by K. M. Hodge
Over the last year he had grown envious of Doc and her husband. He yearned for things most men his age wanted, but nothing ever come easy for him.
He came into the world the son of a crack-addled mother and a meth-head dad. From an early age, he knew he had two options, succumb to his lot in life or rise above his heritage and be something better. It really wasn’t a hard choice for him.
As a naturally gifted learner and someone who worked harder than most, he was able to pull himself out of the situation in which he’d been born. When he was sixteen, he was accepted on a full ride to Howard. To make up for what the scholarship didn’t pay for, he had to work two jobs, but he still managed to get near-perfect grades every semester. In record time he received his bachelors in Criminal Justice and his Masters in International Affairs. While at Howard he became fluent in Arabic, Mandarin and Kurdish.
At age twenty the CIA recruited him and he took on the identity of Alex Bailey—his mother’s maiden name. After he went through training, he traveled the world doing undercover operations during the second Gulf War. Two years ago, his superior, Supervisor Magellan, assigned him to a long-term undercover position within the FBI at the age of thirty-one. At the request of the Attorney General’s Office he was placed within the FBI for training and then assigned to the Counterterrorism Division, and more recently the Criminal Investigative Division.
At a tipping point in his career, and his life, for that matter, he knew it could go either way.
As he pulled out of the Hoover Building’s parking garage, he reminded himself of all he had overcome, and how he had it within him to be successful. Doc had been working with him on resetting the internal dialogue tape in his mind, which whispered to him that he was a failure, a degenerate....
...Like his old man.
Chapter 3
Church Hill Neighborhood
Richmond, Virginia
March 9, 2008
7:00 PM
~~~
Alex pulled up to the curb in front of a two-story, Federal-style brick home just west of Chimborazo Park. He loved this house and the people inside. He had met Doc and her husband, Chris, over ten years ago while on assignment in the Middle East.
Even though it was a direct violation of protocol, he continued to socialize with them even after he’d taken his current assignment under light cover at the FBI. He had his suspicions that his supervisor at the CIA knew of his association with the Forester family, but chose to look the other way. His reputation for uncovering impossible-to-get intelligence afforded him a little leniency, which he tried to not take advantage of.
Doc was one of the few and necessary luxuries he allowed himself. For years he’d been going to her for “under the table” therapy and medication to manage his addiction and the underlying anxiety that went along with it—a perk of having a psychiatrist as a best friend.
This current mission required him to be on point at all times, which meant he needed to keep his sexual predilections in check. If everything went well, a promised promotion to the rank of Junior Supervisor awaited him, something unheard of for a man his age. He just had to keep his shit together.
He shoved his keys and phone into the deep pockets of his wrinkled dress pants and reached into the back seat for the grocery bag full of goodies.
The security light on top of the garage lit up the stone path to the front porch, where Doc stood waiting for him. He couldn’t help but smile his first genuine smile in days.
“Well, well, well, Alex, it took you long enough. I’m starving!” She smirked and stepped aside to let him in.
“Sorry I’m late, but I did remember to pick up some Dogfish Head beer and those ridiculously expensive chocolate truffles you love.” He shot her a full-toothed charming smile—his go-to response.
“You’re forgiven!” She offered a weary smile in return.
Alex rolled up his eyes in mock relief. “Phew!”
She rewarded him with a little laugh.
“All right, Doc, let’s get the meat on the grill before we both starve to death.”
“Have at it. You know where everything is.” Her tiny stockinged feet shuffled along the oak wood floor through the living room and into the spacious kitchen.
He hummed to himself as he put the beer and chocolates away and took out the hamburger patties. The simple domesticity of it comforted him; he could be himself with her, and that in itself was a relief.
“So, dear Alex,” she said, “do you want to talk about it now or wait until after dinner?”
He bit his lower lip, as her direct question caught him off guard. Two can play at that game. “So, uh, when does Chris get back?”
Doc’s brow furrowed as she opened up two beers and poured them into her favorite frosted beer mugs.
Alex snatched one from her grasp on his way out the screen door to the patio. A shiver ran through him. With the sun gone, the air bit in a way that went right through him despite his wool jacket. The welcomed heat of the grill warmed his hands as he placed the patties on the bottom rack.
She wrapped her heavy wool sweater jacket around her and stood in the open door frame. “If you must know, Chris is in Germany right now. He should be home by Tuesday.” Doc pursed her lips and shuffled her foot in front of and behind the other. “Make them rare.”
“Yes, ma’am, your every wish is my command.”
She responded with a swift kick to the back of his knee, making it bend.
“Dammit woman! You want me to burn myself?” His yelp made her giggle. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”
He shuffled back and forth to stay warm. “It’s been a long and difficult day, so be nice to me.” He took a generous sip of his beer—the hoppy taste lingered in his mouth.
After a long pause, Doc finally spoke up, “So why were you working so late on a Sunday? I thought you pulled the first shift for surveillance?”
He paused and took another sip of his beer. As much as he wanted to talk to someone about what was going on, he still felt himself resisting her. Yet if he didn’t just say it now, he never would, so he let the sad truth come out.
“So I guess the employee assistance program didn’t get the memo.” He paused and took a deep breath. He couldn’t look at her so he looked instead at the burgers. “Katherine was shot last night.”
Doc gasped. “What?”
Alex nodded and cleared his throat, hoping to dislodge the lump of unexpressed emotions that had begun to form there. The playfulness of moments before was gone. Their session had now begun and she became his Doc, a role he knew she secretly loved.
“Oh, Alex! What happened?”
“It’s a long story, but it might be connected to my mission.”
“Is she going to be okay?” Concern emanated from her body.
“I—I think so,” he said, unsure if he really believed that. “At least for now.”
A silence fell between them, making him anxious. She always did that with him, and he hated it. He couldn’t help but fill the silence. “When I asked for this mission, I knew it was going to be hard, but I didn’t think it would be this hard.”
She leaned against the doorframe and gave him her full attention. Her long, straight black hair curtained around her oval-shaped face.
He inhaled and exhaled to hold back the tears that threatened to fall before he continued. “I’m having a hard time being objective in this case when it comes to Katherine.” He half-mumbled into his beer glass, “I might have feelings for her.”
She tried to catch his eye, but he looked away. “Might?”
The glass clunked as he slammed it down on the table beside the grill. “Okay, I do. I do have feelings for her!” He held up his hand to keep her from talking. “I know what you’re gonna say, that it’s normal for me to develop feelings for her after spying on her for the last two years, that I’ve had to develop this false intimacy to do my job.”
“But it’s more than that?”
“Yes.” He turned off the gr
ill and put the finished burgers on the platter.
“I’m... I’m sure this isn’t going to come as any surprise to you, but I think I should start the process of getting out of the spy business.” He looked up to meet Doc’s gaze directly for the first time since he got there.
When she didn’t respond right away, he tried to continue. His mouth opened and closed several times before he could tell her what was really on his mind. “Doc, I... what if I fail? What if she dies?”
“Yes, what if?” She reached out and took the burgers from him, and turned to go inside.
Alex closed and locked the door behind them, and sat down at the large oak table at the end of the kitchen, where he and Chris had played countless games of poker.
“Alex, have you talked to your mission handler about any of this?”
He snorted out a short laugh. “Nooo!”
She put their plates together and handed him his while he gulped down his remaining beer. “This case is too important for you to pull out right now, isn’t it?”
He got up to get another beer—this wasn’t a conversation to have while sober. “That’s an understatement. Years of work have been put into this damn thing. I don’t think I could walk away from it, from her, even if I wanted to. All I can think about is keeping her safe.” He took a long swig straight from the bottle and added under his breath, “And making her happy.”
He sat back down and took long gulping mouthfuls of the beer, wishing it was something stronger. “Mission: to save the girl.” He couldn’t help but think of the girl from Mosul, the one he hadn’t been able to save.
“Alex,” she said with a sympathetic tilt of her head.
He held up his hand to stop her because he just couldn’t bear to talk about it now—maybe ever. “Can we not get into that tonight?”
Doc remained silent.
The incident with the woman from Iraq had changed him, and nothing he could ever do or say would erase that experience. No matter what, he’d be chasing that regret until the day he died.
Doc twisted and tore at the ends of her napkin. “Are you taking your meds?”
He hated the pills, but being off of them was so much worse. “Yeah, I’m taking them.”
She exhaled and tossed the shredded napkin out of reach. “Good... and you’re keeping things under control?”
Alex shrugged. “That’s certainly subjective, Doc. How do you define control?”
She cocked an eyebrow at him.
He knew what she meant, but he didn’t feel like getting into this with her for the hundredth time. “Well, I’m not picking up prostitutes or masturbating during my lunch hour to get through my day, if that’s what you mean.” He couldn’t help the sarcastic tone to his response. Talking about his addiction and the disgusting things it led him to do was hardly his favorite way to pass the time.
She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him that chastising look that she seemed to reserve just for him. “What about Sara? Are you two still seeing each other?”
He laughed at her choice of words. “Seeing each other.”
“Alex!” Her tone made clear that he was pushing the limits of her patience.
“If you mean are we still fucking all the time, every chance we can get, then yes.” The shame caused by his actions bubbled up inside of him. Saying it out loud brought them into the light, and he preferred to keep his private actions in the dark.
“Do you need me to adjust your meds?” Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed as she regarded him with a look of concern.
He shrugged and looked away.
She reached across the table and put her hand on top of his. “I’m worried, Alex. I’m worried that you might have a relapse, especially with all the pressure you’re under in this case.”
“I am too. Why do you think I’m here? Well... besides the joy of your company, of course.”
Doc smirked. “Of course.”
He heaved a deep sigh as he contemplated her suggestion. “I’ll think about it. The last time we increased the dose, I couldn’t sleep or eat.”
She nodded slowly. “We could try another medication, or you could try to work the steps again.”
He laughed despite the angry look she gave him.
“I know you think it’s crap, but—”
“I said I’d think about it, Doc.”
***
Danville Press
Danville, Virginia
March 9, 2008
8:00 PM
~~~
Jason sat at his desk re-reading the email he’d received from his source--a background check on Special Agent Alexander Bailey. It had come back squeaky clean, but some odd inconsistencies made his informant think that maybe Agent Bailey was really a Spook—a spy for the CIA. Jason couldn’t even begin to imagine what that might mean.
A knock at his door startled him back into reality. “It’s open, come in.”
His door opened and his perky blonde copy editor poked her head in. “Hey, boss, I’ve got a copy of the police report and information you asked for on the shooting.”
Jason sat up and reached out for the file folder. “Thanks, Sara.”
He couldn’t help but watch the hypnotic sway of her hips as she left his office, closing the door behind her.
Damn, she’s hot.
He scanned the report and noted something unusual: police had found the weapon used to shoot Katherine near the scene, but with the serial numbers scratched off, and free of fingerprints.
Was this supposed to be a warning? If they wanted her dead, wouldn’t they have been more precise?
From what Katherine had told him, and the research he’d been able to dig up, these men didn’t seem to be the kind to make mistakes.
His cell phone—on vibrate—began to dance across his desk. He grabbed it and answered, “Knettle speaking.”
“Hello, Mr. Knettle, this is Dr. Martin from Pendrell General. I’m calling to inform you that we’re starting treatment for a post-surgical infection. Ms. Mitchel has what we believe to be Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus—MRSA.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yes, we’ve got her on a round of high dose antibiotic.”
Jason ran his fingers through his hair. “Thanks for letting me know.”
He hung up the phone and tossed it back on his desk. It had been years since he’d been to church, let alone prayed, but today he found himself pleading with the Lord to save his friend.
***
FBI Headquarters: Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
March 10, 2008
5:00 AM
~~~
ASAC Richards sat alone at his desk, reading over the D.C. Police report on Agent Mitchel’s shooting. His concern for his subordinate led him to ignore the direct orders of his supervisor, something he wasn’t prone to do.
He’d spent his weekend secretly investigating the failed assassination attempt on Mitchel’s life. As a trained profiler with over twenty years in law enforcement under his belt, he knew all the right questions to ask and how to get the information without drawing any attention from the higher-ups in the Bureau, and he was determined to find out the who and the why.
The shrill ring of his phone bounced around the empty bullpen. “Richards.”
“Hey, man, I looked into this case for you and I might’ve stumbled onto something. I don’t want to discuss it over an unsecured line, though.” His oldest and most trusted source had come through for him again.
Richards looked at his watch. “How’s about I meet you at Swings in two hours when they open. I think I’ll need a bucket of caffeine to hear what you have to say.”
The voice on the other end chuckled. “You’re going to need something stronger than that.”
***
Pendrell General Hospital
Georgetown, Maryland
March 10, 2008
7:00 AM
~~~
Jason jogged up the hospital stairs with a bouqu
et of flowers in his arm, and made his way straight to Katherine’s private room.
He found her sound asleep, and decided to leave her that way as he carefully placed the bouquet of roses on the table beside her bed. He noticed Charles’s familiar script on one of the cards nestled inside a bouquet of daisies. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Are the flowers a warning? A way to throw off local law enforcement? Don’t they always assume it’s the significant other first?
He took out a piece of scrap paper from his coat pocket and wrote her a quick note to let her know that he’d been there.
As he was walking out of the hospital, his phone rang. The caller ID showed a D.C. area code.
“Knettle speaking.”
“Hello, Mr. Knettle, this is Agent Richards with the FBI. I’m Agent Mitchel’s direct supervisor.”
His skin prickled with fear. What did he want?
“I was wondering if I couldn’t take a moment of your time.”
Jason looked at his watch. “Sure, I have a few minutes.”
“Can you meet me at Swing’s in D.C.?”
Jason thought for a moment. “Yeah, that’s not a problem. It will take me a bit, though, as I’m in Georgetown right now.” He mentally calculated the length of time and the best route to take.
“That’s fine,” Richards said. “Just get here as soon as you can.”
Jason hung up his phone and tapped his jacket inside pocket, where he’d been keeping the jump drive Katherine had given him. She’d said to pass it on to her supervisor if anything happened to her.
Was she right to trust him?
***
FBI Headquarters: Hoover Building
Washington, D.C.
March 10, 2008
1:00 PM
~~~
After a short visit with Katherine that morning at the hospital, Alex had spent the rest of the day buried under piles of paperwork. His phone buzzed in his pants, startling him. Sara.
What are your dinner plans tonight?
Alex leaned back into the chair and texted her back.
I’m hoping you are. Your place or mine?
Her response came back almost instantaneously.
