ReDefined Page 3
“Aww, poor baby. It must be killing you not to know.” Her voice dripped with false sympathy.
He didn’t reply. Silence would get her talking faster than more questions.
“No. We’re not into that stuff, though that’s not to say we won’t eventually experiment. I hope he doesn’t turn out to be a Dom because I know I’m not submissive. I wouldn’t mind tying him up and making him squirm.”
Jordan switched to mentor mode. It was the only thing that could save his sanity. “Safe, sane, and consensual. Always discuss and plan out a scene and be aware of the dangers and how to deal with them. If you’re going to try bondage, have scissors or pruning shears nearby, something with enough strength to cut through the rope.”
Jamie didn’t say anything, but when he stopped at a light, he found her staring at him with wide eyes. “What in the world makes you think I want to talk to you about my sex life? I was trying to embarrass you into dropping the topic, and you turn into a fountain of information. No, Jordan. This isn’t happening.”
Pleased to have the upper hand for once in her visit, Jordan laughed heartily. When he finished, he squeezed her hand. “If you decide to explore kink and you aren’t comfortable talking to me, at least ask me to give you the name and number of someone reliable and trustworthy to talk to, okay?”
Her face flamed red, but she nodded.
The ringing of his phone brought Jordan awake. He grabbed it and answered before that last dreamy image of Amy, naked and kneeling, faded from his brain. “Monaghan.”
“Remember those reports from Chicago about the rash of crimes tagged with that eyeball symbol?”
He blinked, clearing the cobwebs of sleep from his brain as Brandy Lockmeyer’s question penetrated. “Yeah.” The report had caught his attention because graffiti had also shown up at the scene of an execution-style murder of a city council member from a Chicago suburb. His gut had told him it was practice for something larger.
“Wixom police nabbed someone in the act of robbing a gas station last night. They caught him drawing the eyeball on a wall with permanent marker.”
Sitting up, Jordan glanced at the digital clock across the room to find it was just after eight in the morning. “Copycat?”
“I don’t know.” Brandy exhaled. Jordan pictured her sitting in her office, toying with a pen as she considered the angles. Chief Lockmeyer was one of the smartest women he knew. They’d met seven years ago when he’d been a nineteen-year-old daredevil with Special Forces, and she’d been on a secret mission that had gone sideways. He’d extracted her, but most of her team had been killed before he’d arrived on scene. Though she’d been shot, she’d fought at his side, and four of them had made it out alive. That had begun a friendship that almost nobody understood, mostly because they were not and had never been romantically involved. Once she’d rejoined the FBI, she’d badgered him to finish his degree and apply for a job. It had taken a few years, but he’d eventually followed her.
“You want me to check it out.” It wasn’t a question. She wouldn’t have called otherwise.
“I know it’s your day off, but I really need your gut on this one.”
Jordan’s instincts frequently hit the bulls-eye. “My sister leaves this afternoon.”
“They’re questioning him soon. Take Dustin and just watch. If you think it’s nothing, then we’ll let it go. It shouldn’t take more than an hour.”
Nothing was that fast. He snagged his jeans from where he’d thrown them across the foot of the bed and shoved a leg in. “It better not. I’m taking her to lunch and the airport.”
“Of course.” Her grin came through loud and clear. “Thank you for doing this.”
His next call was to Dustin. “Chief called. She wants us to observe an interrogation. I’ll text you the address and meet you there.”
Dustin sighed. “I was going to take some comp time today. I bought a new spanking bench, and I wanted to surprise Layla when she gets home from work.”
“I plan to be out of there no later than eleven. Jamie leaves today.”
“Sounds good. That’ll give me enough time to put it together and test the weight limit.”
A couple years ago, their friend and fellow agent Keith Rossetti had bought a spanking bench from an online retailer, and the thing had collapsed under the weight of a sub who was well under the maximum load limit. Luckily nobody had been injured, but it had taught them to double check those kinds of things.
Jordan slid into the rest of his clothes and washed his face. A quick glance in the mirror made him wince. Though he shaved infrequently and didn’t often get a haircut, sometimes those habits made him look more unkempt than he liked. It helped him when he was undercover, but right now, he wasn’t on assignment, and he wasn’t preparing to go under any time in the foreseeable future. Brandy had approached him about training to become a profiler, and he was seriously considering it.
For the time being, he brushed his hair and put it back in a ponytail. “Haircut,” he muttered as he removed his shirt and got out the shaving cream to take care of his face.
Jamie was in the kitchen when he emerged. Bacon and eggs sizzled on the stove, and coffee was already in a mug on the counter. “I didn’t put sugar in.”
He kissed her cheek as she pulled a slice of bacon from the skillet and set it on a paper towel. “Thanks.” Sometimes he wanted sugar, and some days he didn’t. Today he didn’t.
“You shaved. I like it. You have a cute face.” She spooned scrambled eggs onto a plate and added four pieces of bacon. “Eat before you go. If you had time to shave, you have time to humor me.”
He really didn’t, but he sat down and scarfed Jamie’s breakfast. He’d miss having someone to cook for him. Left to his own devices, he usually settled for cereal or instant oatmeal. He wiped his mouth and smooched her cheek one more time. “I’ll be back by eleven. I’m taking you to lunch before we go to the airport.”
“If you don’t get back in time, I’ll call a cab.”
“I’ll be back.”
The drive to Wixom didn’t take too long since he was going against traffic, and he found Dustin already in the interrogation viewing room when he arrived. His buddy wore a suit, as always. Jordan wore his badge on a string around his neck so that he wouldn’t be confused with someone who should be on the other side of the bars.
“Did I miss anything good?”
“Matt Gordon was high when they brought him in last night. He has the shakes now, and he really wants a cigarette and a beer.” Dustin pointed to the folder on the table between the officer and the perp. “I asked them to mock him when asking about the graffiti.”
That was a good tactic. If it meant a lot to the man, then mocking him would get a rise. If it was nothing but drug-induced idiocy, then the man wouldn’t care. “I have cigarettes in my car.” Though he wasn’t a smoker, Jordan’s undercover work sometimes required him to smoke, drink, or snort various substances. He’d found early on that cigarettes were helpful gifts when dealing with a wide range of people.
“I thought we were just watching.”
If his gut advised him to step in, he would. “Can’t hurt to sit him next to me in the holding tank.” There was no smoking inside the building, but sometimes rules needed to be broken.
The speakers crackled, and the tenor of the officer asking the questions changed. “Where was your partner?”
The perp shrugged, and his gaze flicked away. “I was alone.”
Jordan crossed his arms. The man was lying. They needed to know why.
“Who was driving the getaway car?”
“I didn’t have a car.”
“You walked all the way from Redford?” The officer, Dan Birching, made his question sound more like a statement of disbelief.
“I hitchhiked.”
“Take us through exactly what happened once again.”
The perp exhaled. “Look, man. I admitted I did it. I held up the restaurant. I was high and looking to buy more c
rack. That’s all.”
“Where did you get high?”
“At a buddy’s house.”
“We’ll need his name and contact information.”
The perp wiped his hand through his hair. He was perhaps twenty-two. His dirty blond hair was streaked with sweat and grime, his teeth were yellow with nicotine stains, and his clothes were overdue as fuel for a funeral pyre. “I don’t know his name. We meet up every now and then at parties. He always has a free rock or two for me.”
“Was he driving the car?”
“No car. I walked.” The perp bounced in his seat, his eyes darting around suspiciously.
“Video surveillance shows you arriving in a car.”
“Right. Maybe he drove. I don’t remember. Can I have a lawyer?”
Dustin shook his head. “Took him long enough. They went through the story twice already. He has a different story for how he got there every time. He’s covering for someone.”
“Handler?”
“Or girlfriend.”
Jordan’s gut screamed handler, so he shook his head. “They didn’t ask about the graffiti, and Brandy said he held up a gas station, not a restaurant. I need a fine tipped marker.”
Minutes later, the officer left the perp alone in the room. Dustin and Jordan introduced themselves in the hallway. Jordan let Dustin do the talking. “Officer Birching, I’m Agent Dustin Brandt, and this is Agent Jordan Monaghan. Thanks for letting us observe.”
Officer Birching eyeballed them distrustfully. “Let me guess: You’re taking Gordon off my hands.”
“No. We don’t want to interfere, but we do have a favor to ask.”
“What?”
“Sit Gordon in the holding tank next to Agent Monaghan and leave them alone for five minutes.”
“So you can mess up my bust?”
Jordan grinned. “No. I’m going to offer him a cigarette.”
“He’s invoked his right to a lawyer. You can’t question him.”
“Noted.” Dustin gestured toward the office part of the building. “We need a fine point pen or marker.”
Officer Birching turned out to have artistic skills. He drew a small version of the eye symbol found at the scene on the back of Jordan’s hand. It looked like a prison tattoo. Then he cleared the other inhabitant out of the holding cell and locked Jordan in there. “You look right at home.”
In response, Jordan affected a bored expression. He leaned his head against the cinderblock wall and relaxed on the bench. He didn’t have to wait long before Matt Gordon joined him. The tank was small, with room on the benches for four or five to sit comfortably. Jordan had positioned himself in the center against the wall so that no matter where Gordon sat, he was nearby. Officer Birching left them alone. Jordan let the minutes pass. He watched Gordon fidget, and noted how the man’s hands shook.
At last, Jordan extracted a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He poured out a lighter and a stick. Matt Gordon looked around. “Man, you got anymore?”
Jordan gave Matt a long, measured look before tapping out another cigarette. He offered it, stretching out his arm so that his temporary tattoo showed.
Matt Gordon froze as his gaze lingered on the mark, but then he recovered. He lit up and inhaled deeply. “Are you here to kill me? Is this a poison cigarette? Because at this point, I don’t care.”
Jordan shifted, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he lit his own.
“I guess not,” Gordon said. His hands shook despite the influx of nicotine. “I didn’t say anything. You tell him that, okay? I didn’t say a word, not to anybody.”
Jordan stared. Legally he couldn’t ask any questions, but he wasn’t obligated to tell the guy to shut up. Silence, as always, worked wonders on a guilty conscience.
“Erikson didn’t say anything either. He took off when the cops came, but I don’t blame him. I’d have done the same.”
Jordan pressed his lips together in disapproval.
“I know it’s against protocol, but he got out. He can still serve The Eye. He can still carry out the mission while I’m in prison for armed robbery. I took all the blame on myself, so don’t go after him, okay? I am willing to sacrifice for the cause. Just please take care of me in there, okay? You know what I need.”
Jordan threw his unsmoked cigarette down and ground it out with his boot heel. He got to his feet as an officer opened the tank to let him out. He met Dustin in the corridor. They walked in silence through checkpoints and stopped where Officer Birching waited near his desk. He grinned. “Clever. You didn’t say a word, and he sang soprano on his own. I guess it helps that you’re a big son of a bitch who looks like an enforcer.”
Cracking a smile, Jordan said, “I am in law enforcement.”
Dustin rolled his eyes and offered his hand to the cop. “Officer Birching, thanks for letting us attend your party.”
“Are you going to follow up on Erikson?” Birching shook both their hands. “And not tell me anything about what this is really about?”
“We won’t be interfering with your collar,” Jordan assured the officer. However, if the lead with Erikson panned out or if they found a restaurant that had also been robbed, then they might have to interfere. He handed Birching his card. “If you find out anything else, give me a call.”
As they walked to their cars, Dustin asked, “Are you going to headquarters?”
“No. I’m taking Jamie to lunch, and then I’m dropping her at the airport. Tell Lockmeyer I’ll be in bright and early tomorrow morning.”
Dustin frowned. “You’re skipping the part where we analyze what happened and discuss theories.”
Jordan took out his cell and dialed Dustin. He walked away as Dustin answered. “I’ll put you on my speaker, and I’ll be hands-free. We can talk all the way home.” He started his car and drove away, noting that Dustin followed him from the lot.
“Erikson was his partner,” Dustin began.
“Sounds like they work in pairs,” Jordan agreed. “And Gordon didn’t seem surprised to see me waiting for him.”
“You’re thinking corruption at the local level? But why wouldn’t his boss pull strings to get him out? I mean, if he can pull strings to have an enforcer waiting in a holding cell, he can probably bribe someone to look the other way while Gordon walks out the back door.”
“He thought the cigarette was poisoned.”
“Well, it’s a lot of poisons. That’s what makes them addictive. I don’t know how you’re not a chain smoker.”
“I hate smoking, and so I refuse to do it when it’s not part of the job. It stinks. I’m going to grab a shower before I take Jamie out.” The expressway was crammed in both directions, but at least traffic was moving. “But I meant that he expects to be killed if he talks. He went out of his way to assure me he’d said nothing and that he was willing to do the time.”
“I was watching on the monitors,” Dustin said. “He looked proud, and he mentioned a mission. You know what that means.”
It meant a coordinated effort by a group of people to accomplish something. “Yep. We need to figure out their objective and stop them.”
“We’re going to need to question Matt Gordon after we get some more evidence.”
“Yeah, but he’s a drone. I don’t think he knows very much.” The sign for the exit he needed warned him to get over. “Besides, I don’t want to take him from Birching if we don’t have to.”
Dustin was quiet for a minute, and Jordan let him have time to think. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Speaking of birching, have you ever tried using a birch switch on a sub?”
Used to sudden shifts in topics, Jordan had no trouble keeping up. “No. I’ve seen it done, though. It’s kind of like caning, but not as harsh. It doesn’t sting as much, and the birch doesn’t hold up. They’re single-use implements. Why? Are you thinking Layla might enjoy it?”
“Don’t know. I threatened to use a switch the other day. We went for a walk, and she got mouthy.”
“No, but she did get excited. She said she’s always wanted to try it.”
His buddy sounded contented, and Jordan was happy for Dustin. “Then you should see where you can get some training.”
“You don’t know a guy?”
“I know a woman, but you’d have to go to Wisconsin for a lesson. Ask Malcolm. He’s more active on the sadism front. Or Keith. He might have some personal experience with it.”
“Good idea. I’m going to let you go now. Give Jamie a hug for me, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
After a quick shower, Jordan took Jamie out to lunch. At the airport, he hugged her tightly. “I love you, little sister. I’m glad you came for a visit.”
She released him and slung her bag over her shoulder. “I am too. Mom was right—you’re homesick. You’ve been here for two years, and though you have made some great friends, it’s not home.”
The FBI frequently placed agents away from where their friends and family lived because it made undercover work easier. After a time, agents could request to be transferred closer to home. That’s how Malcolm and Keith had ended up close to their families. Well, Keith had wanted to be close to Malcolm’s family. He treated Mal’s parents as his own, and he’d become romantically involved with Mal’s sister.
Jordan had grown up in a close family. He missed his five younger siblings and Sunday dinner with his parents. “Two more years, and I can request a transfer.” If he became a profiler, it would give him more flexibility in choosing his location, though it might require more travel.
“Or maybe Amy will make this finally feel like home for you.” Jamie kissed his cheek and headed toward the machines that would check her bags. This was as far as he could go. He stayed there until she’d progressed far enough that he couldn’t see her. Jamie’s optimism was infectious. If things went well with Amy, maybe she’d want to move back to Wisconsin with him.