by RJ Blain
“I stand by my claim. Your legs look absolutely fantastic in that skirt.”
“I feel like I should tell the world there are men who don’t mind yeti calves.”
The boarding announcement for our flight played over the airport sound system. I dug through my purse for the boarding pass, but Jake uncovered my mouth, put his hand between my shoulders, and propelled me to the gate.
The attendant took one look at us, reached under her podium, and pulled out two boarding passes. “These are for you, ma’am, sir. Please take your seats.”
Jake took them, nodded to the woman, and kept pushing me down the ramp to get on the big plane that’d take us home.
Once the plane was in the air, I relaxed a little, staring out the windows at the clouds below. The clouds always made flying worth it, especially when the turbulence was so bad it felt like I was riding a persnickety bastard of a horse. I wasn’t sure if the window seat was good or not. If the turbulence knocked the plane out of the sky, which seat was safer? Did it matter?
I contemplated the nature of plane crashes, making thoughtful noises in my throat. As though takeoff had flipped a switch in my head, my thoughts bounced from one another until I had a difficult time figuring out which end was up. I made so many noises Jake started huffing. Once the huffing started, I made noises to deliberately discover what sort of sounds I could lure from him.
The gentleman with the aisle seat kept staring at both of us like we had lost our minds. Three hours into the flight, I leaned forward, stared into the stranger’s deep blue eyes, and said, “Statistically speaking, it’s safer to fly than it is to drive, but for some reason, I rue and lament the—”
Jake clapped his hand over my mouth. “Please pardon her, sir.”
I tried to bite him again, but he avoided my teeth.
Our seat mate waved his hand dismissively. “This has been the most entertaining flight I have ever been on. By all means, continue.”
Jake joined me in staring at our seat mate. “Are you sure?”
“Very.”
“Okay,” my ex-partner replied, removing his hand from my mouth.
“I rue and lament the necessity of flight. It would have been far more fun to drive. Right? We could have taken a road trip. Now, of course, statistically speaking, you’re far more likely to survive a car crash than a plane crash when at altitude, but that’s a different matter.”
“You just had a road trip.”
“It wasn’t a fun road trip. Come on. Why did we have to fly?”
“It’s faster.”
“So? I’m not a bird. If I were meant to fly, I’d have wings. They’d probably be attached to my arms or shoulders. I’d have tail feathers, too. Birds need their tail feathers to help control their flight paths. I do not have a tail nor do I have wings. I was not meant to fly. I rest my case. If I were meant to fly, I’d have wings.”
“Do you have an off switch? Why is it every time I take you on a plane, you babble? English isn’t going out of style. You don’t have to bank words.”
“It could be worse. She could be one of those panicky fliers. I’ve shared enough seats with those to last me several lifetimes,” our seat mate contributed. “If they aren’t screaming every time we hit turbulence, they’re doing the heavy breathing thing. Babbling is far better than that. Talkative and fidgeting I can deal with. The screaming and gasping and whimpering at the slightest bump is enough to drive a man to drink.”
“She’s normally calm, cool, and collected, right up until she’s in the air. Then her dignity oozes out of her ears, and she sticks her head in the clouds.”
“We’re above the clouds,” I pointed out.
“You’re like an emu, except noisier. The clouds are your sand.”
“Ostrich. They don’t actually stick their heads in sand to hide, either. That’s just a myth,” I informed my audience of two.
The captain announced we were making the approach to Baltimore-Washington International. Thanks to the incessant turbulence, I was still buckled in. I patted the seatbelt. “I’m ready. No crashing please, Mr. Pilot,” I muttered.
“How old are you again?” Jake prodded me with his elbow. “I should demand hazard pay for this. Think the boss would let me get away with it?”
“In your dreams maybe,” I retorted. “You’re joking, right? I’m the one who should get hazard pay.”
“Forgive me for asking a potentially offensive question, but how old are you, miss?”
“If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me that, I would have paid for my first degree without needing a student loan. Probably my second, too.” I sighed my heaviest sigh. “Twenty-nine.”
“I should take your badge away until you behave like you’re twenty-nine.”
“You’re a cop?” our seat mate asked, his eyes widening.
“When she acts her age instead of her shoe size.” Jake pointed at my heels. “Why do they make high heels in children’s sizes, anyway?”
“What’s your name?” I asked, sitting up and pressing my heel to the top of Jake’s foot, pushing down until I heard him hiss through his teeth.
“Kennedy. You?”
“The giant is Jake. I’m Kat,” I replied, thrusting my hand out. “Nice to meet you.”
Kennedy stared at my hand for a long moment before shaking it. “Nice to meet you, too. I think. I confess, I’m having a very difficult time imagining you as a police officer, ma’am.”
I had a difficult time imagining myself as a regular police office, too. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not.”
“Be glad there’s only a few minutes until we’re on the ground. Be very glad. I probably have to put up with her for the rest of the day.”
Threatening Jake with bodily harm wasn’t wise, and neither was announcing I was armed and dangerous while on a plane, FBI agent or not. Instead of vocalizing my annoyance, I dug my heel into Jake’s foot. “Ignore him. He secretly loves me, but he’s far too much of a man to admit it. He’s afraid of commitment.”
“Yeah, to an institution,” Jake muttered.
We stared at one another before I cracked and snorted a laugh. “Tell anyone I laughed at that and I’ll make you regret it, Jake.”
“If you’ll remove your heel from my foot, I will give you my oath I will not inform anyone you’re capable of laughing.”
I eased up with my heel. “Deal.”
“From a man’s perspective, Miss Kat, I would like to present evidence that most men are not, in actuality, afraid of commitment, but are rather afraid of rejection after announcing a desire to commit to a woman.” Kennedy grinned and winked at me. “Then again, he might be onto something with the institution thing.”
“So Jake’s really just afraid of rejection?” I grinned. “I told him I was leaving him for greener pastures within five minutes of meeting him.”
Jake sighed. “That was four or so years ago.”
Kennedy nodded, and while his expression was serious, the corners of his mouth twitched. “Considerate of you, giving him advance warning. No room for misinterpretation, right?”
“Exactly. It prevents misunderstandings and inappropriate fraternization.”
“Is there ever appropriate fraternization?” Kennedy rubbed his cleanly shaved chin. “That’s an interesting subject.”
I frowned. “Hey, Jake. When is fraternization appropriate, anyway?”
“It’s detailed in the employee handbook. Go read it. Put those degrees of yours to good use.”
“That’s just mean, Jake.”
“That’s what you get for annoying me the entire flight.”
“But you make it so easy.”
We bickered until the plane touched down, and we kept bickering until we managed to get off the plane, following Kennedy, who halted at the end of the ramp to wait for us. “It was a pleasure to meet you both.”
I nodded to him, smoothing my skirt, shifting the weight of my travel bag over my shoulder, and going through the motions of maki
ng sure I was presentable.
“Pleasure was all mine,” Jake replied, shaking hands with the man. “Sorry if she bothered you during the flight.”
“She wasn’t a bother at all. You headed to the exit? We could walk together. Beats dealing with the lines alone.”
“Kat?”
“Sure.” I stretched my legs, wincing at the cramp in my calves.
Jake tapped my shoulder. “You okay?”
“A bit stiff.”
“How is it you, the little thing you are, are the one who is stiff? I’m fine.”
“You’re a freak. Carry my bag,” I demanded, holding it out for him. “What was I thinking wearing heels on a plane? Will they kick me out of I go barefoot?”
Jake took my bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Leave your shoes on. At least look like a professional.”
“I’m on vacation, remember?”
“I was supposed to be on vacation until I had to slog halfway across the country.”
While Kennedy looked curious about our exchange, he didn’t ask any questions, and we walked across the airport towards freedom. Security was tighter than usual; twice the normal number of guards and airport personnel loitered in the terminal. I tensed, shifting my purse on my shoulder so I could reach for the Glock hidden within its depths.
Jake bent over and whispered in my ear, “I noticed.”
The presence of extra security could have been nothing more than a precaution, but I had a difficult time believing the FBI would have made an arrangement for extra security at BWI when Denver’s airport had been working under normal operations.
I checked our six, but saw nothing more unusual than a steady stream of passengers heading for the final departure gates. Tilting my head to the side, I headed for the wall, placing my back to it so I could watch the crowd. Jake joined me.
I wasn’t sure if I liked the fact Kennedy followed along.
“Something wrong?”
Jake huffed, but before he could say anything, I bumped into him with my hip and shrugged. “Just a bit weirded out. Flights do that to me. I’ll be okay in a minute. Just wanted to get out of the crowd. I’m not a fan of large crowds. Why is it so busy here this time of day? I just need some air.”
Agoraphobia wasn’t one of my problems, but it made a good fallback, and after my nervous chatter on the flight, I hoped Kennedy didn’t think too much about my lie.
“Understandable. The first few times I flew, I was edgy for a while, too. Especially with all the changes they’ve made to security lately.” Kennedy checked his watch. “I’ve got to get to a meeting, otherwise I’d stick around. Take care, you two. Try not to let the crowds bother you, ma’am.”
“Have a safe trip,” I replied, waving until Kennedy left.
Jake and I sighed our relief when he was gone.
“You realize we’re both being a bit paranoid, right?” Jake unbuttoned his suit jacket, and I realized he was making his Glock accessible. “What’s the plan?”
“Walk out and hope we’re just imagining security is tighter than usual?”
“Hold on, let’s at least make it look like we’re stopped for a reason. Open my bag,” I whispered. In order to reach my bag, I had to go up on my toes. While I hunted for an imaginary missing object, Jake stood still. I was aware of him scanning the crowd, searching for threats. To make my stop appear realistic, I shuffled things around in the bag, grumbling faked annoyance. “Damnit, I can’t find it.”
“It can be replaced,” he replied, playing along with my game. In a softer voice, he reported, “The guards are watching the passengers, all right. One or two gave us a second look but ignored us after you started searching through your bag.”
“If I act my shoe size instead of my real age, I’d walk backwards down the hall,” I offered. “It’s just a coincidence, right? They issued me a gun as a precaution, not because they were expecting trouble. Right?
Jake twisted around to stare at me, snorted, and cracked a smile. “You watch my six, I’ll watch yours.”
Our days as partners were supposed to be over, and we both knew it. All things came to an end, but I’d watch his six one last time.
The truth of the matter didn’t stop me from saying, “Always.”
Chapter Eleven
Jake held my bag out of reach and guided me by dangling the duffel as if it were a carrot. I couldn’t hop very high in my heels, which helped me pull off the immaturity of walking backwards in my effort to reclaim my property. While I made grabs for the bag, I scanned the crowd behind my partner.
We were drawing a lot of attention from passengers and security alike.
Passengers flowed around us in a hurry to leave the terminal. Most of them stared at me until they noticed me noticing them. Between mad grabs for my bag, I engaged in staring contests until I found a pair of men in suits who continued to watch us, averting their stares until they thought I had turned my attention elsewhere.
“Two men in suits are watching us,” I whispered, making another jump for my bag.
“Agents?”
“Don’t know.”
“Sharp left; there’s a set of restrooms down a hallway. I’ll meet you out here in five.” Jake lowered my bag enough I could yank it out of his grip, which I did.
Feigning annoyance, I spun and stormed to the women’s washroom, plowing my way inside while Jake laughed and headed into the men’s room. As he went, I caught a glimpse of him pulling out his cell phone.
I’d have to time five minutes in my head. I headed into a stall, locked it, and waited. I counted the seconds. Some agents could time themselves with near-perfect accuracy, but I wasn’t one of them. I missed my watch and phone. My watch was long gone, and my phone hadn’t been returned to me along with my badge and wallet. After a minute and a half, I flushed the toilet and left the stall, taking my time washing my hands and fussing with my hair. The layout of the restroom allowed me to watch the door through the mirror.
As women flowed in and out, I caught sight of both men waiting outside the door.
When I hit the five minute mark, I stepped through the door, my right hand thrust into my purse, my fingers wrapped around the Glock’s grip. Someone sidled up to me, bent down and whispered, “They’re from Homeland Security.”
My heart took up residence in my throat. How could someone as big as Jake sneak up on me? “Fuck, Jake. Don’t scare me like that.” Shivering, I loosened my hold on my Glock and eased my hand out of my purse. In a whisper, I added, “I could have shot you.”
Both of the agents nodded a greeting to me. Without a word, they fell in step with me and Jake.
“What the hell is going on?”
“Someone called in a bomb threat in the middle of the night, so they upped security,” the taller of the two agents explained. “They thought it’d be wise to have someone meet you at the gates. You two left before we could intercept you.”
“I might be cursed, Jake. You better run back to HRT where you belong.”
Jake huffed. “The instant I’m home, I’m faxing CARD with a full list of the bullshit they will have to put up with.”
“Wait. I didn’t file my air carry request twenty-four hours in advance of flying.” I blinked, peeking into my purse to confirm I was actually armed with a Glock. The gun was definitely in my purse. “Someone pulled strings.”
“That took you three hours longer than I expected.”
“It’s been a long… week? What day is it, anyway?”
“It’s been twelve days since you were grabbed. Today’s Friday.
I gaped at Jake. “No shit. That long?”
“How long did you think it was?” Jake frowned. “We should have focused more on the time table, not that it made any difference on your end of things.”
“I thought it was a couple of days at most.”
“We’ll deal with it once we’re at the office.”
I felt stupid for not having covered the basics. The two Homeland Security agents guided us th
rough the airport to a pair of black SUVs waiting at the airport’s loading zone. I slid into the back seat of the front car, and Jake followed me in. Both SUVs left at the same time and mixed in with traffic.
My former boss was in the front passenger seat. “Welcome home, Karma.”
“Thanks.”
“You hanging in there? You look a bit green.”
“Twelve days?” I blurted.
“She didn’t know?” she demanded.
Jake winced. “Apparently not. My fault. Things were hectic, and the team lead decided to be a dick during questioning.”
“So I heard. Washington’s pretty pissed he was tossed from the case.”
“His fault for failing to call in an attorney when she invoked her right to counsel. She was justified. We’d be shit FBI agents if we didn’t uphold the law.” Jake clacked his teeth together. “They need to get rid of those relics before the Bureau loses good agents to bullshit.”
“Speaking of the law, I didn’t file my air carry papers, Boss,” I said, tapping the back of her seat.
“It was filed on your behalf. Relax, Karma. It was a legal carry.”
“But why?”
“Why don’t you tell me why?”
I sat back in my seat, crossed my arms over my chest, and scowled. “I’m a target because I rescued Annabelle, aren’t I?”
My boss clapped. “Well done.”
“Okay. What about Monday? I’m supposed to report to CARD on Monday.” I recognized the initial signs of panic looming on my mental horizon, and I slid into the habit of evening my breath to maintain my cool.
“There’s someone ready to drive you to New York City later tonight. You’re going to be the anchor for your team until this blows over.”
Anchor was a nice way of saying I’d be sitting behind a desk and working as a relay between the other three field agents and the internal support members of the FBI. Normally, the anchor position was handled by someone from the support staff, and I bristled at the demotion. “That leaves them short in the field. How long?”