by Lisa Hughey
No doubt. He was a handsome sack of shit.
His lanky build and white bread appearance was an exact opposite of Jordan’s own burly shoulders, compact muscles, curly black hair and flat features of an Anglo/Hispanic mix.
But other details crowded in, amusing Jordan.
The navy pinstripes on their one hundred percent Egyptian cotton shirts were precisely the same width. The cuffs on their worsted wool suit pants were tacked and creased to the same length.
Jordan would bet three of his personally-measured, hand-sewn silk suits that if they compared stitching, they’d both have the distinctive monogram of one of the most exclusive tailors in Washington.
Working for a think tank paid a hell of a lot better than the FBI.
The senator’s lips tightened, as if he’d noticed the same details. Boy, Jordan bet that really frosted the senator’s ass.
As the silence lengthened, Jordan decided to eat his lunch and opened the bag. It would be a good cover in case anyone who was anyone happened to walk by and see them in the same out of the way monument, he thought mockingly.
The senator was known for walking through the Mall occasionally and playing king--at least that’s how Jordan always saw it--treating everyone as a potential constituent, never forgetting maybe someday they might be.
Jordan opened the brown bag he’d brought with him and started to unwrap his turkey sandwich. He’d bet his butter-soft Italian leather loafers, the senator had never brown bagged lunch.
The rustling of the paper was loud in the pregnant silence. Jordan opened the little wax paper bag and tried with a pang not to think of Staci. She’d read somewhere that wax paper was more eco-friendly and suddenly a few days later a box had appeared in his cupboards.
The senator broke first.
“Your name appeared in a report I received this morning.”
Jordan took a bite of the turkey on whole wheat. Another of Staci’s contributions. Before they’d hooked up, he’d pretty much eaten white.
He chewed his sandwich and then swallowed carefully past the lump in his throat. “Seeing as writing reports is what I do nowadays, I'm not surprised.”
“What can you tell me about the situation?”
“What ‘situation’ are you referring to?”
He’d been working on several reports that might have bearing on this senator’s committees but based on their location and the clandestine manner of this meeting, Jordan had no idea what the man wanted.
“There was a shooting....”
Jordan’s blood froze and he held extremely still.
The thud of his heartbeat reverberated in his ears. Birds chattered in the trees behind them. Exhaust from the cars zipping along Independence Avenue drifted over the concealing hedge into the suddenly close air.
Muffled shouts from an impromptu collegiate soccer match in Potomac Park were less than murmurs in the protected space of the old monument.
All faded as he remembered the shooting from last week.
In an off the books favor for an old friend, he’d hooked up with Lucas Goodman and Jamie Hunt. He'd also hoped to find out more information about Staci. When Lucas Goodman's search subject, Johnny Wishbone and his girlfriend were kidnapped, he’d helped rescue them. It turned out that Wishbone had seen Staci. And finally, Jordan had gotten a step closer to finding Staci.
Who was alive. Dammit.
Johnny Wishbone had seen Staci just a few weeks ago. There were some slight discrepancies in Johnny's account, he thought Staci was black, but he'd also identified a picture of Staci.
After the information Jordan had learned from the kidnappers, finding her was imperative. Staci had been injected with a mysterious drug and she needed the antidote.
But right now he had to get through this bizarre meeting with the senator.
“There are shootings all the time in our nation’s capital, you’ll have to be more specific.”
The senator glanced at his Perpetual Oyster Rolex in platinum, frowned and shifted closer. “I’m talking about the incident at the Presidential Suites hotel.”
The ‘incident’ was the death of the kidnapper. He'd been shot during the rescue of Johnny and his girlfriend. Although Jordan hadn’t killed him. An unknown assailant had fired the fatal rounds. The entire ‘incident’ was highly classified, so even Jordan didn’t know the reasons why Johnny and his girlfriend were kidnapped. His only concern was that Staci had contact with Johnny earlier in the month.
The shooting had only happened last week. The media had not gotten wind of the kidnap or the rescue, so how could the senator possibly know about it?
Jordan ripped another bite of his sandwich off and chewed vigorously while analyzing this development, projecting indifference when what he wanted to do was shove the sandwich down the senator’s throat.
"I'd like your report," the senator said testily.
Why would the senator be asking Jordan for information? Classified and highly sensitive information regarding a report, that if it existed, should have taken months to assemble, then sanitize, before being released to the Senate committee.
Because there was no report. At least, not yet.
“I know you were there,” the senator hissed, obviously impatient with Jordan’s delaying tactic.
“You should also know that even if I were there, I would be unable to answer your questions.” His anger built as deep buried rage bubbled up. Jordan rarely lost his temper but when he did, it wasn’t pretty. “You think you can circumvent the system? Go through me to gain classified information?”
“So you were there,” the senator said triumphantly.
Jordan crumpled his lunch bag with one fist and stood. “What’s your angle?”
Because, God knew, a man like the senator always had one. Some position he was working for his own advantage or defense.
Jordan took two menacing steps forward.
The senator tipped back his head but didn’t stand. As if assuming a more defensive posture would somehow validate the threat.
Jordan took another step to loom over the senator. “To protect yourself? Did you have something to do with the incident?”
How could the senator know about the shooting? Unless he was involved with the unauthorized injection of the mysterious drug into unsuspecting espionage agents. The funding for the mysterious drug experiment had to come from somewhere. The thought that this asshole could have appropriated and approved funding for an experiment that fucked with the lives of people already serving their country made him sick.
The old man held his ground, not standing or giving credence to Jordan’s anger. The senator glanced down at his watch impatiently. “That’s neither here nor there, and I’ve got to get back to the Hill for testimony on the amount of heroin coming out of Afghanistan. What do you know about the shooting?”
In his peripheral vision, Jordan could see the senator’s bodyguard hurrying toward them. Apparently the bodyguard was a little more concerned with Jordan’s body language. “Why the hell would you think I would help you?”
“I need answers, dammit.” The senator’s face turned bright red, but as a contrast his lips were white with fury, and his eyes narrowed with frustration. “And I think you have them.”
The bodyguard skidded to a stop a few feet away, his hand on the weapon concealed by his suit jacket. “Everything okay here, Sir?”
Jordan slammed the remnants of his lunch into the metal garbage can and then stalked away. “Get your answers someplace else, Senator.”
THIRTEEN
Why was the senator asking him for information?
The meeting had left Jordan extremely unsettled. He could count on two hands the number of times they’d met in person.
He tried to analyze in a dispassionate and detached manner, but everything came up jumbled and he couldn’t make sense of it.
The senator was privy to most of the same information the Franklin Group reviewed when compiling their reports and recommendations. Prob
ably frosted the old goat’s ass to constantly see Jordan’s name on the reports and recommendations used to make decisions influencing policy.
Only a handful of people even knew Jordan had helped out with the extremely off the books rescue of John Wishbone.
The only ones who knew were Jamie Hunt and Lucas Goodman, Zeke Hawthorne, Jamie’s boss, Carson, no last name known at least by Jordan, and David Armbruster, the Assistant Deputy Director of the NSA. Oh yeah, and Susan Chen, who was in a federal prison for her role in kidnapping espionage agents and injecting them with drugs.
An even smaller number of people actually knew what had transpired in that hotel room before someone shot Susan Chen’s co-conspirator.
Susan Chen was in a highly guarded prison.
Jamie and Lucas were taking a well-deserved vacation. Besides, Jamie was more close-mouthed than Jordan. No way in hell had she talked to the senator.
There was pretty much only one person left.
Jordan dialed his cell and asked Zeke Hawthorne to meet him for a drink. Preferably now.
“What the hell,” Zeke responded with a touch of bitterness. Jordan could almost see his shrug. “It’s not like I have anything better to do. Give me half an hour.”
Jordan rode the Metro to his regular haunt. The bar was mostly empty. For which Jordan was thankful.
Fuck. He needed a beer. “Two Guinnesses.”
“Sure thing, Jay.” The bartender, a petite blue-eyed blond named Delia, called everyone by their first initial. She began the delicate process of building the draft.
Zeke Hawthorne sauntered into the bar a little later, dressed in board shorts, a psychedelic t-shirt with Zoo York wrapped from front to back, and at least a two-day stubble on his jaw.
On a good day Zeke didn’t dress up, but today he was pretty high on the grunge scale.
Jordan grabbed their beers, and jerked his head toward a table in the back, close to the jukebox, and far enough away from the other patrons they could talk without being overheard.
After they sat at the booth, Zeke slapped his palm against Jordan’s. “Dude. How’s it going?”
Zeke punched his fingers into a fist looking to knock against Jordan’s clenched fingers.
Zeke looked like a surfer with his blond corkscrew curls going every which way. The guy was a total geek head, sounded like an extreme sports nut, and could probably do extreme quadratic equations in his sleep.
“Uh. It’s not.” Jordan had hit a dead end after tracking Staci’s movements to California. She’d used her own name to get Johnny Wishbone out of the hospital and convince him to protect Bella Holden, then she’d dropped off the grid again.
“I had a really bizarre conversation today and I need to run it by someone who knows the situation.”
Zeke rubbed a hand through his curls, grabbed onto the ends and pulled them over his eyes for a second. “You know I’ve been suspended pending investigation, right?”
“Shit. Sorry. I didn’t.”
Zeke shrugged casually as if it was no big deal. “No worries.”
Which was a total freaking lie.
Jordan noted the lines of tension around Zeke’s mouth and the misery in his ocean blue eyes. If Zeke wanted to pretend everything was fine, Jordan wasn’t going to argue.
Their friendship was new and some places guys just didn’t go.
“This has to do with our, uh, adventure.”
“Nice way to put it.” Zeke smirked into his beer. “Thanks. Haven’t smiled in a few days.”
“I just had a very weird meeting with the chairman of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence.”
Zeke’s gaze shot to his. “That blowhard.”
Jordan snorted. “Called that one.” He took a slow draw on his beer.
Zeke studied him quietly for another moment. “So what did the esteemed senator from Virginia want?”
“Information about the incident at the Presidential Suites.”
“Are you shitting me?” Zeke dropped his beer on the table, the dark, yeasty liquid sloshed over the side to dribble onto the scarred tabletop. Zeke leaned toward Jordan and lowered his voice. “No one, and I mean, no one knows about that.”
“Yeah. So where is he getting his information?”
“I’m on leave. And not allowed any-frickin’-where near an agency computer or anyone who knows anything,” Zeke bitched softly.
“Then what are you doing with me?”
“You work for a think tank. With the exception of Carson, who I’m pretty sure won’t bust me, no one else knows you had anything to do with...” Zeke waved his hand dismissively, “...the adventure.”
“Yeah. So how the fuck does the senator know I was there?”
“Dude. You didn’t ask?”
Jordan closed his lips firmly and leaned back against the leather banquette. He’d been so on guard against the man, against giving him anything, it hadn’t even occurred to him to come out and ask.
“The whole meeting was just short of a weird-fest. That was an off-the-books job. How could the senator even know about it?”
“Someone leaked the information,” Zeke murmured. He took a big gulp of stout. “Shit. Had to be someone fairly high up.”
“You have any ideas?”
“No idea. Haven’t been in the office since. Ya know?” Zeke took another large swallow of the dark beer. “I’m in a tenuous position as it is. The Assistant Director himself is handling and reviewing all aspects of this clusterfuck. I sure as hell don’t want to come to his attention more than necessary.”
“Okay. Fine. We can work around this.” Jordan sipped at the brew. “What if I sort of speculate out loud and you can hand signal me if it seems like a logical solution.”
“And later we can use our invisible ink to write messages on our napkins,” Zeke responded in a singsong-y voice.
“I’m desperate here.” Jordan inhaled sharply, then blew out a breath slowly. “I need to find Staci and...I need help.”
“Hey, sorry, dude. You haven’t been able to turn up anything else?”
“It’s like she disappeared after ‘hiring’ Johnny Wishbone to look after Bella Holden.”
“What about the cell phone number she gave the kid as a contact point?”
“Disconnected.” Jordan clenched his fist around the glass, feeling the cool condensation against his palm. “But it’s a pay-as-you-go phone anyway. No way to trace it.”
“All known residences?”
“Checked and double-checked.”
“All known bank accounts?”
“Haven’t been accessed.”
“Could she have an unregistered bank account?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Shit. When he’d found her bank statements, he’d been surprised by the amount of money she had.
She was loaded.
He should have known. The clues were there. A rowhouse in Alexandria, a house on the cape of Massachusetts, and another in the Bahamas.
But beyond certain extravagances, money wasn’t important to him or her. So how would he know if she had a hidden bank account?
“But I haven’t got any way to find a hidden bank account...or access it.”
Zeke pursed his lips. “All known associates?”
“That’s a little more difficult. I don’t know anyone else.”
“She didn’t have any girlfriends?”
“She had some work acquaintances through Georgetown.” It had been one of the things they’d had in common. They’d each been a little bit lonely. Work consumed them both to the point where outside relationships were almost nil.
“When I called to ask if they had heard from her,” he said in disgust, “they asked to meet for drinks.”
He’d learned after the second meeting they didn’t have any info. The were just trolling for a date.
“Wow, dude. Must be nice.”
“Not really. I don’t want them.” Shit. Did his voice just break? He drained his glass.
/> “You are crazy.” Zeke joked, but Jordan heard the underlying note of truth. “I'd take some of that action.”
Zeke stared hard at the jukebox, his attempt to avoid eye contact told Jordan he was being brutally honest.
“I don’t do anything but work and all of the sudden, I’ve got nowhere to go. Nothing to do and no one to do it with.” Zeke thumped his head into his hands. “Jesus, could I whine more? Don’t listen to me. I’m feeling a little sorry for myself. I’ll get over it.”
“Help me find Staci.”
“As long as it doesn’t get me fired.” Zeke tapped his fingers on the scarred wood table, like he was at a keyboard. “Or worse.”
“I could really use your help.” Jordan hesitated. “Clearly I’m not doing so well on my own.”
The fact that the senator knew about the shooting in the Presidential Suites upped his pucker factor.
Jordan needed to get to Staci.
His need to find her had increased exponentially after learning she’d been injected with a mysterious drug. She needed the antidote. This wasn’t just about his need to find her anymore. This was about his need to save her.
And maybe he needed to hold her in his arms for a minute or an hour or fantasy time, a night, and just be thankful she was okay.
“Can you tell me....”
Zeke waited with patience for Jordan to spit it out. “Can’t tell if you don’t ask.”
“Did you feel different when you had that drug in you?”
Zeke was the only person he could ask. He had been injected with the unstable compound. He’d also gotten the antidote which should have rendered the original drug inactive and returned Zeke to ‘normal’.
“Do you remember?”
“Shit. You don’t ask easy stuff, do you?”
“If it isn’t hard, it isn’t worth it.”
“I was a little more manic than normal about work. I’d check and re-check everything. As if...I was working at hyper-speed. And patterns. I could see patterns in everything. Not just work but everywhere I looked there were patterns I’d never noticed before.”
“You liked what the drug did.”
Zeke gazed at the jukebox as the lights on the display flickered and flashed, and his voice got softer and softer. “In some ways, it was amazing.”
