by J. D. Dexter
I’m not sure how I feel about that.
I bear my teeth and just start to bite Josh when he yelps and lets me go. I’m immediately pulled into Hunter’s body. His shaking body. The turd-blossom is laughing at me again.
I tune back into the conversation around me.
“I have no idea. It wasn’t even two weeks ago yet that they told her she needed to keep a low profile. While I agree that she has, being shot at isn’t really on the low side of low profile.” Brent’s back to looking defeated.
“I won’t let them take my baby away from me,” Mom says aggressively.
“None of us will let that happen, Mrs. T.” Brian pats my mom’s knee from his position on the floor by the couch where Mom is sitting.
“Have you heard from the agent from the FBI? What’s his name…Scarsman?” Brent asks me.
I shake my head. “No, nothing from them. And believe me, you would be my first call.” I assure him.
Mom clears her throat.
“And then I would call Mom and Dad, and they could let everyone else know. And then I would call Hunter.” I give his hand a squeeze.
“Good, glad I get a call,” he says wryly.
Our mutual love fest is interrupted by an authoritative knock on the door, followed by “Federal Bureau of Investigation, Ms. Tindol. Please open the door.”
“Well, at least I don’t have to call anyone.” My voice shakes just a little bit.
“I’ll get the door, Finley-babe.” Brian launches himself from the floor, a massive boulder flying across the room to fling open the door before any more knocking booms through the house.
“Agents. Could I see some identification, please?” he asks politely. He looks a little like an unmoving mountain of a man barring access to the princess in the high tower.
“Is Ms. Tindol in residence?” A man’s voice sounds from the front door, his body blocked by the mass that is Brian.
“Yes,” Brian responds. It seems he’s been taught by Brent as well.
“Special Agents Francis Scarsman and Stephanie Lockwood,” Brian reads aloud.
As they step over the door jamb, I take a quick peek at both agents using the Spectrum, and notice that the female agent has a white nimbus around her head, very similar to DHS Agent Richardson. The majority of her Spectrum is in the yellow range—something I don’t see very often.
When I see yellows, it’s usually because something systemic is wrong or they are experiencing high levels of negative emotions towards others: hate, malice, envy, jealousy. That her base color is yellow is not a good omen for peaceful interactions.
Agent Scarsman looks like most people, a variegated blend of colors. His Spectrum base is a red tone, though
I wonder who put these two together. Their base colors don’t suggest an easy partnership. I guess we’ll see.
“We need to speak with Ms. Tindol, Mr. …” Agent Scarsman waits.
“Hastings,” Brian says.
“Mr. Hastings.” Scarsman nods his closely-shorn, dark head at Brian.
Lockwood flicks her blond hair over her shoulder, gracing Brian with a winning smile and predatory gaze.
Both agents step farther into the room, giving the rest of us our first full look at my FBI stalkers. The only thing they have in common is that they both look to be in their mid-thirties.
Special Agent Francis Scarsman has skin the color of gleaming bronze, reminding me of Aleksander Asker from high school. He was a foreign exchange student from Greece, and his burnished olive skin caught quite the number of appreciative girls’ eyes.
The top of his head was about level with Brian’s shoulder, so that put’s him at right around six feet even. Small lines bracket his mouth, making him look like he’s frowning.
Special Agent Stephanie Lockwood is a thin, compact woman. Her body has mild curves, and is topped with long blond hair, a cupid’s bow mouth. Her multi-colored eyes resemble a kaleidoscope of autumn leaves, with a hungry predatory look in them when she sees all of the prey—I mean men—sprawled across my living room.
She’s my least favorite kind of female. She knows she looks good, has probably been called pretty all of her life, and expects the men around her to be enamored of her at the blink of an eyelash. The entitlement seems to radiate off of her slight body.
I stand as I see the greed and expectation in her eyes. I’ve known women like her, and I can’t stand them.
“I’m Finley Tindol,” I announce. I move directly into Lockwood’s eyeline, cutting off her view of the rest of people in the room. The fact that she not only has to back up a couple steps, but also has to tip her head back to meet my eyes, warms my heart.
The challenge in my smile is received and countered, if the iced fire in her eyes can be considered an acceptance of the challenge. In what I can only assume is feminine rivalry, she thrusts out her meager breasts, and tries to look small and helpless. If this is her trying to get men to help her out, she’s in the wrong house with the wrong men.
Inside, I’m laughing my butt off if she thinks that mindset is going to work with these guys. Considering her audacious attitude, I throw her to the wolves. I turn, presenting the room to her with a wave of the hand.
Everyone has gotten to their feet, probably making her feel like a bunny in a Redwood Forest.
I catch Mom’s eyes above Lockwood’s head. I flick my eyes at Lockwood before looking at Mom again, giving her the most miniscule of head shakes and a scowl on my face matching my narrowed eyes.
She gives me a discreet nod, her eyes narrowing to match my own.
Hunter must have seen the look I gave Mom because he is carefully watching Lockwood just as Lockwood turned to look at him.
I caught the edge of Lockwood’s simpering smile as she toddled over to stand in front of my man. Her butt swinging from side to side like she’s on a catwalk in tiny mincing steps, she looks like a baby’s doll that’s been animated.
None of my guys are attracted to babies, sweetheart.
“Whatever you do, don’t knock her down, Fin.” Josh’s mental voice whispers through my brain. I restrain a snort…barely.
As I see her flick her hair as she tips her head back to meet Hunter’s eyes, my belly heats up.
Ain’t happening, skank. That one’s mine. In fact, all of them are mine. Even the older ones. So just back off.
I give a low, husky laugh that draws the eyes of all the men in the room, even Scarsman. Mark and Dad just give me pained looks, but all the males under the age of fifty are focused solely on me.
“Agents, you wanted to speak with me?” I’m watching Lockwood notice that all male attention is centered on me. Her spine stiffens, her hands clench, and she clamps her mouth shut tight enough that I can see the little muscles move in her jaw.
“Yes, Ms. Tindol. We need to speak with you privately.” Scarsman shakes his head, clearing his throat.
A chorus of snorts fills the air around me.
It’s always nice to have so many loved ones in tune with me.
“Whatever you need to say to me, you can say in front of these people. They’re all mine,” I bite out the last, pinning Lockwood with my eyes so she understands she can’t win here.
I see the catty comment in Lockwood’s eyes. She opens her mouth to snarl, but is interrupted when Scarsman takes her opening.
“Are you sure?” he asks, his eyebrows snuggling up to his hairline. “We have very personal matters to discuss,” he tries again.
“Very sure, Agent. Please continue and know that my lawyer is also present.” I turn slightly and indicate Brent. He steps forward, looking professional even in his jeans and polo shirt.
“Agents. Unless absolutely necessary, I will be answering for Ms. Tindol.” Brent’s baritone voice resonates in the small space, ringing with authority.
“Very well, Ms. Tindol.” Scarsman nods his head dejectedly. Lockwood steps back to align herself with her colleague. Her attempt at looking stern and authoritative is laughable.
/> “Having men answer for you?” she baits me quietly, one eyebrow raised.
I laugh in her face. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, sweetcheeks,” I taunt her.
“It’s Special Agent Lockwood, Ms. Tindol,” she says hostilely. She’s stepping forward, hands clenching, head tipped back to keep eye contact.
“As soon as you act like a professional, I will address you as such,” I say plainly.
She opens her mouth once again.
“Lockwood.” Scarsman’s low growl snaps her back to her job.
“Perhaps it would be better if Agent Scarsman were to conduct the interview?” Brent says. “And that wasn’t a suggestion.”
“You have no right to-” Lockwood ramps us.
“I think that would be best. Lockwood go wait in the car,” Scarsman barks out, cutting across Lockwood’s petulant voice.
“This isn’t his decision,” she pouts, actually stamping her foot on the ground. The look on her face is beseeching, as if asking her daddy to please buy her some more friends.
“You’re right. It’s mine. Go.” Scarsman points his finger towards the door for emphasis, in case she still can’t figure it out.
We all watch as she scans each face looking for a safe harbor in the midst of her embarrassment. I take a quick peek around me; there is not one shred of sympathy on any of the faces of my family.
Sorry, not sorry. Yeah, me and Demi Lovato.
I restrain myself from giving her a little finger wave as she glares at me before marching to the door.
The slamming of the door shaking the walls of my house; I wince as a picture falls to the wooden floor, the glass cracking in the frame.
Something else to clean up.
“I apologize, Ms. Tindol.” Scarsman slowly shakes his head, the corners of his mouth edging towards his chin. The lines around his mouth look carved into his skin with the action.
I think I know why he has more frown lines than laugh lines. Especially if he’s been hooked with her for a partner for longer than a day.
“I’ll make sure she pays for a new frame. But you should know, you’ve made an enemy out of her. She doesn’t let things like this go.” His grave eyes meet my own.
“I’ll make sure to add her to the list,” I answer casually.
“Don’t underestimate her. She can be vicious,” he warns.
“I won’t. I also have witnesses, not to mention my lawyer.” I point back to Brent, his cell phone out. He points the screen towards Scarsman.
“I started recording for the interview. If you need a copy to show to her superiors, let me know,” Brent offers calmly.
“I’ll think about it.” Scarsman rubs a hand over his forehead, letting out a long sigh. “If you’re still insistent on having witnesses to the interview, Ms. Tindol, I would like to get started.”
“I insist,” I say firmly. Brent taught me how to only answer with only the necessary information, too. No more, no less.
“Very well. Let’s get started.” He looks around the room. Probably trying to find some place to sit.
“We can sit at the table.” I gesture behind him. He nods and moves toward the dining room.
I motion everyone over to the table, leaving the end spot for Agent Scarsman. He takes it gratefully. Josh and Brian are standing behind Hunter and me, acting as sentinels.
Scarsman sinks down into the chair likes he’s been on the move for days on end, and he finally has a chance to just rest and relax. Even the lines around his mouth relax, leaving him looking even more fatigued than when he first walked in.
Setting a small notepad on the table in front of him, he seems to settle in for a difficult conversation. “Ms. Tindol, you’ve come to our attention at the Bureau. Your name was on a list given to us by one of our federal contractors,” he begins.
The familiarity of his opening statement has my stomach sinking.
“I’m going to stop you right there.” Brent puts his hands up in the universal ‘stop’ sign. “We’ve already been through this with DHS. Ms. Tindol is not interested in joining your superhero agent squad. Thank you for your time,” he finishes, disgust riding his tone. He plants his hands on the table and starts to rise, looking ready to punch someone in the face.
Scarsman’s eyebrows are back to fighting to get into his hair line. “DHS has contacted you.” He makes it a statement instead of a question. “About needing a muscular dysfunction expert? Why?” Scarsman sounds flabbergasted by the end. His gaze flips between me and Brent a couple of times before settling on Brent.
“Wait. Now, I’m just confused.” I raise my hand in the air, pulling Scarsman’s focus. “You need a muscular dysfunction expert, and I’m the one you’ve chosen?” I know I’ve got mad skills, but this seems a bit out of the realm of possibilities.
“What superhero agent squad are you referencing?” Scarsman turns and asks Brent, point blank. Not even acknowledging that I’ve asked a question.
I can see the self-recriminations on Brent’s face. The one to teach us never to answer more than was asked, is the one to give away the game.
“You’ll need to ask DHS for that information. Although from what I’ve gathered, it’s a top-secret endeavor. And if you do ask around, please keep Ms. Tindol’s name out of the inquiry,” Brent replies, a bite to his tone. He’s probably kicking himself right now. “I’m sorry to have mentioned it anyway. Now, about needing Ms. Tindol’s professional services, why are you seeking muscular dysfunction experts?”
“That information is classified,” Scarsman’s smile is more a sneer. “I have some clinical information that I need to share with her. If her answers are correct, then she would be placed on a short list for inclusion into the team that is being assembled. Her participation at this junction is voluntary.” Scarsman’s looking only at me, no longer even acknowledging Brent, or anyone else in the room.
“Voluntary right now? So, I might as well hear what you have to say anyway, huh?” I ask sardonically.
“Yes,” Scarsman says with absolutely no irony and looks around the open space once again. “Do you have a space that we could talk privately?” He’s probably hoping for a different answer this time.
“I’ll hear the information now, if that’s okay. If that’s not okay, I’ll have my family members plug their ears, but I’m not leaving the room with you.”
I’m really not in the mood to leave the comfort and protection of my family to go be alone with another federal agent. Especially one acting so weird. The longer he’s here, the more his behavior seems slightly off. He tips his head to the side, his eyes pointed in my direction, but he seems to be focusing inwardly—as if he’s hearing something no one else is able to hear.
After a longer than necessary pause, he nods his head. “The subject is male, mid-forties, no known history of skeletal issues. A persistent, debilitating pain running from left sacroiliac joint to inferior left scapula. All external scans appear normal, same for penetrating scans. All doctors have stated the pain is idiopathic. The subject refuses to use pain medications.” Scarsman doesn’t consult his notes once through the whole thing.
That is incredibly broad in terms, and certainly idiopathic in scope. From pelvis to just below the shoulder blade, with no known causes or precipitating events. Of course, it’s going to be specific to the person. Idiots.
“What is normal posture?” I start with the first of a barrage of questions.
“Sitting at a desk for long periods of time.” Scarsman’s tone is drier than burnt toast.
“Has the subject experienced any external wrenching or sudden jerking movements?
“Unknown.”
“Are there any other pain descriptors other than debilitating and persistent?”
“Unknown.”
“What is walking posture like?”
“Tilted to the left, left leg lags behind, right side raised and bears most of the weight.”
“How long has the gait been altered?”
“Roughly six months.” Siri has more humanity than Scarsman is showing right now.
“Does the patient exhibit any signs of mental or emotional stress out of the ordinary for his job?”
“Unknown.” Great. Does Scarsman even know the patient?
“Does the patient complain of any starbursts or knifing sensations in his mid- to lower-back?”
“Unknown.”
“Has the patient tried any other alternative medicine modalities? Trauma Informed Yoga, kinesiology, acupuncture, traditional or non-traditional chiropractic?”
“He has tried non-traditional chiropractic, but his practitioner stated the issues were muscular in nature, and therefore out of the practitioner’s purview.”
“Has the pain stayed the same?
“No, it has gradually increased.” I nod my head. My brain is coming up with a number of different scenarios, but it won’t matter if I’m not talking to the person who is needing my help. Going through an intermediary is a waste of time.
“I could go on and on with questions. How long are you wanting to audition me?” I ask, interested in spite of myself.
His head tilts to the side again, the faraway look back in his eyes.
One minutes goes by, then another, the silence stifling.
“I have made a determination.” He’s beginning to sound more like a robot the longer this interview goes on. He straightens his tie and sits a little straighter in the chair. “Your federal government needs you, Ms. Tindol, and your voluntary status has been changed. Under special order of the Federal Government of the United States of America, you are hereby ordered to appear at the Kansas City Federal Bureau of Investigation Field Office two days from now, for the duration of six weeks, or until such a time as you resolve the issue with the subject, whichever comes first.” His dry statement of facts is quickly overwhelmed by the outrage pouring from all of my family members.
I’m sitting in stunned silence, feeling my world close in around me, suffocating me. I can see the furious faces across the table from me, the fingers flinging from me to Scarsman and back again. It’s almost like I’m watching a movie with the sound off.
All of a sudden, the volume is turned up to maximum, the different voices slicing through my eardrums, shredding the nerves in my ears.
