn’t the one who picked the outfit. I supplied the measurements, that’s all. It fits okay?”
“It’ll do. I need coffee, Jake. I need coffee in a mug that is impervious to harm. I need it, and I need it now.”
He laughed, placing his hand on the middle of my back and propelling me down the hall. “You need more than coffee. It’s being taken care of.”
“What was the deal with Simons, anyway? He was about as friendly as a pissed off cobra.”
“You’re a woman doing a man’s job. What else?”
I snorted. “Of course. I should have known. Old school. Right.”
“You really do need some coffee. Come on. Back to the conference room with you. With Simons off the case, I have a feeling things will go much smoother. Whoever promoted him needs to be fired. I’ll pay up on the pizza as soon as we’re done with questioning.”
“I need a hotel, a bath, and some sleep.”
“Didn’t you sleep enough at the hospital?”
“I hate you, Jake.”
“Admit it. You love me. I jumped into that cold, cold water for you.”
I headed back to the conference room and let myself in. Someone had cleaned up the coffee and taken away the mug. In its place was a stainless steel travel mug with a screw-on lid. The four-member CARD team had returned to their seats, and Assistant Director Dunhaven had taken Agent Simons’s place in front of the screen displaying the map of the United States.
“Sorry for the delay, gentlemen,” I said, taking my seat after checking to make sure I wasn’t about to sit in coffee.
Instead of taking the seat across from me, Jake flanked me. When he backed his chair up to prop his feet up on the table, I glared at him. “Don’t you dare,” I mouthed at him.
He frowned at me but kept his feet on the floor where they belonged.
“Let’s start this from the beginning. Fill us in on what happened, beginning from the morning of your kidnapping, Agent Johnson.”
While I expected questions and a lot of them, giving me the space to lay out the entire incident would give everyone at the table a chance to see the entire picture. While I talked, Assistant Direct Dunhaven manipulated the board, creating potential routes to the cabin in Colorado and marking potential stops. No one said a word until I described the cabin, the shifting rotation of guards, and the full descriptions of the three men, including a breakdown of their habits.
“We were wondering about the sequence of events leading up to the 9-1-1 call placed from where you were held hostage. How, exactly, did you acquire a cell phone?”
“One of the kidnappers had it. I waited until his accomplices were asleep. I had kept quiet until that point. They had put anything I could potentially use as a weapon out of reach. I asked for coffee, knowing the tin was stored too high for me to reach. He made the mistake of getting up and going to retrieve the tin. I kicked him in the back of his neck, followed up with a punch to the head, and then I hit him with his own gun, which I took into my possession prior to grabbing the baby and leaving.”
“So you used your kickboxing skills to escape.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose and focused on my breathing. “Yes, sir.”
“Do you feel kickboxing is a good form of martial arts for female special agents?”
Not expecting that sort of question, I froze, staring at Dunhaven, wondering what his game was. “Any form of martial art is appropriate for all special agents, sir. There are situations where we may be disarmed. Having a fallback skill is critical. Gender doesn’t matter.”
“So you’d be a supporter of all special agents undergoing full martial arts training?”
“Sure. It’s a good way to get fit and stay fit while having the benefit of adding another layer of protection. If I had not taken kickboxing, sir, I’d still be in that cabin awaiting a death sentence, as would Annabelle.”
“No one is criticizing your actions.”
“I didn’t think you were, sir. I’m merely stating the facts.”
“Please forgive the directness of this next question, but I was given orders to ask.”
I tensed. “Sir?”
“Exactly how did you manage to hide the fact you were so involved in kickboxing during your career with the FBI?”
I coughed, covered my mouth, and fought the rising tide of giggles. I didn’t giggle, not in front of anyone from the FBI. Laughing wasn’t one of my behaviors either, but I fought to choke back my ne
ed to chortle at the question.
“I didn’t feel it was relevant to anyone’s interests, sir. It’s a hobby. Lawful activities outside of work are encouraged. We work long hours.”
“It’s impressive you were discreet enough to manage keeping such an activity secret, Agent Johnson. Even your partner of four years had no idea you were involved with kickboxing. Initially, there was concern someone had stolen your identity for the kidnapping.”
“That explains Simons’s behavior a little,” I admitted.
“No, it doesn’t. We had fully verified you could, in actuality, have a rather successful career kickboxing if you decided to pursue it.” Dunhaven chuckled, tapping on the board to pull up a file about me, which included a lot of photographs of me kickboxing. “We did want to verify a few facts with you.”
“Sir?”
“Is it true you began training when you were five?”
“Six, but yes. It’s true.”
“Your championships?”
“Four of them, none affiliated with WAKO. The match I missed was supposed to be my first tourney with WAKO.”
“How long would it take for someone to become proficient in kickboxing with lessons three times a week?”
“What level of proficiency are we discussing?”
“Able to defend themselves in real-life situations.”
“Not long, sir. A few months for the basics? If the course is designed specifically for self-defense, it is all repetitions, muscle memory, and practice spars. It’s no different from other martial arts. It varies from person to person. It’s similar to how we go through firearms training and maintain our skills.”
“Do you credit your skill in kickboxing with your success with this case?”
“I definitely wouldn’t credit my swimming skills,” I muttered.
Jake kicked my ankle. I kicked him back.
Someone across the table snickered and coughed to cover it.
“All right. I think we have what we need. If you think of any details, let us know. Do you have any issues with sharing a room with Agent Thomas?”