After walking across the cheap brown carpet to the corner office, I knocked once before I heard my boss, Katlin Chester, yell back to come inside.
I took a seat in the small black pleather chair across from her as she leaned back and stared at me.
“What is this, Chance?” Katlin said just before her lips pursed into a hard line holding up a piece of paper.
I swallowed hard before clasping my hands on my lap. “A marriage certificate, ma’am.” I willed my eyes to stay on her steel gray stare but faltered.
Not good.
“I know what it is. What I am asking, agent, is why your name is on it?”
My head raced with possible replies. Confess everything—tell her I drank on the job and let this happen—or lie through my teeth. Blame it on Tennessee. Make it into one of his stupid pranks.
“Surprise,” I waved my hands in the air like a magician, “I’m married.”
Her thin lips frowned. I should have known better not to make a joke about it. Katlin Chester did not help create the newly formed ITA, Inter-Terrorism Agency, a specialized go-between of the CIA and FBI, because she had a sense of humor.
This place was so secret that most people in the CIA and FBI didn’t know of its existence. A person doesn’t get asked to help form a new government agency because they were good at cracking jokes.
Katlin sat in her government-issued black chair and focused on the certificate. “It says here this was in Nevada three weeks ago, back in June. I seem to recall you being on a reconnaissance mission to gather info on the Jewel, Emma Hawthorne, in Las Vegas in June. You got lucky when she spilled everything and you had the opportunity to bring her in.”
Despite the smirk on her face, I knew her words were no compliment. She had already congratulated me a few weeks ago when I brought back the criminal, we nicknamed the Jewel, that we had been targeting for over a year. Emma Hawthorne was planning to infiltrate the government with her family and friends and destroy it like ice in a cement crack.
Despite the takedown, I fucked up. I made one very big mistake that I hoped my boss wouldn’t find out about. I don’t know which was worse, believing my boss—who had access to every piece of information about every government employee—wouldn’t find out I got married, or, that I never did anything about getting a divorce.
“Did you decide that would be a great time to bring your fiancée along and have a cheap wedding on the government’s dime?”
My jaw ticked. “No.”
She placed the paper on her brown particle board desk and leaned forward. I tensed knowing this was far from over as she placed her elbows on the arms of her chair and steepled her fingers to her lips.
“I never realized you were engaged, agent. Why did you never say anything? Did you have an engagement party? I figured you would have invited someone from the department. I don’t recall anyone mentioning it. Your partner, Golden, never said a word.”
Crap, that was the second time she called me agent. I was in some deep shit now.
“I was drunk,” I mumbled.
She cupped her ear. “I’m sorry, agent, I don’t believe I heard you.”
I rolled my head back staring at the drop ceiling. “I was trailing some of her son’s friends who happened to be at the hotel bar. I thought it would be a perfect opportunity to gather some intelligence and they bought me a drink.”
Katlin held up her hand. “Wait, they bought you a drink? Did you even test the contents? Were you drugged?”
This wasn’t going well.
Why did I let my dick do my thinking that night?
Oh, I know. Because the woman was beautiful and funny and sweet. There was something about flirting and spending time with her that felt wonderful. I missed it. Being a government spy for eight years in the CIA and then the past two years in ITA, I missed being a normal guy hitting on a woman in a bar.
There were too many steps I had to take just to consider having sex with a woman. Background checks, credit checks, pulling up files on her friends and family. And after all that, I’m only allowed to sleep with them, nothing more.
Technically, I’m allowed to have a relationship with someone, but that would mean I had to lie to them on a regular basis. Never tell them the truth about me. Something about all that felt wrong.
My life could be lonely but at least I had Cate. I liked Cate, well, I liked her body. I rubbed my chest. There was an odd sensation that made me frown when I thought of Cate.
That never happened before.
“No, I wasn’t drugged.”
I remember everything perfectly clear.
“You realize you compromised the mission, yourself, and the agency?”
I nodded.
“Where is this,” Katlin looked down at the certificate before continuing, “Tiffany Blackburn now? Has she signed the divorce papers?”
As much as I dreaded telling my boss I was married, I loathed having to explain I haven’t seen or spoken to Tiffany since that night in Vegas.
“Maybe a divorce isn’t necessary. What is a divorce anyway but a slip of paper?” I stood and walked over to the window in the office that overlooked the Chicago River. “Technically, she didn’t really marry me. She married Jagger Chance. Maybe I should get a new identity, social security card, and—”
“Agent Chance!” Katlin stood, bringing her fist down on her desk with a loud thwack. “The United States Government does not give out identities like pieces of gum on a playground. According to your record, you are now legally married to Mrs. Tiffany Blackburn. I suggest you rectify this or your clearance and job will be taken away from you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said as I turned to leave.
“Oh, and Chance?” Katlin said just before I crossed the threshold.
I kept my back to her. “Yes?”
“Remember what happened to Agent Snow? She disobeyed orders and it cost her, her life. Take care of this as soon as possible. Now close the door behind you.”
“But what about Agent Hack or Grey?” I asked.
“They aren’t agents anymore, are they?”
I nodded. Both of them left the agency. Grey moved out west and Hack owned some kid’s sporting center or something with his wife just outside of Chicago. But, they chose love and marriage over their jobs.
I swallowed and did as she requested.
Snow was a great agent. They still used her missions as teaching tools for new recruits. But then, she let her heart do the thinking for her.
Katlin was right. I had to end this marriage, and quick. Too much was at stake.
THREE
Tiffany
“David John Blackburn!” I yelled down the hallway.
Nothing. No sound. No movement.
“Okay, I guess I have to come find you,” I said in an even louder tone.
That’s when I heard his voice and some banging.
“Mom. Wait. Getting dressed,” David said with a crack in his voice.
I stood about twenty feet from his room and smiled. It was just six months ago that he couldn’t speak more than fifty words, often garbled so that only I could understand. Though he had trouble speaking the words, he understood tens of thousands, which was typical for a twelve-year-old.
Earlier this year, he also wouldn’t have been able to dress himself or walk to me. It may take him longer than other boys his age to do all those things, but he could accomplish them by himself now. And I couldn’t help the large grin on my face every time I witnessed him doing the most mundane tasks on his own.
“Hurry up because your new physical therapist is going to be here any minute,” I said and placed my hands on my cheeks trying to will back the tears.
For it’s those mundane things that brought me the most joy. David always had a smile on his face and loved life, appreciating everything. But, there were times when he didn’t think I was looking, when I saw him stare at his friend Matt.
Matt could walk.
They met at the therapy center seve
ral years ago. Matt had difficulty with communication and issues with social skills. They both had different speech therapists but the same appointment time. Sometimes they were in the same room, working on tasks together. Their therapists quickly learned that Matt and David challenged each other to work harder.
Though they went to different schools and Matt lived in a different neighborhood, those two were inseparable. That was, until last year when Matt moved to Virginia. He hasn’t seen David since before the operation.
Matt had never seen David walk.
“I think I heard the buzzer. That should be the therapist,” I said and turned toward the front door.
I pressed the intercom. “Hello?”
There was some crackling and static but I heard a male voice say Blackburn, so I pushed the open button for the front door of the building. I made a mental note to contact the landlord again about fixing the intercom so I could hear the visitors more clearly.
Just this morning I read in the paper about a thief pretending to be a visitor of a residential building nearby, but the intercom was broken so he was easily buzzed inside. Luckily, the tenant was unharmed, but the thief did steal some valuables.
What if that happened while David was here? We lived in a high-rise that overlooked Lake Michigan because we needed a building with an elevator. How quickly could we escape from someone out to do us harm?
The rent in this building was pricey enough despite the iffy neighborhood. The landlord needed to stay on top of safety. I was thankful my good friend and David’s godfather, Henrik Payne, helped me out with the rent, but I refused to take more than was necessary.
We met the night of the accident. The same accident that killed my husband and left my son disabled, killed Henrik’s parents and sister. Henrik blamed himself for the accident, but how could he have known that his mother was too drunk to drive that night? He wasn’t anywhere near his parents that night.
We grew close in our grief. In a way, he had helped David not just by making sure he got the best care but being the father figure that David craved.
But now that Henrik’s getting married I feared he wouldn’t be in David’s life as much. That made me more determined to find a man who could be a good father to David.
I walked over to the door when I heard a knock and glanced through the peephole. My breath caught at what I saw.
The man on the other side of my door didn’t appear to be a robber, but he also didn’t seem like a physical therapist, either.
Once I opened the door my eyes swept his long, muscular body. Something seized in my chest, and I rubbed at the spot wondering if it was disappointment or something much different causing the ache. Logically I knew that it required strength to help a twelve-year-old boy that had some difficulty with walking and bending and lifting. But my mind wasn’t going there. It was on the opposite side of the logical planet.
All my thoughts involved heat and touching and groping. As if I left stable Earth to land on the steamy, sexy party planet of Venus.
I frowned and shook my head trying to focus on the reason this guy was in my doorway. But when he smiled and the twinkle of his jade eyes sent a shiver throughout my body to my fingertips, I had to hold onto the door to steady myself.
The only thing that brought me back down to earth was his clothing. Particularly, his white button-up shirt, navy dress pants, and dress shoes. If this were a meeting in an office, he would be dressed appropriately, but it’s a physical therapy session.
He ran his hands through his shaggy brown hair as his eyes darted to the floor and I licked my lips. He must have realized he was overdressed.
“You must be the PT. I’m Tiffany, David’s mom.” I held out my hand and forced a smile that didn’t appear too lecherous.
His eyes shot up to mine and widened. But that was it. He didn’t shake my hand or say a word. The man stood there staring at me.
“And you are?” I asked tilting my head.
He blinked but still no sound.
“Okay, then. Please, come inside. David is getting dressed. He will be out in a minute. I can explain his history while we wait.” I moved and waved him inside.
He hesitated but after a minute decided it was safe to come into my apartment. We walked past my small galley kitchen to the right and straight into my living room. As he lowered himself onto my brown suede chair I had to pry my eyes away from his ass. The man had a nice butt but I reminded myself it wasn’t for staring at while I sat on the pale green sofa.
“I’m afraid I don’t know your name. I am sure I wrote it down somewhere but can’t seem to find it,” I said.
“Jagger. My name is Jagger,” he finally spoke.
The hairs on the back of my neck rose as he told me his name. There was something about his voice which was unexpected. Maybe it was because he refused to speak when he was at the door that I anticipated his words to be whisper-quiet.
They certainly weren’t soft. In fact, they were the opposite. Hard with a dark edge that pricked at my skin. But there was something else, too. My heart beat a little faster as if I knew him.
“It’s nice to meet you, Jagger. Now about my son,” I said as I put my instructional face on. “He was in a car accident when he was two that left him unable to develop at the same pace as his peers in regard to motor skills. He is twelve now, will be turning thirteen in a few weeks, and this year he took his first steps.”
I found that when speaking with professionals about my son’s history, it’s easier to remove the emotional element. Like reading from a textbook, just the facts.
Jagger’s brow creased. He appeared uneasy but let me continue.
“The accident affected his primary motor cortex. This past winter he had a fairly new procedure to try and reverse what the accident had done to him. It worked. He can now speak and walk and do most of the stuff a kid his age can do.”
“What’s the PT for?” Jagger asked.
Wait . . . What? Was he serious?
“Why wouldn’t my son need physical therapy?”
Jagger’s face lit up with merriment mixed with surprise. “Oh, physical therapy. You think I’m a physical—”
He was cut off as my son entered the room.
I got up and walked to David. He was my height, not so little anymore. Now that he could tell me anything he wanted, he decided he had to let his hair grow. The boy who stood in front of me was tall, skinny, and had a big brown mop of hair.
“Hey.” David’s blue eyes stayed focused on the floor.
“David, this is Jagger. He will be your new physical therapist.” I took David’s hand and helped him onto the couch.
“As you can see, while David can now walk,” my smile widened as I gazed at my son’s reddening face, “he is still building his strength and coordination. That’s where you come in.”
Jagger’s eyes bounced between my son and me with a strange expression on his face. The best way to describe it was that he appeared to be holding in a fart.
The man stayed silent. Was this how it was going to be with him? Am I going to have to show him how to do his job?
“David. Is there anything you would like to ask Mr. Jagger?”
“No,” my son said as his eyes stared at the gray block-patterned rug.
I was so happy when I found out my new insurance would cover most of the cost of home visits from a physical therapist. Who knew that I would end up with the worst PT in the world. Maybe I could request a new one from the group I contacted.
“Is there anything you would like to ask me, Mr. Jagger?”
“Yes, I mean no.” He paused and held his breath. I expected him to continue but he didn’t.
“We do have a room with some equipment in it. Perhaps you would like to see it, and then you can get started with David.”
I stood and helped David up. As we moved toward the hallway, I turned my head to find Jagger still in the leather chair
“Mr. Jagger. Are you coming?”
His jaw tightene
d as he stood and it seemed painful for him to answer, “Yes.”
Once we stepped into what used to be the master bedroom, David leaned against a wall as I waved my hand around.
“As you can see, we have a bucket of various sized medicine balls, hand and foot weights, foam rollers, a few PT bars, a balance board, the three steps in the corner with a handrail,” I moved to the larger equipment, “and our newest item, the treadmill.”
“Wow. You’re really serious about all this.” Jagger chuckled and gazed around the room.
What was wrong with him?
“Yes, I take my son’s health very seriously, Mr. Jagger.”
“It’s Chance.”
“What?” I asked.
“My name. It’s Jagger Chance. So, I would be Mr. Chance. But feel free to call me Jagger.”
I was about to call him a few other names too, but Jagger decided now would be the best time to finally start talking.
“This stuff is awesome. You’re one lucky kid, David.” Jagger winked at my son.
Lucky? He had the audacity to call my son lucky? Did he really think my son was lucky to have an idiot for a therapist?
My jaw fell open. I was in such shock that I couldn’t even form words.
“Huh?” David said, and I was grateful my son was confused.
“Imagine all the sick moves you can learn with this stuff. I bet you know some cool ninja moves.” Jagger went over and grabbed a blue foam roller, placing it on the black mat that covered our beige carpet.
He then took a red PT bar and swung it around between his arms. Finally, he rolled his body over the foam and hopped back up as if he were in a movie battle.
“Cool,” David said and walked over to him.
Jagger gave him the red bar, and David tried to imitate his moves but the bar quickly fell from his hands.
“Let me break it down for you. It took me a while to learn this, too.” Jagger bent down to pick up the stick.
“You’re a ninja?” David said with wide eyes.
“Not quite, but I did learn tae kwon do and parkour. Which is what you need if you ever decide to be a ninja.”
The Spy Ring (Cake Love Book 4) Page 2
