by RJ Blain
I stiffened in my seat and felt the blood drain from my face.
“The FBI has, in recent years, adopted some rather casual rules regarding fraternization, in part due to the higher success rate of couples within certain divisions. Unsurprisingly, with the way CARD currently operates, it is one of those divisions. Motivation matters, and married couples tend to have even more drive to resolve cases. Of course, it is something carefully monitored and handled on a case-by-case basis. Considering your exemplary success rate with your partner and your long-term experience working together, I hold the opinion this benefits the FBI in more ways than one.”
In the end, I couldn’t escape Jake no matter what I did. “With all due respect, Dr. Sampson, I think I need a stiff drink before I can handle this conversation.”
“Water?” the woman offered.
“Is it spiked with vodka?”
“I’m afraid not. Would you prefer me to refer to you as Johnson or Thomas?”
“Dr. Sampson, Agent Thomas did not trust me enough to ask me to hand over my firearm and agree to an evaluation. What do you think?”
“If you had been given the opportunity to do so, what would you have done?”
“I would have handed over my firearm and agreed to an evaluation, Dr. Sampson.”
“Oh really?” The scorn in the woman’s voice dug at the wounds that had been festering in my chest ever since I had fled the United States.
All my anger and bitterness welled up and poured out of me. I was on my feet before I realized I had moved. “Never once—not once in my career—have I willfully or intentionally ever put my partner or any other member of law enforcement at risk. Even when my partner was responsible for me being shot, even when my partner’s neglect put everyone else on the team in unnecessary danger, I have never even considered taking action against them. Never. Why the fuck would I start now?”
Something in me snapped under the strain, and it wasn’t until Dr. Sampson sucked in a breath through clenched teeth that I realized I had slammed my fist into the table.
My finger definitely wasn’t supposed to bend at that angle, and surging waves of pain radiated from my wrist. “Well, shit.”
According to the x-ray, I had severely broken two bones in my hand and wrist. To add to my misery, I also had hairline fractures in two others. Dr. Sampson accompanied me through almost the entire process, leaving only when the surgeon was busy piecing me back together.
Thanks to a hefty dose of painkillers and anesthetic, I lost a significant number of hours, so when I was finally coherent enough to comprehend what was going on around me, Dr. Sampson had changed into casual clothes.
“Nice jeans, doc,” I slurred.
“Thanks. How’re you feeling?”
“I broke my hand,” I reported. “I think it hurts. Yeah, I’m pretty sure it hurts.”
“I see.”
I glared at the splint immobilizing my hand and wrist. The painkillers did a good job of numbing me to a tolerable dull, persistent throb. “I thought people got casts when they broke stuff. I got short changed. Where’s my cast? Did they lose it somewhere? They must have. Damn them, losing my cast.”
“They gave you a splint instead of a cast, Agent Johnson.”
“I’m so disappointed right now, Dr. Sampson.”
“I’m sure you are.” Taking the chair beside the bed, the woman set her briefcase on her lap and started flipping through pages.
While I didn’t mind the silence, I’d lost count of the number of times Dr. Sampson stopped what she was doing, looked at me, sighed, and shook her head. I had no idea how much time passed, but when the woman finally decided to start talking, my head felt a lot clearer.
Unfortunately, my hand and wrist were starting to feel a hell of a lot worse. I found it an unsatisfactory exchange.
“You know, most people would have screamed or cried. You? You uttered a single vehement curse and took out your phone with your left hand. What did you do then?”
“Asked you who I should call to wrap it?” I blinked at the woman. “Isn’t that what normal people do when they hurt themselves? They call someone for help?”
“There should be limits on how calm and collected you can be in a situation, Agent Johnson. You broke your hand in multiple places.”
“If I had been calm and collected, I wouldn’t have broken my hand hitting the table,” I countered.
“I’m satisfied you are of sound enough mind to return to duty when your hand has finished healing. However, that’s only after a one to two week vacation, Agent Johnson. A proper vacation, rather than indulging an overactive flight instinct. Upon your return, I will do another evaluation. Even when I deliberately provoked you, you displayed a remarkable amount of restraint. Of course, I would have preferred if you hadn’t used enough force to do lasting damage to yourself, but I neglected to consider your background in martial arts. For that, I am sorry.”
“With all due respect, Dr. Sampson, that’s a pretty fucked up way to do a psychiatric evaluation. I also never said I conceded to my resignation being challenged or postponed.”
“Are you sure you want to discuss the issue of your resignation while you are under the influence of morphine?”
“I’m in tolerable possession of my faculties, enough for this conversation at least.”
“I am of the opinion you were coerced and manipulated into filing a resignation. At least one member of your former CARD team was involved in the final decision to confiscate your firearm. This has factored into my professional opinion regarding your resignation, Agent Johnson. As a result, I will be confirming the postponement of your resignation until you are capable of returning to full active duty. At that point, there will be a formal interview to discuss the situation. In the meantime, I will be monitoring you during the progression of your recovery. Should you qualify with your left hand, I am willing to sign the approval to have your weapon reinstated and you assigned to light, low-risk duty.”
I frowned. “Do I have the option to reject this proposal?”
“I’m afraid not, Agent Johnson. You’re far too valuable to the FBI to waste like this. We pay attention to agents with a high success rate, especially when dealing with violent, organized crimes. Your partner is already on route from the United States, and upon his arrival, we will have a session to discuss the situation further.”
Jake was coming to London? “Oh, hell no. No, no, no. No. Absolutely not. Toss the rat bastard off the plane and make him swim back to the United States. No.”
Dr. Sampson laughed. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to disregard your request, Agent Johnson. This is a perfect opportunity to resolve this situation. I take a great deal of pride in my work. In many ways, we’re very similar, you and I. We both thrive when we are allowed to take pride in what we do. Neither one of us has a high tolerance for situations where we can’t be actively working on something that is meaningful. You found your limit, but once you stop thinking about today, tomorrow, and next week, I think you’ll figure out you’ll never forgive yourself if you quit now. At the risk of sounding unprofessional, get your head out of your ass and stop wallowing long enough to logically evaluate your situation.”
Something about the doctor cursing made me giggle, and once I started giggling, I couldn’t stop. When Dr. Sampson sighed, my giggles grew into tear-inducing laughter. Sometime after the hiccups started, the woman threw her hands in the air and left the room.
I blamed the morphine.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ten hours after arriving at the hospital, I was discharged. I had a long list of restrictions which boiled down to avoiding the use of my right hand, no driving, and taking my medication as prescribed.
Dr. Sampson refused to budge, ignoring me whenever I mentioned I really didn’t want to see my so-called partner. Through clever tactics involving silent stares and disgusted expressions, she had talked me down from never again to maybe in a couple of years.
“You are a hard neg
otiator,” I complained. The morphine the doctor had given me before my discharge wasn’t helping me deal with Dr. Sampson at all.
“Maybe if the matter were open to negotiation, I would negotiate with you, Agent Johnson. But, since I’ve already worked you down to a couple of years, why don’t we narrow the time frame to ten minutes?”
I glanced out the window of the car, which was speeding along at a decent clip into the British countryside. “It would be fatal if I jumped out and made a run for it, wouldn’t it? Also, why have we left London? I think the embassy is back that way somewhere. Can we go back to the embassy? I liked the embassy. It’s a very nice embassy.”
“A pleasant, quiet location will help facilitate your healing.”
“You’re luring me to a secondary location to murder me and ditch my body, aren’t you?” I sighed.
In the front seat, Agent Miller snorted. “Are you always so colorful, Agent Johnson?”
“Her file is definitely colorful,” Dr. Sampson muttered. “Your previous supervisor seemed to enjoy highlighting and underlining key points. Considering the number of notes praising Agent Thomas for his ability to work with you, I’m truly astonished management approved placing you two into separate divisions. You truly have high standards, and finding a partner who matches well with you isn’t easy. It’s admirable, really. I think your supervisor used a color coding system, too. I haven’t quite cracked the meanings behind the different colors yet, though.”
“Let’s not talk about the highlighting and the underlining,” I pleaded.
“I will agree not to mention anything highlighted or underlined should you agree to my terms. Ten minutes, Agent Johnson.”
“That’s confidential information, you know.”
“As your psychologist and psychiatrist, I have the privilege and right to inform relevant parties of certain elements of your file. It is currently in your better interest to reveal these notations.”
With my right arm trapped in a sling to keep me from using my hand, I couldn’t even cross my arms over my chest like I wanted. “That’s harsh, Dr. Sampson.”
“Have you considered therapy for your fear of heights?”
“Low blow, doctor. Low blow,” I mumbled.
“You’re afraid of heights, Agent Johnson?” Miller twisted around in his seat to stare at me. “You don’t strike me as the type to be afraid of anything.”
Dr. Sampson grinned. “The human psyche is an amazing thing. There are at least twenty pages of incidents involving heights in her file.”
“They did not include those in my file. You’re bullshitting me. You have got to be bullshitting me.”
“Your supervisor has a reputation for filing unnecessary but interesting paperwork.”
I groaned and leaned against the door. “Torture is against the law, Dr. Sampson.”
Clearing her throat, Dr. Sampson lifted a page out of her briefcase. “Of all the cases I have handled, yours is probably the funniest one. This part of your file is highlighted, circled, and underlined. At the top of the page, someone has made several notations. Remember, they might need to act on this information to safeguard you until your return to the United States. As an employee of the United States government, your safety and well-being trump any patient confidentiality rules in place. You will cooperate and peacefully meet with your partner—your husband, if you need a reminder—or I’ll tell the lovely agents in the front what this says.”
“Stop reminding me that he is my husband,” I hissed through clenched teeth.
All the reminders of Jake’s betrayal did was make me want to cry.
“I can’t tell if I envy or pity the man,” Miller said in a false whisper.
“Now, now,” Dr. Sampson chided. “The choice is yours. If you accept my generous offer, I won’t have to divulge the information in this file, instead transferring the protection of your person to your partner and spouse.”
“You’re manipulating me.”
“That’s a part of my job description.”
“Do you have to look like you’re having fun while doing it?”
“Slugs,” Dr. Sampson declared, depositing the page in her briefcase before closing the lid. “Agent Johnson has a disabling phobia of slugs.”
“You’re a horrible person, Dr. Sampson,” Miller said, shaking his head.
“It’s not like I run into a lot of slugs.” I was really proud of myself for keeping my voice so calm. “Fine. I’m afraid of slugs and heights. So what?”
Dr. Sampson sighed. “You may as well give up. I already told you this wasn’t up for negotiation. Things aren’t nearly as bad as you think they are. Stop worrying.”
The hotel had once been a castle, and I stared at the massive stone structure, my mouth gaping open. “Why is the hotel a castle? Why are we at a castle?”
“I’m just following orders,” Dr. Sampson replied. “We’re here because you will be staying here for the next week with your partner.”
“This might be the best international case I have ever been assigned to,” Miller announced. “Thank you for disappearing in Germany for two weeks, Agent Johnson. Because of you, we get to stay in a castle.”
“You’re so very welcome, Agent Miller.”
Dillan sighed. “Don’t mind my partner. Can I call you Karma?”
“Sure, but only if you tell me if Dillan is your first or last name.”
“Last.” The agent laughed. “Call me William or Will; your choice.”
Dr. Sampson cleared her throat. “Perhaps, instead of sitting in the car, we could get out and go inside. I’m afraid you’ll have to accept temporary imprisonment here, as I’ll be taking the car back to London this evening.”
Unable to think of a single way to delay the inevitable, I unbuckled my seatbelt with my left hand and fumbled with the door. I got it open, slid out of the vehicle, and discovered one of the side effects of the painkillers.
My legs wobbled. The world circled around me, a lot like it did when I got too much water in my ears and stood up too fast. I was so focused on trying to keep from ending up on the cobbles in a trembling heap I was only partially aware of the slap of shoes on stone.
I didn’t need to see Jake to recognize his big hands when he grasped my shoulders and held me upright.
Damn the man for coming and saving me from eating dirty rocks lined up in nice, neat little rows in front of a castle. Everything would have been easier if he let me fall; I could have hit the ground like an idiot, and he could have laid into me for being stupid. Running away to Africa, then going to Russia and failing to leave the airport before fleeing to Germany counted as stupid, foolish, and idiotic.
Why did Jake always show up when I was in the process of making a fool of myself?
It was almost enough to make me cry.
I had known I would be forced to face him, but I had thought I’d have at least a little more time. My first instinct was to retreat to the car, but the illogical part of me that hadn’t been drugged into a stupor along with my common sense had different ideas and full control over my mouth. “I broke my hand.”
Why couldn’t I say something normal? An ‘I’m sorry’ would have been a good start. An accusatory ‘why didn’t you have my back?’ would have been better. A tirade, one so intense I flayed every bit of skin from his body with the power of my voice alone, would have been best.
Instead, I hiccuped, and I recognized the opening volley of either throwing up or bursting into tears. I wasn’t sure which.
The sound Jake made was a mix of a huff and a sigh. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.” He paused. When I didn’t say anything or move, he gave my shoulders a squeeze. “Karma?”
“Hello, Agent Thomas. I’m Dr. Sampson. I’m afraid she’s rather heavily medicated at the moment.”
“You didn’t tell me she was hurt.” Jake’s tone dipped in pitch, and when he huffed, it was so soft I barely heard him.
The anger I expected from him was showing, but it wa
s directed at the wrong person. I tried to reach for him, and it took me longer than I liked to realize my right arm was still bound in a sling.
I forced myself to look up enough to focus on his chest. Why was he wearing a suit? It was a long flight from the United States. Had he changed?
The shirt looked really, really white and pleasant against the rich blue of his jacket. I lifted my left hand enough I could grab him so he wouldn’t focus his fury on the doctor, when I was the one who deserved to get yelled at. I ended up with a handful of silk, and I tugged at it to get his attention.
Jake wrapped his arm around me and pulled me so close my nose pressed to his shirt, which smelled faintly of his spiced cologne. “Karma?”
“I broke my hand.”
“What happened?”
“My fault,” Dr. Sampson declared, and a whimper escaped my throat before I realized I was making the sound.
“No. I’m the one you’re supposed to be mad at. She didn’t do it. Just doing stupid job. Her job is stupid. Stupid job.”
“Just what sort of drugs do they have you on?” Jake pushed me away and held me at arm’s length, leaning down until his nose touched mine.
Damn, the man did have pretty eyes. I blinked, aware I was supposed to be answering a question of some sort. I was also supposed to be mad at him, but the reason for my anger had vanished along with my common sense.
Dr. Sampson replied, “Morphine. They gave her an injection right before they released her. We picked up the prescriptions on our way here. Why don’t we get her inside?”
Jake slipped his arms under my knees and back and lifted me up.
“No.” My whined protest fell on deaf ears. While my head wanted me to break free so I could walk on my own, my body rather liked not having to do any work. “Not fair.”
“This again? Karma, you can barely stand. Haven’t you broken enough things?”
“Don’t use your shitty logic on me, Jake Thomas.”
“What happened?”
“I was under orders to test her volatility towards others and deliberately provoked her. She hit the table with her fist, broke two bones rather badly, and fractured two others. The surgeon managed to repair the damage without any hardware, but we’ll have to see how well she heals over the next few days.”
