Karma (Balancing the Scales Book 1)

by RJ Blain

  A few minutes with a razor, and I wouldn’t need to worry about my hair or its color. Some time in the ring would let me forget for a while. Without my identification, I couldn’t get into most of the clubs. I still looked too young, and the studios valued their operational licenses too much to risk a random stranger coming in to fight.

  My time in the FBI working violent crimes had exposed me to the reality of the world. In Baltimore, there were illegal fighting circuits, the type of places anyone could go, bet, and fight.

  I no longer had anything to lose, and buried somewhere in New York was likely such a circuit—if I could find it. It was the exact sort of place I never would have gone to before. Not all people who went made it out alive.

  It was violence glorified, and the deaths of fighters happened. It happened often enough the FBI worked to break the circuits.

  They kept popping up, rebuilding as fast as they were dismantled.

  A woman fighting among men would be a novelty, even for them. My hundred and fifteen or fewer pounds wouldn’t impress anyone who fought there. The circuits attracted people from all walks of life, including former military men who had lost everything and looked for a place to keep fighting when they were no longer welcome in the government’s many wars.

  My understanding of their choices should have bothered me a lot more than it did.

  Rejoining the crowds, I considered my options. It was possible the FBI had already put an alert out for me, especially if they decided to pursue an abandonment of duty charge, something they could do as I hadn’t followed protocol. If they didn’t, I had twenty-four hours minimum until they’d file a missing person report.

  Twenty-four hours was a long time.

  Twenty-four hours wasn’t enough time.

  I found Central Park by accident. The sun was low on the horizon, casting the walkways meandering through the green lawns and trees in shadow. I wouldn’t find an entry to a fighting circuit in the park, but there was something calming about the place, an escape from the city I hadn’t known I had needed.

  I breathed, and the scent of living things filled my lungs. The stench of the city was still there, but the deeper I walked into the park, the more it faded away. Twisting pathways cut through the trees, and sometime after night fell, I found an empty bench near a pond and sat, staring over the still waters.

  The shore was close enough I could dip my toe in if I wanted.

  When the clouds scattered and the moon reflected on the still waters, I waited for the world to go by and leave me behind.

  The bench creaked and shifted under the weight of someone sitting beside me. A wise person would have scoped out anyone coming so close, but I couldn’t bring myself to care enough. I dug my toe beneath a small stone and, with a jerk of my foot, launched it into the pond. The ripples erased the image of the moon.

  “Wanna talk about it?’

  I didn’t recognize the man’s voice. “Not particularly.”

  “I’m pretty sure most of us have quit at some point or another. It’s considered a rite of passage in our office. If you haven’t tried to quit at least once, you haven’t found your limit. If you can’t find your limit, you can’t surpass it. If you don’t know your limit, neither do we. If we don’t know your limit, we can’t cover your back.”

  I dug up another stone and sent it arcing into the pond. If he, whoever he was, was expecting an answer, he’d be waiting a long time.

  My silence didn’t seem to bother him too much.

  “We don’t have an easy job. Of course, most agents don’t actually make it out of the office when their fuse blows. Then again, most of us don’t have our integrity challenged so openly, either. There are some lines we try not to cross, and that’s one of them. It never ceases to amaze me how the trigger often appears small and insignificant. For example, an implication about a lady’s choice of eye color. Pulling out the contacts and dropping them on the floor was a nice touch, by the way.”

  The logical side of me recognized the FBI had hunted me down for a reason. The rest of me had a difficult time caring.

  When I said nothing, the man chuckled. The reaction roused my curiosity, but I kept my gaze fixed on the pond. The ripples of my pair of stones had all but faded away.

  “If you were wondering, your supervisor went to Johnstown in your place until you’re ready to work the case.”

  “They’ll enjoy having a fourth man in the field with them.” I regretted the bitter words the instant they left my mouth.

  “He said, and I quote, ‘If I find out I have performed a single duty outside of Senior Special Agent Johnson’s normal operational scope, heads will roll.’ Interesting choice of words, I think.”

  I shrugged.

  “Did you know Central Park is one of the very first places we look when someone finally blows their lid and needs to take a walk? Something about the park draws people. It’s a pretty calming place, isn’t it? However, it’s not exactly the safest place after dark. There’s a nice cafe nearby. Let’s go have a cup of coffee where it’s warm.”

  With nothing to say, I settled for another shrug.

  “You’re a tough nut to crack, aren’t you?”

  I dug up another rock, worked my shoe beneath it, and launched it so far it landed on the opposite shore of the pond without hitting the water.

  “A little girl died because I didn’t do my job well enough. Because I couldn’t get them to listen to me.”

  “Another little girl lived because of you. What happened in the Gianni case is not your fault.”

  “Great. Does everyone know about that case?”

  “It’s my job to know. I’m your supervisor’s boss. Part of my job description. I’ve walked around in your shoes plenty of times. Under normal circumstances, Ian would be the one seated here talking to you, but I think we can both agree his method of handling your integration to the team was flawed.”

  “Well, shit.” What was my supervisor’s boss doing in Central Park talking to me? I didn’t even know the man’s name, but I didn’t need any writing on the wall to figure out his presence was bad news for me in one way or another.

  “You’re into kickboxing, right?”

  “I quit.”

  “Why?”

  “Apparently, I valued my work with CARD too much.” I shrugged and went on a hunt for another stone to pitch into the pond. “I quit because of the publicity.”

  “You didn’t want to make yourself or your team a target, so you dropped off the radar.”

  There was no point in denying the truth. “Right.”

  “Make any friends outside of the office?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged. “We work a lot of hours. Not a whole lot of time to go making new friends.”

  Kickboxing had been my way of meeting new people.

  “The majority of which you spend in your office avoiding every other agent in the building.”

  “So? I can anchor from anywhere. Office just makes it easier. I could anchor while swimming if I wanted.”

  “Difficult to do when you can’t swim, Agent Johnson. That notation was underlined and highlighted to make certain we were aware of your inability to keep your head above water.”

  I sighed. “Right.”

  “Not to malign my gender too much, but us men can be pretty stupid sometimes. You have a record of taking very direct approaches. You have been shot in the line of duty several times. You take risks. You push the envelope. You have an interesting file. Think about it from your team’s perspective. Their partner was killed in the line of duty, and his replacement is someone with a known record of putting herself in danger. Did it occur to you they are attempting to protect you?”

  “So what? It got a little girl killed.”

  “You know it. I know it. They know it. You proved you know what you’re doing during that case. That doesn’t change the fact they’ve been letting you rot doing a desk job, but you also allowed them to let you ro
t.”

  I clenched my teeth. “I was given my orders, sir. I was not notified I was permitted to resume active field duty.”

  “I didn’t introduce myself, did I?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Kelvin Daniels.”

  Finding another rock with my foot, I launched it into the pond.

  “I warned Ian taking too many precautions would cause trouble. Fine. I have a proposal for you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “That’s a positive first step. Good. I sometimes enjoy taking an unconventional approach with cases. I’d like to run an idea by you. It might be a bit dangerous.”

  “More dangerous than a high risk of paper cuts?”

  “You won’t be sitting at a desk all day.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Can I convince you to listen over a cup of coffee? I don’t know about you, but I’m freezing out here.”

  “Maybe if it’s whisky flavored.”

  “There will be no drinking while on duty.”

  “I already quit, so I’m not on duty.”

  “Rejected.”

  “What?”

  “Your proposal to quit has been rejected.”

  I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Confused, I turned to face my supervisor’s boss. While the darkness obscured his features, he didn’t look very old to me. “If I agree to coffee, will you leave me alone?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Why not?”

  “Are you kidding me? Anyone who can withstand being stonewalled as an anchor for two months is far too valuable to let go. Remember, I get the performance reports. I’ve seen what you can do from a desk without seeing the crime scenes firsthand. I can’t wait to see what you can do when you’re back in the field where you belong. Now, get up and march. I’m going to take you for something to eat and a coffee, and I won’t accept no for an answer.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Kelvin Daniels’s idea of going for something to eat and a coffee was some upscale Italian restaurant on Fifth Avenue, the sort of place I couldn’t afford even if I wanted to go, which I didn’t. I was painfully aware of being underdressed compared to everyone in the establishment.

  The waiter didn’t seem to care what I wore, treating me no differently from everyone else, which startled me almost as much as the fact Daniels seemed to know everyone. The man, who couldn’t possibly be older than thirty, waved cheerfully to the fifth person in the past ten minutes to swing by our table to say hello.

  “What’s your proposal?” I asked, pushing my pasta around my plate. Despite not having had anything to eat since breakfast, my appetite had abandoned me sometime after the opening course of salad.

  “I will give you all the information for the Henry case and one of our unmarked cars. Run with it, see what you can dig up.”

  I lifted my brows, and my fork slipped out of my hand to clatter to the plate. Flushing, I snatched the utensil up. “I’m sorry. Did you just say you wanted me to run with it?”

  “That’s exactly what I said.”

  “Without a partner.”

  “Without a partner,” he confirmed. “You’ll be under strict orders to pull out and wait for backup if the situation becomes dangerous. You have a proven track record of good solo work.”

  “And you’ll give me all current information on the case?”

  “Yes. You’ll be able to use the data that has already been gathered and processed.”

  “You’re basically ordering me to act as a rogue agent?”

  Daniels chuckled. “Something like that. I’m not above poking sticks in the spokes when an opportunity presents itself. If you leave after dinner, you can get to Johnstown sometime before dawn. You can hit a hotel halfway there if you get tired. It’s a six hour drive. The team flew into Pittsburgh and drove to Johnstown from there. That said, the clues seem to indicate Jacob Henry is no longer in the area.”

  “Runaway or kidnapped?”

  “The team has decided it is a probable runaway case.”

  I frowned at the slight change in Daniels’s tone. “You don’t think it’s a runaway case.”

  “My personal opinion is not a factor in this investigation.”

  “Considering CARD typically isn’t called in unless a child has crossed state lines, what are you not telling me?”

  Daniels sipped at his espresso, watching me with eyes so dark they were almost black. “The child has affections for several relatives in New York. It is currently theorized he is trying to reach one of these relatives. However, the team has opted to do a thorough sweep of the area surrounding Johnstown, leaving a great deal of the investigative work to the local police department.”

  Spinning my fork in my pasta, I thought over his words, forcing myself to take a bite, chew, and swallow. Considering I barely tasted what I was eating, the restaurant felt like a waste. “Uh huh.”

  “There are some interesting items in Henry’s file.”

  “So, let me get this straight. You have potential leads on this child’s disappearance, and you’re opting to turn it into a game?”

  “I’m merely giving you the opportunity to examine the case with complete freedom to pursue any lead you want without being ordered off the trail. Of course, you can’t quit if you want to see the file.”

  I stared at him, and he grinned at me and shrugged. “Rules are rules, and I couldn’t in good faith break such important rules.”

  “I am not buying what you are selling. Sending me off solo is breaking the rules.”

  “But I’m signing off on it. If I sign off on it, it’s not breaking the rules. By authorizing you, I’m the only one at any risk of reprimand. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about running a case the way you wanted instead of completely by the book.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “The unmarked car is a Corvette.”

  Setting my fork down so I wouldn’t drop it, I took a sip of my water. The FBI had a fleet of unmarked cars ranging from vehicles that should have been scrapped decades ago to sports cars, but I had always ended up with mid-sized cars or standard SUVs.

  “It’s yellow. Yellow makes it faster.”

  “Right.”

  “It’s a convertible.”

  My cheek twitched. “Are you trying to get me to handle the case or steal the car?”

  “Let’s make a wager, Agent Johnson.” Daniels leaned towards me, and his slight smile unnerved me.

  “I don’t make bets. Not about work.”

  “So that means you’re not actually quitting?”

  I scowled. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Hear me out before you say no.”

  “Fuck. Fine. I’m listening.”

  “We are going to work so well together.”

  “Not if I can help it,” I muttered.

  “We will treat this as a scenario, one your team is unaware you are participating in. You will be playing the role of a rogue agent who has decided that playing by the book is beneath you. Of course, for the sake of the scenario, there are certain rules I can’t allow you to break, but you’re the only one who will know that. You will work this operation under the assumption it is you versus the world. Your goal is to recover Jacob Henry and see him taken into safe custody. You may use whatever methods you see fit within the guidelines I give you.”

  Rogue FBI agents happened. Sometimes the restrictions of our jobs made agents snap. Most retired or quit. The few who went off the deep end became a risk to everyone.

  “You could just order me to do that, sir. Assuming I don’t actually quit, that is.”

  “It’s more fun this way.”

  “You open your mouth and present information that should be restricted to the FBI, but then you continue talking, and I start severely doubting you’re actually in the FBI.”

  Without hesitating, he pulled open his jacket and flashed me his badge. “You should have asked that an hour ago. I should give you a failing grade, but I’m taking your circums
tances into consideration. I am really your supervisor’s boss. Ask anyone in the office. They’ll tell you where my office is and even show you up to the top floor.”

  I winced. “Right.”

  “As a rogue agent, your job will be to avoid detection from law enforcement while accomplishing your objective, which is to locate and protect Jacob Henry. There will be a team tasked with tracking you down. They will be aware you are running a scenario as the target of their training exercise. They will also serve the secondary role of backup should you require it.”

  “I have to evade an FBI team specifically tracking me down while working under a CARD team’s nose?”

  “Exactly.”

  “In a yellow convertible Corvette.”

  “I have faith in you.”

  “Right.”

  “Here’s the wager. If you pull it off, you get to keep the Corvette as your official FBI car. If you fail, you aren’t allowed to quit.”

  I opened my mouth, furrowed my brows, and clacked my teeth together. “So you’re saying that either way, I can’t quit.”

  “You weren’t supposed to notice that.”

  “What if I say no?”

  “Plan B involves handcuffs.”

  No matter what I said, I would lose. “I’m pretty sure this is coercion, sir.”

  “I can’t just let the agency lose such a talented resource. In my years of management, I have found honey works better than threats. Today’s variety of honey is a yellow convertible Corvette you get to use as your car. It’d be such a shame if I had to give it to someone else. I’m sure that Andrew fellow in your team would like it a lot.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “He likes the car, doesn’t he?”

  “He wants it with every bone in his body. Actually, there’s only three or four people in the office who don’t want it. If you win, it’s yours. You get his dream car. To sweeten the deal, you get to prove, openly, you have earned your spot on the team and deserve to be in the field like every other agent in CARD.”

  “You’re a tricky son of a bitch,” I hissed.