“Hate hospitals.”
“I know, but they're here for a purpose. You know that.”
Bors took a deep breath. “I know.” He knew how important hospitals were. His brother Tristan and sister Kirsten wouldn't be alive if it weren't for the doctors and hospitals. But his siblings were just a small fraction of reasons why he didn't like hospitals. The place reminded him of death, near death, or pain. How many times had he taken scumbags, innocent victims, or fellow agents, to the emergency room? Too many times to count.
“Where's Branyan?”
“I gave him a ride home. The man couldn't wait another minute to see Susan and take a shower.”
“How's the pregnant wife?”
“Still pregnant. Walks like a duck and real pretty.”
“All pregnant women are pretty.” Simms looked at the three clocks on the wall. Each one showed either the Pacific, Central or Eastern times. “It's almost noon, Agent.”
Bors knew where the topic was heading so he decided to tell Simms where he was between visiting Branyan's wife and before coming to this office. “I went back to Zhin's.”
“You just don't know when to stop, do you, Knight?”
“I know I am close to getting Jean. I can feel it.”
“Shit, you won't feel a thing soon if you don't take care of yourself and that nasty cut. I suggest you see a doctor first before that thing gets infected, then go home. You're not 7-Eleven. Open twenty-four-seven. You are your father's son. If it weren't for Katherine, Arthur would still be working his ass off. Go home, Knight. Take a nap.”
A nap? The hell. Last time he took a nap was during his preschool years. “Don't you want me to write a report first?” Bors leaned back, draping his arms on the back of the soft leather couch, not caring if he was contaminating it. Shit, counting the number of agents who had sat on this couch after visiting places he could only describe as hell would be as difficult as counting leaves on a tree.
“Since you said nothing happened, your report can wait.” Simms looked at Bors and pointed his finger at him. “Go home. I don't care if you go to your condo or to the one you had built recently. Just go home. I promised your mother to send you home once in a while, intact. And you're useless to me walking around in a fog.”
“I'll go home. Don't know if Snitch gave us a bogus tip or not, sir. Have you heard from him?”
Simms threw up his hands in the air, leaned back on his chair and then rested his elbows on the armrest. “Life would be a lot easier without this computer.”
Bors's brother Percival would disagree. “I agree.”
Simms looked at him with his brows arched high. “Don't know how your brother could stand this thing. Anyway, Snitch was positive about the delivery this morning.”
“Then what happened?”
“Okay, I'll give you something, but you act on it after you recharge.”
“Cool.” Bors leaned his elbows on his knees, then hung his head. The simple movement made the room spin. Crap, he'd really pushed himself close to the limit.
“Are you still awake?”
“If this had to do with Jean, I'm all ears.”
“I heard from him, just before you walked in. What Snitch told me might have something to do with why Jean didn't show up this morning.”
“Yeah?”
“Jean has something more important to do.”
“Other than luring girls into his den? Hard to believe.”
“Well, better believe it. Someone took Jean's mind off his business.”
“Infestation of crab lice on his pubes?” Bors grinned.
“Trying to be funny, Agent?”
Bors shrugged, ignoring the shooting pain in his arm from the simple gesture.
“Snitch finally got something on the mysterious limo coming in and out of Jean's mansion. Apparently a woman uses it.”
“And?”
“This woman caused an uproar and most likely the cancellation of Jean's delivery.”
“Why? She left Jean unsatisfied after his Viagra failed to work?”
Simms gave him a look that said he wasn't in the mood to listen to sarcasm. “No. This woman is special to Jean and she disappeared.”
“I knew it. He's banging someone special.” Rarely seen in public with a woman on his side, the bastard was smart enough not to link anyone with him. A pretense. Bors fucking knew it. “I've watched Jean many times, but I've never seen him with a woman. He's always with his bodyguards and or other lechers, but never with a woman. And it's because she rides the limo.”
“She's a secret.”
“Until she disappeared. Isn't that ironic.” Only a spoiled, egotistical maniac would make a big deal out of a missing woman. She must be unique and an expert in bed. Or fuck ugly, but could suck dick really good. “What made this woman special?”
“We don't know yet. However, we now know that Jean never lets her leave the house without a guard.”
“A very special prisoner.”
“And she lives in Jean's mansion at Lake Washington.”
“That mansion? Jean hardly goes there. He lives at the Westin Tower downtown.”
“Right.”
“How long has she been with Jean?”
“We don't know.”
“Damn, Jean is fucking good at keeping secrets.” Can't believe this. “Do we know if this woman was taken, kidnapped, or did Jean kill her because she pissed him off, but wants it to sound like she simply disappeared?”
“She ran away.”
“Good for her. Only an idiot would want to stay with that bastard.”
“Might not be good if she gets caught. Jean is livid.”
“How long has this woman been gone?”
“Since this morning.”
“She never leaves the house without a chaperone, but she managed to disappear.”
“Snitch didn't get the details on how exactly she escaped without her guard noticing.”
“Could be that she sucked the guard's dick to let her go and make it look like she had managed to escape.”
“Whatever the reason, it's not my concern. She disappeared after she played for Seattle Symphony.”
“Okay, so we know that she's a musician who plays for Seattle Symphony. There's our ticket to finding out who she is.”
“No need. I already called. The director said they don't have a Taylor Monte Carlo that plays for them. My hunch tells me that she uses a different name.”
“How do we know her name is Taylor Monte Carlo?”
“Snitch bribed the limo driver.”
“He only thought to do it now?”
“The regular driver couldn't be bribed. The reliever was new. Snitch knew right away he could bribe the schmuck. For fifty bucks and a hit, he got everything that I just told you.”
“Anything else? Family, school, boyfriends?”
“No records or anything. We don't want to ask Seattle Symphony for more information. The bells would start ringing, then Jean would know we are looking for this woman.”
“Did Snitch describe her at all?”
“Uh-huh. He used only one word to describe her.”
“And that's what?”
“Goddess.”
“That doesn't mean shit. Taylor could be a man's name. Didn't Snitch fuck a transvestite he thought was a woman because he was high?”
“God. You and your brothers. Don't know why Katherine asks you Knights to pay a quarter each time you curse. She should have made it ten bucks because a quarter obviously didn't help any of you stop from cursing. Fine. She could be as ugly as a burned wood. Well, at least we know there is a woman involved with Jean who, at present, is a prick in his balls. Other than that, we know shit. So, I don't have the answers to the whys right now. One thing for sure though, Congressman Jean wants to find his woman.”
“And you want me to find her.”
“Yes. I smell something foul, Knight. Find the source before the stench spreads. Jean is intent on finding this woman. We need to kn
ow why. Get to her first. Most likely she heard or saw things about Jean. I have a feeling she's your ticket to sending Jean's ass to jail.”
Or in hell.
“Focus on finding Taylor. And when you do, get as much information as you can from her. Maybe we could put her on the stand. Find her and you'll find Jean. It should be easy. We are the fucking FBI.”
“I'll see what I can do.” Taylor. Pretty name. But is she pretty? Who the fuck cares?
“As soon as Taylor's picture gets in my inbox, I'll forward it to you.”
“There must be a picture of her somewhere else.”
“We looked. Couldn't find one. Not even a blurry one. Jean did a great job of keeping her out of prying eyes. As far as everyone knows, Taylor doesn't exist. How Jean did that, who the fuck knows. I suppose if he could hide his shit, he could hide a woman easily.”
“Maybe Jean's afraid Taylor will start talking about his puny dick.”
“Agent, enough. Just find the woman. Damn pictures and documents are all digital now.”
“Where is the picture coming from?”
“Snitch took it with his cell phone.”
“How did he get it?”
“He was at the orchestra and took the picture of the group. We don't know which one is Taylor, but that'll be easy enough to figure out.”
“And Snitch is clueless about the mysteriousness clouding Taylor,” Bors said more to himself.
“If he knows something, he would have told me. He knows better than to hide that kind of information. It's either spill what he knows or sit his ass in jail.”
Curious about the woman, his impatience bubbled on the surface. “Why couldn't you just ask for his cell phone?”
“Agent, I would if the fucking man hadn't dropped it in the toilet while emptying his sagging fat stomach and filling the toilet bowl with his crap. Don't ask me questions as if I don't know how to do my job.”
Bors winced when Simms started pounding on the keyboard. He kept his mouth shut. Everyone knew not to challenge Simms intellect. Like him, the man cared too much about his job. So much in fact that he forgot he had a wife waiting at home. That was before she divorced him. With his wife gone, Simms became ornery, quick to lash out. Office staff, including the janitor, understood. Simms regretted losing his wife.
Since work caused his marriage to fall apart, he vowed to show that he hadn't lost his wife for nothing. Bors decided not to suggest searching for Seattle Symphony's website to check for the pictures. Jean might see it as telling him what to do. Besides, they wouldn't know which one was the runaway Taylor.
Simms fist pounded his table. “And I don't know why the fuck we have to use a computer. Memos, reports, forms. All saved in a computer folder. Whoever said that jobs are a lot easier now that we use computers is a fucking lunatic. And Mac not wanting to talk to PC makes my life fucking harder. I'll forward the copy to you or have Astrid do it. No, maybe I'll print it, if the printer works.”
“Whatever medium you use is fine with me, sir.” When he got home, he would do his own searching. Or maybe ask Percival for help. Right now, like Simms, he wasn't in the mood to surf the net.
“The media doesn't know about Taylor yet. As soon as this gets out, they will be all over this story like flies on warm cow dung. I doubt Jean will be ordering hot young virgins for a while. But through Taylor—I'm following my gut here—we'll get something to pin the son of a bitch. Consider this new scoop a break. Now, go to the hospital and take care of your wound. Take a long fucking shower and sleep. You're a danger to yourself, to me, and to this agency if you continue walking around like a damn zombie. I don't want another stupid shooting in my office.”
Bors knew whom Simms was thinking about. A rookie. Eager and excited about his work, he had tried to impress Simms. The kid worked his ass off until he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. He fell asleep standing, must have dreamt about having a shootout, and started firing inside. No one was hurt, but what happened became the joke in the office so they the transferred the rookie to keep his dignity intact, or what was left of it.
“I'll call Branyan and let him know I'll be on island for a few days.”
“Forget it. I'll talk to him. You look half-asleep. You'll probably bungle the information.”
Shit. How hard could it be to say you're gonna be gone? Bors made a fist and winced at the shooting pain in his arm. The cut was big enough to require stitches. Swedish Hospital was in Capitol Hill and Broadway. Only a couple blocks from Third Ave. He thought for a minute. Nah, why go there when he could got to his brother's clinic and have him stitch his cut.
“I'll go see my brother.”
“Good. Spend time with your family while waiting for my goddamn email. Do your research over on the island. How's that house of yours?”
“Finished. Kitchen appliances were delivered three weeks ago.”
“Good. When are you going to plant someone in there to use the appliances while waiting for you?”
Bors snorted. “And act like Branyan, always texting his wife? Or my brother Tristan, begging Julie to come to his clinic so he can see her. They are both drunkenly in love. No fucking way I'm going to follow their footsteps. At least not anytime soon.”
“Well, good. I don't want another agent filing for a paternity leave anyway. Say hi to Judge Knight and hug your mother for me. I'll see you Sunday.”
“Okay.” Sunday? Simms worked on Sundays, too. What was so important on the island that he'd leave his work? Damn, he had a feeling he was forgetting something. But he'd cut his own fingers before he asked what he meant by Sunday. His boss would only insist that he take a vacation because his brain needed to be charged and rebooted. If he said Sunday then fine, he'd see him then.
[Back to Table of Contents]
* * *
Chapter Two
Kind of weird being alone for the first time. Alone. Lordy, Taylor never thought she'd be alone until she expelled her last breath. No one watching, or following her every move felt kind of nice. Taylor didn't miss it all, but she couldn't shake the feeling that any minute someone would grab her from behind. And she kept expecting to see her father's runner appear at the door or in a corner of the room.
So this was how it felt to be free.
Taylor lowered her black violin case beside her chair while she waited for a nurse to call her name. She supposed she should have gone to the hospital and gotten immediate treatment for her sprained ankle, but her need to get as far away as possible from Jean had her riding the first Kingston ferryboat to Orcas Island, the largest of San Juan Islands.
Letting out a deep and long sigh, she diverted her mind off Jean and smiled at the little boy using the chair beside her as a table. He'd been opening and closing the page of a pop-up book, laughing at the dancing clowns that sprang up. How wonderful to be a child, she thought. No worries whether the world was in chaos or if the sun stopped shining. Too bad adults stopped seeing the world the way children did when they age. Like snakes, we shed that innocence as we get older, which kind of sucked.
The boy giggled as if someone tickled him. Spit driveled down his chin.
I wish I could laugh easily like that.
Taylor had happy childhood memories. She was born in Italy, lived there with her Italian mother until she was twelve. Her mother, as she recalled, was a shopaholic. Whenever she shopped, Taylor went. They frequented stores the way religious fanatics would their church. She remembered the streets, different languages, and her mom speaking in Italian. She also remembered laughing a lot. Just like her late mother.
A day after her twelfth birthday, she and her mom traveled here to the United States to see Jean. When she asked who Jean was, her mother only said, “A politician with money.”
They stayed in a hotel and waited for him. It was late at night when Jean arrived. He smiled at her, said hi, touched her head, and told her how beautiful she was. And then he told her to go to the bedroom and stay there. If she thought it odd, she didn't say anythi
ng.
The next night, he came again. His visits became a routine. Once in a while they would eat dinner together, but not in a restaurant. Always in their hotel room. She heard her mother asked Jean why they had to stay in the hotel and not live with him. Taylor remembered that most of the time her mom's questioning turned into full-blown arguments and then Jean would leave.
One day, her mom told her to get dressed. They would visit Jean, she said. They took a taxi and found the address Mom wrote on a sticky note. Standing beside her mom, she listened to her talk to a man over the intercom. The man who answered said that Jean wasn't home and would be gone for a week. But when her mom said it was Trisha Monte Carlo calling, the gate opened right away.
She remembered sitting on the couch with her mother who complained endlessly about Jean. But Taylor didn't mind the wait. She liked the house. It was bigger than the hotel, of course. But it was the view that captivated her interest. It faced the magnificent Mount Rainier and Lake Washington where boats sailed by back and forth. She loved the commanding views of sunsets and sunrises and boats dotting the calm water. After that, she never wanted to leave. These were sentiments that she had shared with her mother. That day, she wished they lived in that house. A week later, when Jean came home, he had made her dream come true.
What she didn't realize was that the house would become her and her mom's private jail. At the time, she had not understood why and she didn't care. But her mother took it hard. She had turned her attention to alcohol, and everything went downhill.
The boy lifted the book and called to his mother, sitting on the other corner of the room busy chatting with the other mothers. The young mother simply raised her manicured fingers. One of the babies in the baby carrier whimpered. Another one followed and then another. Suddenly the room resonated with the cries of babies. It was quite interesting to listen to. Kind of like frog mating calls. It began with one frog breaking the silence, then others quickly following.
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