by Kris Calvert
The Kim Kardashian lookalike stared at me and I watched the smile fade from her face. “Of course,” she replied, exuding false warmth. “What size are you? A six?”
“I’m a two,” I smiled, cocking my head to the side while I thought of ripping hers off.
“Let me pull some things for you.”
She eyed me up and down and I had a Pretty Woman moment, suddenly feeling like a Julia Roberts prostitute in Beverly Hills. I thought for a split second to say, “Hey, I’ve got good money to spend in here,” but I held my tongue and instead gave her a crusty glare.
Turning to Leo, I dropped my head in embarrassment after she’d left us, shading my eyes with my hand. “I don’t know if this was such a good idea,” I breathed as I rubbed my forehead in frustration. “I would’ve been perfectly happy to find a Saks somewhere and just afford myself some retail therapy.”
He lifted my chin and bent his knees so his tall body met my face head on. “She, my dear, is of little consequence. Choose whatever you’d like. She works on commission. By the end of this, she’ll want to be your best friend.”
“Leo,” I sighed. “I’m not Samantha and Mac, and I’m not you. I don’t have the kind of money it would take to shut her up. And I’m certainly not going to start anything I can’t finish.”
She walked back into our conversation and placed her hands on her hips. “I’ve put some things in the first dressing room…ahhh—” She looked to Leo for direction.
“Polly,” I interjected quietly.
I wasn’t one to feel inferior, but at this moment, standing in front of a well-bred, handsome man and a woman hell-bent on making me feel like trash, I was beyond mortified.
“I’ve got to step outside to make a couple calls, Jill,” Leo said to her. It was all becoming a little too much to take. He knew her by name and I wanted to sink further into my shell.
“Whatever she wants, box it up and have it sent to Jackson House.”
“Wait. What?” I asked as Leo began walking to the door.
“Whatever you want, cher,” he smiled. “I’ll be right outside if anyone needs a second opinion.”
I looked to Jill and shrugged my shoulders. Her attitude changed quickly as she smiled at me and took me by the arm to lead me to the dressing room.
“Get started and let me know if there’s anything else you need or if you want another color or style.”
“Thank you,” I muttered, still in disbelief of what had just transpired.
“What size shoe do you wear? We have some cute sandals that just came in. I’ll pull a couple things for you.”
“Seven.”
I closed the pink and white striped chintz curtain that separated me from the boutique and looked at all the clothes hanging there for me to try. I immediately took a good long look in the mirror to see how badly I must look to have been treated so poorly. I did have dark circles under my eyes and my hair was flat, but my cheeks were still rosy from the convertible ride and I could tell I’d lost some weight in the past few days.
I pulled my t-shirt over my head and began to unzip my jeans. Just as I dropped them to the floor, Jill without warning whipped open the curtain.
“Oh!” I jumped. I was already twitchy and on guard, but the last thing I expected was to be accosted in the dressing room.
“Sorry to scare you,” she smiled as she handed me three shoeboxes and gave me a second head to toe inspection.
“I’ll get you some lingerie,” she sighed.
“I think I’m fine in that department.”
“Honey,” she sighed putting her hands on her hips. “If Leo Xanthis is calling you cher? You need to be wearing better panties.”
I looked down to my sweatshirt-grey cotton panties and t-shirt bra, and before I could utter a word she continued.
“I’ll take care of it. Leo prefers silk,” she volunteered as she closed the curtain.
“Wait!”
I looked at myself and spoke aloud. “What just happened?”
21
MAC
I walked into my old stomping ground at 935 Pennsylvania Avenue. The J. Edgar Hoover building was buzzing with activity. Dan was allowing me to use my old office while I was in town and I had to admit—it was good to be back.
“Micah!” I shouted into the intercom.
“Jesus,” she shouted back. “You don’t waste time sliding right back into dickhead mode, do you?”
“Can you come in here…please?”
I didn’t mean to be a dick, but I was frustrated that I wasn’t on my honeymoon and worse, I was horny because I wasn’t on my honeymoon. In general I was grumpy but Micah was used to it.
“Hey,” Micah blurted, sticking only her head through the doorframe. “You’ve got bigger problems than me, asshole. Dan wants to see you. Now.”
“Stop calling me asshole. I might not be your boss anymore, but I’m still a hired operative, and as such you need to treat me with respect.”
“Yeah. Well,” she began, unimpressed with my self-righteous declaration. “I’m sorry you’re a dick in deep shit. And I’m sorry Hector is raining on your wedding and honeymoon parade. But I think your deep shit just got deeper.”
“When did this come through?” I barked at Dan as I paced his office. It was a room I was familiar with. It was where I came to get bitched out for screwing up or going out on my own on a case when I wasn’t supposed to.
“The transcript from the wire tap came in this morning,” Dan replied, taking a deep breath and pushing himself away from his desk in frustration. “Look, Mac, there are a couple different ways to play this and if we don’t pick the right one, we could be putting Sam and the children in danger. Now they’re already in protective custody and I’d trust Z with the lives of my own wife and children.”
“Danger?” I shouted as I threw my hands into the air in disgust. “I think we’re way past danger.”
“Does Samantha’s cousin Richard know where she’s located?” Dan asked.
“When I left yesterday she hadn’t spoken to him. When was the conversation picked up?”
“The time and date stamp is from yesterday,” Micah added.
I walked behind Micah as she held the transcripts in her lap. “Read it again,” I demanded.
“Mac,” she began in a soothing voice that wasn’t her norm.
“Again, goddammit!”
I watched Micah look to Dan as he nodded.
“Richard: I have news for you.
Unknown male: Yes?
Your package has been sent.
Where?
Not on the phone.
Fine. Meet me.
This needs to be worth my while. Do you understand?
Meet me.
I’ll be in touch. Soon.
End transcript.”
“It’s Hector,” I insisted. “Who’s contacted Z?”
“We don’t know it’s Hector, Mac,” Dan sighed. “This guy’s a businessman. He’s in real estate. The phone call could’ve been to anyone.”
“Where did it trace?”
“If it’s Hector, he’s probably tossed the phone and purchased another one at the drugstore,” Dan replied, keeping in pace with Micah’s calm demeanor. “The signal was over a network provider, so we’re tracing the locations.”
“And how long before we have that information?” I asked.
“You know NSA. It could be this afternoon – it could be in a week. We’ve made a high priority request.”
“I want every record known to man pulled on Richard Peterson,” I said, picking up the file and walking to the door. “That bastard is up to something. And I know because someone smarter than me thinks so.” I pointed at Dan.
“Don’t look at me.” Dan shook his head. “We don’t have evidence to link Richard to shit right now.”
“No, but Sam’s grandmother doesn’t trust him. And now neither do I.”
“Jackson House.”
The voice from Z’s home in New Orleans was
pleasant, but not enough to knock the edge of rage I’d carried with me from Dan’s office.
“This is Mac Callahan with the FBI. I need to speak with Agent Xanthis.”
“Mr. Leo is out at the moment, Mr. Callahan. This is Adelay. May I take a message?”
“I’ll call his cell phone, thank you, Adelay. May I speak with my wife, Samantha?”
“I believe she went out with Miss Polly and Mr. Leo, but if you’ll hold, I’ll double check.”
“I don’t want to hold, but if she is there, would you please ask her to call me?”
“Yes, sir.”
I hung up and called Sam’s cell from mine. The phone rang once.
“How is D.C?” Samantha asked, immediately forgoing the usual hello.
“Sweetheart, where are you?”
“Where you left me yesterday. Why?”
“Why isn’t Z there?”
“I didn’t realize he wasn’t. I also didn’t know I was supposed to keep tabs on your agent. Why?” she asked a second time.
“I don’t want you leaving the house, okay? I don’t want the children out of the house. Do you understand me?”
“Mac,” her voice dropped. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure yet. But I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”
“Mac, you’re scaring me.”
“You need to be afraid, Sam. I want you on your guard. If anything seems fishy, assume something is wrong. Okay?”
“Okay.” Her voice trembled with unspoken desperation.
I felt terrible. What I’d tried so hard to spare her from was now falling down around her while I was away.
“I miss you,” I whispered into the phone as I put my head into my hand on the desk.
“I miss you too.”
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you Samantha – or the children. Ever.”
“Mac,” her voice shook. “Please tell me what’s going on.”
“Have you spoken with your cousin Richard?”
“Yes.”
“Did he ask where you are?”
“I’m pretty sure I told him I was in New Orleans. Why?”
I pulled out the transcript again and read through the conversation.
“When?”
“Yesterday. I wanted to check on the house.”
“It’s probably best if you don’t speak with anyone. Don’t even answer your phone. I’ll have Z get you another burner.”
“Okay,” she deadpanned. “May I ask why?”
“I just don’t trust anyone right now,” I explained.
“You and Mimi both.”
“What’s happened with Mimi?”
“She’s mad Richard’s brought in some of his businesspeople to work there while he’s in Shadeland.”
“I knew that. I get an update from his agents twice a day. But business is business.”
“He wants Mimi’s house. I mean, he wants to live there.”
“How do you know?”
“Apparently he’s pulled the title and deed to the land at the county courthouse – which I find interesting because I’m not giving him that house. First off, Mimi’s name is still on the deed with mine and if she died…well.”
“What?”
“She’s promised to come back and haunt me if Richard ever sees a dime from her.”
“I’m with Mimi.”
“He’s not a criminal,” Sam continued. “He’s a selfish, greedy asshole.”
“I’ll have him watched more closely,” I repeated.
“I wasn’t going to say this, but…”
“What?”
“I’m scared, Mac.”
“Everything’s going to be fine,” I said, unsure of who I was trying to convince.
“I really need you to hold it together in case I decide to fall apart.”
“I’m tired and I miss you. And I’m tired of missing you,” I replied, pulling my eyes from my desk to find Micah standing in my doorway.
I gave her a nod to enter and swiveled my chair around to face away.
“I love you. Hurry back to me.”
“I love you. And I will.”
I waited for her to hang up, unable to cut the connection myself. Each day I loved Samantha even more. Something I never thought possible.
I turned my chair around and found Micah patiently waiting for me.
“Everything okay at home?” she asked. “I mean, in New Orleans.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “How’d you know it was Sam?”
“The look on your face. I knew you were done the second you met that girl.”
“Well, that girl thinks you don’t like her.”
“And what do you think?” Micah asked, unaffected by my comment.
“I think it would be hard for anyone not to love Samantha.”
“You would think that.”
“Be careful, Micah. That’s my wife you’re talking about.”
“No disrespect meant to Mrs. Callahan.”
“What’s up your ass?” I was tired of playing games and I was really tired of her attitude—especially with my family’s safety on the line. “Honestly, I don’t know why you’ve been so steely to me over the past year. I’m sorry I’m leaving the Bureau.”
She smirked and made me even angrier. “I’m sorry I’m not here anymore to fight with you every damn day about absolutely nothing,” I continued.
“Humph” Micah snarked sending me into a shouting fit.
“I’m! Sorry!” I pounded the desk with each word.
She stared me down and I didn’t waver in my eye contact. I was pissed. And she knew it.
“Jesus,” she sighed, finally breaking the silence. “You’re so sensitive.”
“Micah.” I rose and walked around the desk to sit on the corner and with each step turned up the volume of my voice. “I care about you. You’ve been a friend to me when others haven’t. You’ve never taken any shit off of me, and I applaud you for that. But I love Sam. I’m excited about my new life, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you hem and haw or make snide remarks behind my back or to my face and make me feel bad because I left you behind in D.C. So let’s just air this shit out. What is your problem?”
“Hem and haw?” she asked quietly, taking my over-the-top tone down a notch. “I love it when you talk … Southern.”
“Please, Micah.”
“I’m glad you’re back in D.C. Even if it’s just for a few days,” she said as she stood and walked to the door.
“Micah,” I said with regret. “I’m sorry I yelled.”
“It’s fine. I’m used to it.”
“Why all the hostility? We’ve always been at each other’s throats. But not like this. I mean,” I paused. “I thought you’d always have my back. Now I’m waiting for you to stab me in the back.”
“Whatever, Mac,” she uttered calmly as she turned to leave.
“Stop being a dick. I need you. Do you understand me?”
She stopped in the doorway but refused to turn and face me. “Yes.”
22
MAC
It was day three at the Bureau and the longer I stayed in Washington, D.C. it became evident to me that as much as I’d promised myself I needed to hand over the case completely, I couldn’t leave behind the idea of catching Hector personally. I wanted his balls on a plate and I intended to do the castration myself. As my phone rang, I wondered how I’d break the news to Samantha that I wasn’t coming back right away.
“Hello?”
“Mac, it’s King.”
I panicked. “What’s wrong? Is it my mother?”
“She’s stable,” he said calmly.
“What happened?” I panicked.
“Mac, I need you to calm down and listen carefully. You’re under a lot of stress right now, but I need you to keep a level head. Are you with me?”
“Yes.” I was aware of my erratic behavior. I was on edge and I knew it.
“Nancy’s had a heart attack, but she’s s
table.”
“What does stable mean?” I tried to match his tone but was failing miserably. “I mean I know what it means, but I need you to give it to me straight.”
“A nurse found her short of breath and holding her arm earlier today. She was awake and responsive, but she’s had a heart attack.”
I met his explanation with silence, unaware of what to do or say. I was in shock.
“She’s stable, Mac. There was no need to use a stent. The cardiologist gave her a thrombolytic medication that dissolved the small clot.”
“Thank God.” I sank into my chair. My very world was falling apart around me.
“There’s more,” King continued. “We had to cath her to see what was going on. This isn’t the only blockage she has, Mac. Her proximal left anterior descending coronary artery is ninety percent occluded. But she has multiple blockages.”
“What do we do about that?”
“That’s up to you. She could do fine with the surgery, and then again she might not.”
“What kind of surgery?”
“Bypass.”
I dropped my head into my hand and fought off all the emotions that flooded my mind.
“The anesthesia from the invasive procedure will likely increase her Alzheimer’s and dementia exponentially,” King explained.
“You can’t just put a stent in?”
“No, Mac,” said King. “Now, it’s up to you to decide if the risk is worth the reward.”
“The reward of what?” I asked as my voice trembled. “What you’re telling me is my mother has a bad heart, and if I try to fix it she’ll be mentally gone forever.”
“I’m sorry. Look, Mac, your mother has an advance directive, but she didn’t have a DNR.”
“I’m lost,” I sighed, still trying to take in the weight of everything King was saying.
“An advance directive means she’s made provisions with us – her health care team – of her wishes under certain circumstances. She didn’t want to be kept alive on any type of life support, but she doesn’t have a DNR or “do not resuscitate” order. Meaning, she wanted to be kept alive if she had quality of life. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I paused. “I don’t know what to do.”