“That was great how you took care of Tim,” Sonya said.
Jaimee searched for the right words in response but coming up with nothing profound she went with: “Oh. Well. My pleasure.”
Sonya nodded and smiled brightly. “He’s not so bad when he’s sober, just talks too much. But he’s been more of a problem lately. Big P said this was his last chance. So, anyway, you did good. The other girls and I want to thank you for letting him have it. He’s been getting on our collective last nerve lately. Can I get you anything else? We got pie.”
“No, I’m good, thanks.” As she nodded and started to move away Jaimee stopped her. “Hey, do you know those guys across from us?”
Sonya looked across the room at the men for a long minute then shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen them here before. I could ask the girls.”
“No that’s okay. Thanks anyway.”
“You want me to take ’em a drink for y’all?”
Lora snorted and Jaimee chuckled.
“Oh no, no, I just thought they looked familiar is all. No biggie.”
“Okie doke. Holler if y’all need anything else.”
Jaimee smiled. “Thanks, Sonya.”
As Sonya walked away, another new friend, Nick, approached the table with a gleam in his eye. “Wanna dance, Lora?”
“Hell yeah.” She stood and smoothed her hands down her skirt. “Oh wait. You okay, babe? I can dance later.”
“Don’t hover, Lora.” She laughed. “Go dance! I’m fine.”
Lora bent and gave her a quick, tight hug, then winked and sashayed onto the dance floor. Nick followed behind her, watching her hips sway all the way. He turned back and waggled his brows at her before taking Lora in his arms. Laughing, Jaimee shook her head at him, amazed and happy with the certainty that she’d found a lifetime friend in Lora.
Fatigue washed over her as the adrenaline high faded and in all truth Jaimee did feel like heading home. Then again, going home to her dark, silent and empty town house didn’t sound so inviting. On top of that, Maxine was having a good time and she so didn’t want to spoil it by bailing on her.
Looking up from her soda, she glanced over to see another man join the two in the booth. Maxine was walking back toward her at the same time.
“Brushed me off.” Her voice was cool and deceptively nonchalant. “Told me he had to take a raincheck on the dance and asked for my number but wouldn’t give me his.”
“That’s not a brush off, is it, Maxine? You don’t know. He might call.”
“Phsaw, yeah. I’m not holding my breath. Anyway, I told him that we’re taking you home…”
“No, you’re not,” Jaimee interrupted. “But, I do think I’m gonna head on home…and I can get there all by myself,” she added with a smile.
“You’re a little pale and you’ve been sick. I’m not sure you need to be driving. We can leave your car and come pick it up later. I’m sure they’ll be fine with it here.”
“Max, I love you. You’re my best friend in the world, and if I really needed you to, I’d let you take me home. I’m fine.”
Maxine’s brows lifted and she took her determined, hand-on-her-hip stance. “I’ll get Nick, we’ll follow you then.”
Jaimee leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Okay, fine, I’ll just stay then.”
“Why do you have to be so damned stubborn?”
“I don’t know, same reason you do I suppose,” Jaimee shot back with a grin.
“Okay, dammit. But you better call me on my cell as soon as you get home so I know you’re okay.” She lifted a hand as Jaimee opened her mouth to speak. “And before you ask, as I mentioned before, Nick will make sure we all get home safe and sound. He’s the designated driver tonight.”
“I like Nick. Nick is cute.”
“Nick is gay,” Maxine said with a smirk.
“No way! He is not.” Nick was tall, muscular, very sexy and he smelled wonderful.
“Yes way.”
Jaimee shook her head as she stood and laid a hand over her uneasy stomach. “My gaydar is totally busted.”
“Sadly, this is true.” Maxine nodded.
Jaimee hugged her tightly and thanked her for being there for her, again, as always. After making her way around to everyone she’d met that night with promises to get together again, Jaimee headed out. Adrian’s smile seemed stilted as he held the door open for her and wished her a good night.
As creepy as it was walking through a deserted parking lot in the middle of the night she already had her keys in her clenched fist, poking out between her fingers, just in case. That way she could jab an attacker in the eyes. It made her feel somewhat safe anyway. She was tough, strong, and she was pretty sure she could hold her own. Wrong. Her attacker was quick, came from behind. She wasn’t nearly as prepared as she thought.
The gloved hand that covered her mouth and the arm that banded across her arms and her ribs were too quick, too strong. Jaimee found herself jerked back hard against someone solid, effectively immobilized. Though she kicked, jerked against her attacker and tried to grasp at something, anything to get loose. The arm binding her was like iron, crushing, forcing the air from her lungs. The gloved hand moved away from her mouth but it didn’t matter, she couldn’t draw in enough air to scream. The cold steel of the gun against her temple stilled her.
“I’m gonna let you breathe but you even act like you’re gonna scream and I’ll kill you.” The raspy, malevolent whisper turned Jaimee’s blood to ice. “Don’t doubt me.”
She nodded, simply reacting. Her brain had gone on emergency mode the minute he touched her. Fight or flight. Neither were options at this point. The realization settled over her that she was probably going to die and the only thought formulating in her mind was “Why?”
As she slowly drew air into her lungs, through the thundering sound of her heart pounding in her ears she heard another low male voice, and another. The sound of a vehicle closing in.
“…here they come…”
“…into the van…”
Oh God, they were going to take her away. She couldn’t let them take her from the parking lot or she was dead for sure. Her mind raced, trying to compose some sort of plan. The way she saw it, her only option was to fight. Even though the cold steel pressed hard against her temple she stiffened, resisting him. Being shot would be better than what she would face if they got her into the van.
“Drop the gun and let her go.”
Jaimee lifted her eyes to see Lucas standing slightly to her right. He didn’t so much as glance at her. His eyes and gun were trained on the man holding her. His expression held dark, unyielding fury. Lucas was here. Lucas had a gun. Her mind couldn’t seem to sort out the facts and come up with anything coherent.
Her attacker laughed as his buddies drew their guns. “Stupid bastard,” the attacker spat out. “You’re outnumbered.”
The streetlights afforded them little light but Jaimee registered movement to her left. Three guys other than the guy holding her and one sitting in the driver’s seat of the van. That was four guns against Lucas’s one and a big black van to haul the bodies away in.
“Think again, asshole,” Lucas growled.
“FBI. Drop your weapons. Hands in the air.”
Men with weapons surrounded them. Was that Detective Butler? FBI? The question barely had time to flit through her mind when the van headlights flashed on. Lucas only narrowed his eyes as one of the bad guys jumped into the passenger seat just as the van sped away. Her attacker pushed the gun harder against her temple. He was breathing hard and his grip on her tightened to the point of pain.
“I’ll kill her!”
Jaimee closed her eyes and tried to breathe.
“And I’ll drop you where you stand if you so much as twitch,” Lucas said calmly. Too calmly.
Everything seemed to erupt from there, although for Jaimee, it happened in slow motion. The man shoved her hard. Lucas caught her, his grip tightening around her for a s
plit second before pushing her behind him.
Shots exploded around her and then just shouts of the men from the FBI ordering those remaining to stay down. Jaimee stayed close behind Lucas, absorbing his warmth, watching the ordered chaos. The man who had held her captive lay on the pavement, blood pooling around his head.
“We’re on their tail,” crackled over several walkie talkie thingys hanging from the belts of the men surrounding them, from Lucas’s belt.
“Fuck. Grayson. Your cover is blown, man,” one of the agents snapped.
Cover? Nausea returned full force as numbness settled in everywhere else. Lucas was undercover? FBI. “Lucas?” Her voice wasn’t much more than a whisper as reality burned into her heart. It was a denial, a plea that all this was wrong, a misunderstanding, a mistake. Lucas couldn’t be FBI. He was in construction. He was at work. Working late.
Lucas lowered the gun and turned to her, his gaze hard, distant and detached. Detective Butler stepped up to her. No, not Detective… “Go with Agent Whitman, Ms. Turner. He’ll take you to the station. We’ll explain everything there.”
“I don’t understand.” Bewildered, she laid a hand on Lucas’s arm “Lucas.” Though she spoke with more volume this time, her voice shook.
Then she saw it, very clear in the depths of his sober and savage gaze. Regret and remorse. Somehow through his impossibly clenched jaw he spoke—no growled. “Go. I’ll be there soon. Wait for me.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The ride to the police station in the black sedan was a quiet one that seemed to take forever. Agent Whitman was nice enough. He only spoke once to ask if she was okay. Jaimee couldn’t make her throat work so she just nodded. It was a lie. She was far from okay, but she refused to assume anything until she talked to Lucas. She wished she could just stop shaking. Sickness coiled in her stomach, icy and cloying. Countless emotions engulfed her, each one threatening to destroy her, heart and soul.
The pieces were beginning to fall into place but with big segments missing. Apparently Lucas was FBI. She was afraid to allow her deductions follow that cognitive path.
Absently she stepped out of the cruiser and thanked Agent Whitman for holding the door for her. She followed behind him as he led her down one hall then another until he finally opened a door that led into a lounge room of sorts. A coffee bar sat along the wall right inside the entrance. A few steps through a short hallway to the left the room opened up. Two beat-up leather sofas sat perpendicular to each other, a coffee table in the corner between them.
“Have a seat, Ms. Turner.” Agent Whitman spoke softly, concern etched in his face. He seemed to be a kind man, in his late forties maybe. He probably had a sweet little family too. “Can I get you some coffee, or tea, or something?”
“Something warm would be good. Thank you.” The damn cold had seeped into her bones.
He walked away with a nod. Seconds later he reappeared from around the corner with a steaming cup of coffee. “I put cream and sugar in it. I hope that’s okay.”
“Perfect. Thank you.” Jaimee wrapped her hands around the chunky blue ceramic mug and slowly sipped.
“Good?”
She managed to nod and give him a weak smile.
He grinned. “We pride ourselves on our coffee. Hate that cliché about station house coffee in Styrofoam cups.”
She tried not to stare at him like he’d lost his mind. But she couldn’t help it. So what? Excellent coffee, in a mug, in a law enforcement establishment wasn’t thrilling enough to distract her from the foremost concern in her mind at the moment. She didn’t give a damn about the stupid coffee.
“I need some answers. I need to talk to Lucas. Or someone. Now.” Clenching her teeth, she gripped the mug tighter to keep from hurling it at the man. “Do you have answers?”
Agent Whitman cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t. I have to go. Someone will be with you soon.” With that he turned on his heel and walked out.
Jaimee took another sip of coffee, laid her head back and closed her eyes. Questions were swirling around in her head like a hurricane. She was trying hard not to come to any solid conclusions until she talked to Lucas. Until then, she was going to focus on what she did know: Brent had really fucked up her life with whatever it was in that day planner he’d hid in her classroom. Before she could expound on that stunning revelation someone entered the room and stopped at the coffee bar.
“…from what I’ve heard.” The voice belonged to a man.
“Well duh.” Another male voice answered.
Neither knew she sat just around the corner. She started to stand and ask if they had any information when the second man continued.
“Grayson never has a problem seducing a female. This one was no different. Women think he’s a sex god.”
“Yeah but evidently this one wasn’t like the others. This one was an innocent. From what I hear, she’s a plump and very cute little schoolteacher. She never knew what hit her.”
“Fell hard, huh?”
He sighed. “What I heard.”
“Damn. That’s sad. You know Grayson is heartless when it comes to a mission. He fucks ’em then fries ’em and that’s that. It’s all about the job to him.”
Jaimee’s breath froze in her lungs and her heart splintered, threatening to shatter. …all about the job… She had been his job. He had just fucked her for his mission? No, that couldn’t be true. God. No. She wanted to scream at them. Tell them to shut up but the words lodged, hot and spiked, in her throat. She couldn’t move. Her throat ached, her chest burned and all she could do was listen to them.
“Why’d they put him on her case anyway if she wasn’t up to her neck in the mess? Looks like we should have dealt with this one with some more subtlety.” The man sounded disgusted.
“I believe the jury was still out on whether she was guilt free or not at first. Seems her husband put her name on the Swiss account and tied her to it all nice and tight.”
What Swiss account? God. What had Brent done?
“Damn. That’s some fucked-up shit.”
“Yeah. It is that.”
“They should have pulled him off the case as soon as they realized she wasn’t the real target.”
“I asked Whitman the same thing. He said they tried but Grayson wouldn’t have it. Said she was in the line of fire. Butler was convinced that she still needed surveillance. Convinced enough to install sleeper transmitters. He wanted to make sure she came out of this in one piece, I guess. So Grayson was determined to stay in place in order to protect her from fallout from The Collective.”
Sleeper transmitters? The Collective? Anger flashed through her and warred for first place with her pain. It was just too much. Her head was buzzing and she wanted to throw up.
“It makes no damn sense though. I mean, granted, Grayson is a cold son-of-a-bitch but he isn’t a sadist and he isn’t that hard up for pussy.”
“I’m tellin’ ya, it’s a mind fuck.”
“So now that his cover is blown, he’s off the case I suppose. Any idea where they’re sending Don Juan next?”
“That’s just it, he ain’t off the case. Way I heard it he won’t back down. Even fighting Butler on it as we speak. He’s stickin’ with this one until the end.”
“Should be interesting to say the least. Still, hate it for the poor lady. She just got caught in the middle of a cluster-fuck.”
“Yeah, she did. All I can say is…” He paused, sighing again, pity resounding in every word. It made her lip curl involuntarily. “I just hope she’s strong enough to deal with…” The man’s voice trailed off as he moved out of the room and down the hall.
Jaimee just sat staring at nothing as the weeks past played through her mind. He’d been watching her. But he wasn’t the only one. Everyone had been watching her. Pain seemed to sink deep inside her with every flash of memory, weighing her down. They would be arriving soon to manipulate her further. She had actually bought it, believed Lucas cared for her, tru
ly cared. But no, he’d been handling her, manipulating and humiliating her. Was he laughing now? Her throat burned and her head hurt but she’d be damned if she gave them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. God. She’d been so stupid. Everything in her wanted to walk out, take her control back. To hell with them. But that would be stupid too.
She was going to find someone who would be straight with her if she had to interrogate every damn person in the building.
Just as she stood up, Agent Michael Butler walked in.
“Ms. Turner. If you’d follow me to my office we’ll get this over with as quickly as possible and get you home.” She didn’t move. Only rage motivated her now. Before she could say anything Lucas stormed into the room.
“Jaimee.”
Jaimee stiffened, slowly raising her eyes to meet Lucas’s gaze. He ducked. The heavy mug missed his head by centimeters and dented the wall with a loud thunk before falling to the floor. The station’s “excellent” coffee splashed everywhere. Lucas straightened and glared at her.
“Do you feel better now?” He lifted one brow.
Jaimee’s eyes narrowed. “Hell no. I missed.”
“Ms. Turner.” Agent Butler attempted to calm her, reached for her. “Please, let’s discuss this…”
“Don’t. Touch. Me.” Her voice was low and calm, totally opposite from what was happening inside her. “Now you want to discuss things, now that you’ve manipulated me and made a fool of me. Hell, the boys at the station all know and don’t mind discussing my wretched, pathetic humiliation on break over non-clichéd coffee but you didn’t bother discussing anything with me before you sent Grayson here poking around in my life.” The pain took her breath away. Just for a moment. She had to pause to catch it again. “So now it’s too late to discuss anything with me, Agent Butler.”
“Someone was talking about the case here in front of you?” Lucas seemed to vibrate with rage as he spoke.
Jaimee slowly turned her head and looked up at him. She didn’t even try to hide the pain she knew had to be clear in her eyes. “That’s what bothers you? They were discussing your secret case. That’s all you’re worried about?” A soft derisive laugh escaped her throat. “No, not in front of me. They didn’t know I was here.” She lifted a shaky hand. “And before you ask, I couldn’t tell you who they were or what they look like. But they knew me, the plump, and apparently desperate, little schoolteacher. They knew all about the case…and you. Evidently, Agent Grayson, you’re legendary and they feel sorry for me.” The last came out almost a whisper. She turned back to Butler. It was better to focus on Butler. “What are sleeper transmitters?”
Rude Awakening Page 24