"Jess, Jess," he soothed, "I know this is a lot to take in, and I'm sorry you got roughed up here tonight, but we don't have much time to help your husband."
"What do you mean help him? Where is he?" she said, confused.
"That's the problem. Nobody knows where he is. Can you help us with this? When did you see him last?" he said and shifted a little closer to her.
"This morning before work. He left me a message in the morning saying he had to fly to D.C. to meet with one of his company's clients. Something last minute. I was supposed to meet some friends out for drinks after work, but he always calls me, so I got a little worried. I went for a run instead. He must have something big going on at work. He didn't sound like himself," Jessica admitted.
Edwards thought this might be easier than he had expected. She had already given him information that could narrow their search for Petrovich, which surprised him. He had expected her to hold stuff like this from him, but for some reason she didn't hesitate. Maybe their marriage wasn't as solid as all of the pictures might indicate. She was clearly a little pissed that he had taken off without calling and was willing to give up some general details. When she found out the true scope of his betrayal, he wondered if she might give him up completely. He didn't believe for one second that she didn't know exactly where they could find Petrovich, and now he was willing to bet she would cough him up given the right information about her husband.
"Did he give you any more details?" he said, hoping he might get lucky.
"No. He just said he had to fly unexpectedly to D.C. to meet with…" she said and stopped cold. "What exactly is he suspected of?" she snapped.
"Jess, he's a prime suspect in the murder of Mohammed Ghani. He was killed last night just a few miles from here in Cape Elizabeth. I was at the scene earlier today, and it wasn't pretty. Whoever killed him knew exactly what they were doing," Edwards said.
"I must be missing something here. How the fuck is my husband a suspect in that?" she said, raising her voice to the point that a few black helmets leaned into the room.
"I wish I could go into that more, but the details are classified for now. I'll say this though," he said and leaned in close enough to smell her, "and you need to keep it to yourself for now," he whispered.
She nodded quizzically and leaned in further, which drove his senses crazy. He felt a wave of raw physical energy pass through him and nearly shuddered. Blood started to immediately flow to his groin, and he felt a tingling in his legs as he grew erect. He had to stop this, but he didn't want to move away from her. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to strip her down in bed. He moved back slightly, afraid he might lose control, and regained enough of his senses to continue talking to her. Only a few women had affected him like this before, and he'd enjoyed dominating them in bed. This one would be no exception to Justin's conquests, but first he had some work to do.
"Your husband's name came up on a list of former covert military operatives connected to the murders. Have you seen the news today? Eight prominent Arab businessmen were killed last night," he said and let this sink in, studying her face for a reaction.
She looked confused for a few seconds, but this changed when she started to speak. "This is crazy. I know my husband, and I can assure you this is a major fuck up. I want everyone out of my house right now!" she yelled and stood up from the couch.
The two SWAT officers stepped into the room, and Edwards gently placed a hand on her left shoulder.
"Please, Jess. I don't think you fully understand the situation here. We have a warrant for your husband's arrest and to search this house," he said, and she hesitated to sit back down on the couch, looking at him with distrust.
"Special Agent Adams!" he yelled and heard a muffled acknowledgement.
A few seconds later, a middle-aged Caucasian man wearing a blue windbreaker with the letters "FBI" printed across the front in bright yellow letters, appeared from the kitchen area.
"I need the warrant," Edwards said, and Adams stepped into the room with a black nylon document bag.
He pulled the warrant out and handed it to Edwards, who dismissed him with his hand. One of the SWAT officers saw the dismissal and mumbled something just loud enough to be heard by the agent in charge.
"I'm sorry. What was that? Officer…?"
"Officer 'none of your motherfucking business,'" said the serious-looking police officer, completely unimpressed with Edwards.
He looked at Jess and shook his head. "I'm glad my team was here for this. These guys are animals," he said loud enough for the officer to hear him, and she nodded her head slightly, which was a good sign for Edwards.
"Here. Take a few minutes to read through this. I'm afraid there is no mistake."
He sat there fidgeting while she took her time reading the warrant. He glanced nervously at the two openings to the room, looking specifically for the SWAT officers. His hatred for these arrogant animals penetrated his core. They were the same in the FBI. A bunch of gun-crazy bullies dressed up in scary body armor, carrying enough weaponry to level a small building. And when they couldn't level doors and buildings, they pushed everyone else around, including the "regular" agents. Edwards had done the research and discovered that the advent of FBI and local SWAT teams had had no impact on public or law enforcement safety. From what he could tell, the teams just ate up funding and delayed every single investigation involving a possible dangerous suspect. He hated them.
Jessica took close to five minutes to read through the warrant, which seemed like an eternity to Edwards. She handed it back, and he could see tears forming in her exotic brown eyes.
"There has to be a serious mistake. Danny served in the navy, but not on some kind of special squad, or anything like that. He wasn't exactly proud of his service. Felt like it was a waste of time," she said, wiping her eyes.
"I really can't go into details about the source of our information, but I can assure you it is reliable. Look, we're not saying he killed this guy, but his name is closely linked to a group that is most definitely involved in these killings. He needs to come out of hiding and clear his name…"
"He's not hiding. He's on a business trip," she said, and Edwards sensed that her faith in the statement regarding the business trip might be fading.
"What hotel is he staying in?" Edwards asked.
"I don't know. He hasn't called…and I can't get a hold of him on his cell phone," she muttered.
"Is that normal? Can we try his number?" he said.
"Yes. No. I mean…it's not normal, and sure, you can try his number. It just goes right to voicemail."
"Doesn't that strike you as odd? I'm sorry, Jess, but it's too much of a coincidence for either me or you to ignore. I hope you're right that he's not involved, but frankly, something's up, and we need to get to the bottom of it. This investigation is a matter of national security, and if he can clear some things up for us, I know I can help him out."
She stared at him in shock, and he could see the gravity of the situation weighing down on her. She alternated between despair and courage, but he sensed a shift downward. The spunky Jessica Petrovich he met on the kitchen floor would soon be replaced by a deflated, betrayed woman, ripe for his picking. He needed to get her out of here soon, before these local idiots ruined it for him.
"I'm really confused here. What do I have to do? Do I have to leave my house? How long are these people going to be here?"
"Probably all night…" he started, and his phone buzzed in his front suit pant pocket.
"Give me a second. Sorry about this," he said and stepped away toward the back window of the house, making sure the SWAT guy kept his distance.
"Special Agent Edwards," he said and listened.
"Negative. The house is clean. I was about to call operations," he said and found himself listening again.
"When? Are you sure it's him? All right. I'll be in touch if we find anything," he said and replaced the phone in his pocket.
"Jess, your husb
and is in a serious situation. A man fitting his description just killed several people in D.C., including an off-duty police officer," he said and realized then that he had spoken too loudly.
He heard a commotion in the kitchen and knew he needed to get her out of here immediately.
"What? This isn't Danny. He's not capable of this," she said and stood up.
She looked panicked, and Edwards needed to keep her away from the police officers. He heard the words "cop killer's wife," and knew this could spiral out of control quickly, especially with the lack of control and professionalism displayed by local police already.
"Jess, I think it would be in our best interest to get you out of here and into a federal office where," he leaned in to whisper, "these idiots have no jurisdiction. They take the cop killing thing very seriously, and I don't know if I can control the situation with you here. We'll head to our satellite office and figure things out there. Sound fair?"
She nodded her head to indicate yes, but he could tell she was in a daze.
"I need to change," she offered weakly.
"I'll escort you upstairs, and you can pick out an outfit. You can change at the office. I don't think these guys will let you out of their sight, and they may become hostile when they figure out we're leaving," he whispered.
"All right," she said and tried to stand up, but she looked like she might pass out.
"Forget it. I have a better idea," he said.
"Special Agent Velasquez! Someone get Special Agent Velasquez," he said, and the SWAT officer surprisingly relayed his request.
He heard footsteps descend the stairs, and Velasquez appeared at the front of the room. She looked even uglier contrasted with Jessica Petrovich. Round face, poorly-styled, light brown hair. Non-existent figure. He was pretty sure she was a lesbian, which made sense to him. He couldn't imagine she'd have any luck with men. She approached the back of the couch, and he loathed the idea of getting close enough to her to whisper.
"Agent Velasquez, I need you to go back upstairs, and as discreetly as possible, find Mrs. Petrovich an outfit to wear. Nothing fancy…"
"I have one hanging up on my closet door. It'll be fine," Jessica said with a catatonic look on her face.
Velasquez looked confused.
"Word just got out that her husband killed an off-duty cop in D.C. I need to get her out of here before things get out of hand, and she shuts down on us completely," he whispered, hoping Jessica couldn't hear what he said.
Agent Velasquez glanced past Edwards at Jessica, who was staring at the wall with a blank expression.
"Might be too late for that," she said.
"Just get the outfit."
"Got it. I'll have Ravenell bring the outfit and the keys to the car. All of our gear is offloaded, so you won't have to stick around," she said and turned to leave.
"My purse too, please. It's in the kitchen. I have some makeup in there," Jessica said.
"Uh…sure, hon," the agent said.
"Let's give them a minute, and we'll walk you out of here," he whispered to Jessica.
"Thank you," she said, lightly touching his knee with her hand.
He felt a surge of adrenaline pour through his body with the touch. Electric energy tingled throughout, stimulating all of his senses at once. He worried that he might ejaculate in his pants on the couch if she moved her hand closer to his groin. He didn't want her to remove her hand, but he would need to stand up in a minute, and he was worried that everyone would see his growing erection. He couldn't imagine the sensation he'd feel if she touched his manhood. She'd have to help him with this later, and he had a plan to make this happen. But first, he had to regain control of himself and get her out of here without completely embarrassing himself.
He stood up and turned away from her, breaking the connection, pretending to check on the police progress in the kitchen. He saw Agent Ravenell grab her purse, and they shared a knowing glance. Once Ravenell began walking toward the front door, Edwards took Jessica's hand, almost stopping dead in his tracks from the sheer ecstasy of her touch, and took her to the front door. The SWAT officer at the doorway leading out of the family room accosted them.
"Where are you headed with her?"
Instead of insulting the officer, he went with a different approach, which required all of the restraint Edwards could muster. "I'm taking her outside to get some fresh air. She doesn't look so good. Excuse us," he said and edged past the officer.
They got to the door before the officer spoke into his headset, obviously no longer under Edward's spell. He heard some commotion in the kitchen just as Agent Ravenell met them and handed Jessica the purse.
"Outfit's in the car. Car keys are in the purse," he whispered to Edwards.
Ravenell turned back toward the hallway, just as a tall man dressed in a navy blue suit appeared in the kitchen and started his way toward them. He cleverly positioned himself in the man's way, pretending to be confused, trying to buy Edwards some time. The agent's quick reaction allowed Edwards to move Jessica halfway across the lawn before he heard footsteps closing in.
"Excuse me," an insistent voice said, and Edwards turned toward the source of his newest level of harassment and potential embarrassment.
He found himself standing several feet from an incredibly tall, stocky man in a dark blue suit, who had placed both hands on his hips and cocked his head slightly to one side. Blue and red strobe lights bathed the seasoned police officer's face, and his grayish hair absorbed each color that passed over the tight haircut. He looked deadly serious and had a commanding presence that made Edwards nervous. The man's face betrayed no emotion, regarding Edwards with disinterest. He was suddenly very aware of the several civilians, probably neighbors, who were standing about thirty feet away in an adjacent yard, perfectly situated to watch the brewing showdown. He wouldn't back down. Not for these bullies.
"Yes?"
"Where are you going with her?" the man said, and Edwards caught a glimpse of a silver badge under his suit coat, at waist level.
"I'm sorry, we haven't met. I'm Special Agent Justin Edwards. I'm in charge of this entire investigation. And you?"
"Lieutenant Ken Moody. Portland Police Department. This entire operation is under my control, and I can't let you take a key witness away from the scene," he said, taking a step forward.
Edwards was accustomed to this game and stood his ground.
"And it was a well-executed high risk warrant operation, but I need to move the witness to a more secure location for questioning," Edwards said.
"I can't imagine a more secure location. Every SWAT officer within fifty miles is on scene," Moody said.
"I'm looking for something lower profile, with fewer distractions. She had a rough go of it in there, and I don't think she'll be much of a help to the investigation while half of Maine's police force tears her house apart," he said.
"Look, if she has information about her husband, she's not leaving my sight. We have a cop down because of her husband," Moody said.
"She's not a suspect in any local crime, right?" he said and waited two seconds before continuing through Moody's icy stare.
"Right. I'll pass any relevant information regarding Daniel Petrovich through your office. I have the liaison's number. If any of your men attempt to stop me, or Mrs. Petrovich, I'll make sure you're cutting bait on one of those lobster boats out there by the end of the month," Edwards said, and he turned around.
"I'm filing an official complaint with your office, Special Agent Edwards. Your colleague at the local field office warned us about you. This is ridiculous," he said.
"File away, Lieutenant. I'm pretty sure nobody in D.C. will give a shit about your whining. This investigation is a matter of national security. It's for the big boys and girls, not crybabies," he said and walked to the car with Jessica, fully expecting to get punched in the back of the neck.
Always the gentleman, he opened the front passenger door for Jessica, avoiding the burning stare from Moody as
he crossed back over to his own door. After he was seated behind the wheel of the distasteful rental car, he opened the purse in her lap without her permission, digging around inside it. She protested his invasion of privacy, but he pulled out the car keys before it got serious and started the car.
He glanced around, checking for any of the local idiots that might decide to take matters into their own hands. Lieutenant Moody just stared at the car shaking his head, then spoke into a radio. An officer hopped into the Suburban immediately forward of Edward's car and moved it out of his way onto the Petrovich's driveway. Edwards edged his own car forward and squeezed by the second Suburban. By the time he picked up speed, a few more police vehicles had moved to let him pass.
So that's it, he thought. Show a little balls and get a little respect. He despised the low level of functioning that embodied their bullying world. None of this was tolerated in the FBI, where competence and intelligence was valued more than your ability to "square off" against another colleague. Then again, he had to remind himself there was a reason he investigated national security level crimes and these guys sniffed around dumpsters all day.
"You all right?" he said, as the car cleared the maze of flashing red and blue police lights.
"I think so. I just want to talk to my husband. Something is wrong here, and I don't know how to help him," she said.
"The best thing you can do to help him is to convince him to come out of hiding. To turn himself in to us. He's in serious danger from the types of guys you saw back at the house. They don't care if there was a mix up. His name and face went out on a national alert. They'll kill him if they find him before we do."
"Why would he be hiding?" she said.
He really hoped it was the shock of the situation that was causing her to fail to grasp the implications of her husband's predicament. If she was just plain stupid, it would detract from the overall experience. Then again, what did he care? He'd fucked plenty of stupid women before, but he'd never taken any of those relationships beyond the bedroom. He had thought this one might be different.
Black Ops Bundle: Volume One Page 89
