by J. D. Dexter
“You’ve got to come back to me, Fin. I won’t make it without you,” Josh whispers brokenly. I wonder if he’s got the feeling that everything is about to change as well.
His breathing is erratic, his body trembling. I feel two more sets of arms come around both of us, making it a Hastings Hug.
The other two boys tell me variations on what Josh moaned. I’m passed from one set of arms to the next, each time getting a kiss on the cheek, a stubbled chin catching in my hair.
“My turn, boys,” Mark says, breaking up our cuddle fest.
I’m released by the boys before being pulled in by another set of arms, another scratchy chin. “I’m so sorry, Finley. I would have done a better job of protecting you from Cynthia had I known she was having you followed.” More broken sobs into my neck, another trembling back to soothe.
“Uncle Mark.” I rub his back, wait for him to settle down just a little bit. “Uncle Mark, none of this—none of it—is your fault. I know you would’ve protected me from Cynthia if you had known. I have no questions about that. You had no idea. This isn’t your fault. Not even your research is the cause for all of this. If you hadn’t done it, I’m sure someone else would have. I’m just glad to know that you had only good intentions when you started. Someone else took that good work and changed it into bad. Not your fault.” I kiss his cheek.
He squeezes me one more time before releasing me, my heels back down on the ground.
“Promise me you won’t beat yourself up about this,” I urge him.
“I promise to try, that’s all I can give you.” He’s brushing tears from his cheeks.
“I’ll take it. I love you, Uncle Mark.”
“I love you, too, Finley. Just like you’re one of my own.” He brushes a kiss to my forehead, another tear escaping from his eye.
We separate, turning towards the porch where all of our family is waiting.
“I hate to be the one to break up the goodbyes, but we need to get on the road.” Hunter walks away from all of the loved ones in my life. “Scarsman didn’t give us a time limit, but I don’t want him doing anything rash because we didn’t meet some unknown time line.” He meets me out in the yard.
“Hey, how did you get the time off of work?” Brent’s standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his feet spread.
“Apparently, my presence has been requested by the federal government for some specialist work,” Hunter replies in a mocking tone of voice, one of his eyebrows quirked.
“Well, at least you didn’t get fired,” Josh offers.
“That’s true. Here’s hoping nothing else goes wrong, and we’re back here in a couple of weeks after Finley works her magic.” He squeezes me under his shoulder.
“To Finley fixing weirdos!” Brian throws his fist in the air.
Everyone cracks up, and joins the rallying cry, fists thrust into the sky, “TO FINLEY FIXING WEIRDOS!”
Oh, man, I love my family.
One last round of hugs, tears, kisses, and goodbyes, then Hunter and I are in the Rover and on our way to our Forced Adventure.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“We’re here under direct orders from Agent Scarsman,” Hunter tells the guy at the gate as soon as we’ve pulled up through the entrance to the KC FBI Field Office.
“Names.”
“Finley Tindol and Hunter Jamison.”
Secret Gate Man checks his computer screen, gives it a brisk nod before directing us to find a parking space on the other side of the building.
“Make your way through the front door, see the agent at the desk.” He gives us another brisk nod, and does something on his console that lifts the yellow arm blocking the drive.
“Sir, yes, sir,” Hunter says under his breath.
I chuckle. “Do you think he ever gets tired of being the doorman for people with badges? Wait, does he have a badge?”
“No idea, and I don’t really care enough to find out,” Hunter says as he drives us around to the far door.
“I’m assuming we have to go through metal detectors and scanners of some kind, so I’m just going to take my purse in this time. Although, I need to put my knife and my Leatherman in the glove box. Made that mistake at the city offices of Wichita. You should have seen their faces when they pulled out my ‘weapons’ from the same place I keep my tampons.” I laugh again at the memory. The security guards had looked like they swallowed something unpleasant.
“I bet,” he snorts. “Why do you carry a knife and a multi-tool?” Hunter ‘s waiting for me on my side of the car to move my ‘weapons’ to the glove box.
“You never know when you’re going to need to cut something or need pliers or a screwdriver. It’s just easier to carry a couple of things than a whole toolbox.”
“Were you ever a Girl Scout?”
“Nope, but sometimes I wanted to be a Boy Scout.” I shut the door, grab Hunter’s hand, and we make our way into the building.
Following the signs for visitors, we make it to the front desk. A tall, lanky man with blond hair and bright green eyes looks at us with caution. I guess working in this kind of environment would breed cautiousness.
“We’re here to see Agent Francis Scarsman,” Hunter repeats.
“Names.”
Hunter gives our names once again. We’re directed to a truly sad looking waiting area while Desk Agent contacts Scarsman.
“I’m trying not to feel guilty, because I know we’ve been ordered to be here. But I feel like we’re going to see the principal for getting caught cheating,” I whisper to Hunter. Every sound in this tiled monstrosity carries like it was sent through a bull horn.
“Same here. But just remember, we’re here because they forced us. We’ve done absolutely nothing wrong, and we’re helping them out,” he says just as quietly.
“Did you ever cheat in school?” he asks me a couple minutes later.
“Nah,” I shake my head. “It was easier for me to just pay attention in class. Although I never really studied or did a lot of homework while I was in high school. How about you?”
He shakes his head. “Me either. Although, I was finishing high school when my parents divorced so studying was a good way to stay out of the all the fights and yelling.” He gives me a sad smile.
My heart hurts for the hurt young man he must have been. Hunter has a huge heart, and for his parents to have a bad divorce must have been crushing for him to experience.
I give him a quick peck on the lips. I’m opening my mouth to say something when we hear a brisk clicking filling the space, getting closer to our seats.
We both turn to see Agent Lockwood quick-stepping it to our seats, her heels responsible for the clicking.
I’ve never understood why female law enforcement wear heels; they aren’t comfortable, and you can definitely break a neck if you place your foot wrong while running.
Lockwood is decked out in Female Agent chic: a skirt suit that hits a couple inches above her knees in a dark blue that highlights her blond hair and mosaic eyes. Subtle make-up emphasizes the swirling colors of her irises, making her eyes seem bigger and brighter than the last time I saw her in my house.
“Tindol, Dr. Jamison, follow me,” she sneers. She’s not even bothering to wait for us before turning around and stalking off across the polished stone floor.
Hunter and I share a look. I roll my eyes at him. Good thing Hunter and I have long legs; we’re able to catch up to her quickly. Although I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t mind if I got lost forever.
“We have to do some paperwork, so you can get in and out of the building without an escort each time, which includes finger prints and retinal scans. You will be taken through the process individually,” she says, her voice a little muffled. She’s not even trying to talk to us over her shoulder. She’s barely raising her voice enough to be heard over the obnoxious clicking of her heels.
Not knowing what to expect when we got here, Hunter and I are dressed in work clothes: he in scrubs, me in my yoga
pants with a tank top and zip hoodie. Our tennis shoes make nothing more than the occasional squeak. We could be ninjas compared to all of the noise Lockwood is making. I’m as ready to start work as I am to do paperwork.
“How long until we get to meet the patient?” I ask. Whatever will get me back home the fastest is what I’m willing to do.
“You will be meeting the patient; Dr. Jamison will not.” This she manages to actually share over her shoulder, her bouncy ponytail flicking from side to side with each short stride.
Hunter and I both stop in our tracks, looking at each other. Lockwood makes it about twenty feet before she realizes we’re not with her anymore.
“I was assured that Dr. Jamison would be able to accompany me. That means, he works with me. He is a medical doctor. The work will get done much faster if both of us work together. If this is an issue, I would like to speak with Scarsman or your superior,” I state bluntly.
Her eyes narrow on me, her mincing little steps bringing her back to where Hunter and I tower over her. “You will do as you’re told, when you’re told to do it, by whomever tells you to do it.” She glares at me, a low hiss underscoring her words. “And right now, that means me.”
“If you think that is true, you are severely misinformed.” I lean down to her, my voice as quiet as hers is strident.
“Seconded,” Hunter agrees with me. Glad to know he’s taken up some of the guys’ mannerisms.
“In fact, I think we’ll go back and wait for Agent Scarsman to meet us in the lobby.” I move to turn around, pulling Hunter with me as we begin to make our way back to the waiting area.
“I don’t think you realize who’s in charge right now, Finley.” Her voice is dripping scorn.
“And I don’t think you realize that it’s not you, Agent Lockwood. We are not friends, so don’t call me Finley. You may call me Ms. Tindol, and not some immature derivative. You have no power over me, and I’m here under duress.” I don’t bother to fling the words over my shoulder this time.
“I have a good lawyer who is, frankly, itching to bring a lawsuit against this field office. I can make sure your name is added to it for harassment.” I know it’s petty, but this woman makes me want to hit her in the face with a shovel. Hunter and I are moving swiftly back to the lobby to wait for Scarsman. The rapid clicking tells me she is doing a walk/run to reach us before we make it all the way back to the lobby.
“Wait, for God’s sake,” she whisper-screams at us.
“No, thanks. I will be making a formal complaint about you to your Office of Professional Review.” I state, finishing as Hunter and I make it back to the desk. The Desk Agent’s head whips in our direction, his eyes wide. He picks up the phone, and blindly hits some numbers. His voice is too low to hear any of what he is saying, but the urgency comes across quite clearly.
“Is there a problem, Ms. Tindol?” Desk Agent asks. The name on his badge reads Jacob Redding, Agent.
“Yes, Agent Redding. I would like to talk directly to Agent Scarsman or one of Agent Lockwood’s superiors, please,” I tell him, keeping my voice calm.
“Redding, put that damn phone down.” Lockwood barks at the man. She looks like a grumpy cat—and not the one that’s a famous meme.
She’s finally caught up with us. It might make me petty, but I notice that her hair is looking less than glossy and coiffed. Her cheeks are tinged with red, her eyes are glittering, and her are nostrils flaring.
“I’ve already called Security, Agent Lockwood. When I heard Ms. Tindol’s comment.” He nods at me. “They’re on their way,” Redding says, not looking apologetic at all. I get the feeling Lockwood is greatly disliked.
Score one for the good guys.
“What is going on here?” A deep voice booms into the otherwise quiet and serene space of the waiting room. Hunter and I both turn to see a squat, stocky fifty-ish man walking purposefully toward us. His shoes not making any sound whatsoever. His cocoa skin gleaming under the lights, his bald head shining. As he comes to a stop, I notice that he’s only about an inch taller than I am. However, his presence makes him seem bigger.
“My name is Finely Tindol, this is my colleague, Dr. Hunter Jamison. We’re here under direct orders from Special Agent Francis Scarsman. We’re the treatment team for an unidentified patient. Special Agent Lockwood has been abusive, predatory, and unprofessional since our initial meeting. I would like to make a formal complaint about her behavior. In addition, I would like to see Special Agent Scarsman to get this whole situation resolved.” Once again, I make sure to keep my own voice calm and modulated.
Lockwood’s muffled scream is in sharp contrast to my own subdued tones. “Ms. Tindol has been nothing but belligerent and uncooperative.” She sounds like a small child tattling to her daddy about a meanie on the playground.
“Shut it, Lockwood,” the stocky gentleman in charge barks at her. Whipping his hand through the air, he says, “You’re dismissed. Agent Redding, please contact Scarsman, immediately.” The man in charge turns back to Hunter and me.
Lockwood gives me another venomous glare before stalking off down the hall. Her retreating footsteps like small canons resounding in the small space.
“I’m Supervisory Special Agent Rickman, Scott Rickman. I apologize for your treatment by Agent Lockwood. I will, of course, send you the forms for the formal complaint. Her behavior will be addressed.” He rubs a huge palm over his smooth head, his eyes pinching closed for just a moment.
“Thank you. I appreciate you.” I tell him honestly, keeping eye contact.
“You’re welcome.” His eyes open, his gaze probing and direct. “You said you’re here under direct orders from Agent Scarsman to treat an unidentified patient. What is it you do, Ms. Tindol?” he asks, his caramel-colored eyes searching mine.
“I’m a muscular dysfunction specialist, my colleague is an Emergency Room trauma surgeon.” I wave my hand at Hunter. He gives a nod to Rickman, who nods back.
“That all sounds well and good. However, I have no idea why you would have been ordered here.” Rickman sounds just as confused as we feel.
“My acquiescence was guaranteed when Special Agent Scarsman threatened Dr. Jamison’s job and medical license,” I baldly state to Rickman. His surprised and shocked face tells me something else is going on, and that we’re caught in the middle of it.
“The Federal government is not in the practice of blackmailing its citizens, Ms. Tindol, Dr. Jamison,” Rickman finally gets out.
“I’m simply relaying the facts as we know them, Agent.” I shrug my shoulders.
“Rickman.” Scarsman’s voice wafts over to us from the other end of the hall, he looks like he’s trying to restrain himself from breaking into a full-out run.
We all wait for Scarsman to join us. “Scarsman, what is the meaning of this? You can’t just blackmail civilians.” Rickman’s face is thunderous.
“I wouldn’t call it blackmail, sir. Merely a suggestion,” Scarsman tries to assuage his superior.
Both Hunter and I snort. “I have a recording of the interview if you’ve forgotten what was said, Agent Scarsman,” I tell him sweetly.
Rickman whips around, “I would like to have a copy of that recording, Ms. Tindol.” His eyes are pining me in place. This man is a force to be reckoned with; his gaze is penetrating. I’m just glad I’m not actually in any trouble.
“Of course. I just need to make a phone call to my lawyer, Agent Rickman.” I pull my phone out of my purse. I’m all kinds of accommodating.
I tip my head to the side, silently asking permission to call Brent. Rickman nods at me. “Please do.” I step away from the group, finding an empty alcove a couple of feet away.
Calling Brent, I hope he’s not in court or a meeting. “Hastings.” His voice is distant, like he’s focused on something else and didn’t bother to look at the caller ID.
“Hello, Mr. Hastings. This is Ms. Tindol. It has been requested, and I personally would like it, if you could send a copy of the
interview with Agents Scarsman and Lockwood to Supervisory Special Agent Scott Rickman, KC FBI Field Office, please.” My voice is very formal, just in case anyone can hear me, or the room is being monitored.
“Finley-babe, what’s going on?” He’s one hundred percent focused on me now.
“I’m making a formal complaint against Agent Lockwood. It also appears that the tactics used to ensure Hunter’s and my cooperation were not exactly copacetic,” I try to maintain my formality. I’m barely restraining myself from jumping up and down in glee.
“Of course. Can you give me the name again? I’ll have it couriered over.” I give him the name again, finishing with a promise to call him once I had more time to really talk, and hang up.
“It appears that there’s been a mix up, Ms. Tindol.” Rickman says as soon as I rejoin the group.
“Oh. How so?”
“We do have an unidentified patient here who needs some help. In his zeal to help treat this patient, Scarsman has over-stepped his professional boundaries.” Rickman pauses to glare at Scarsman.
I’m glad I’m not the receiving end of one of those. He looks like he eats bad agents for breakfast.
“Since you’re here, we would appreciate if you could work with the patient. Of course, we would also welcome Dr. Jamison’s participation and input. If you’re amenable, we would appreciate it if you would both work with the patient now, so we can get this situation put to bed as quickly as possible.”
“I’ll have another agent bring by the paperwork necessary for sub-contractor work. You will be required to submit yourselves, in person, to the fingerprinting and retinal scan offices. I apologize deeply for the behavior of my agents. They will be formally reprimanded, and appropriate actions will be taken.” He’s falling all over himself to fix this.
“The Bureau will, of course, pay for your accommodations with a small per diem for food outside of the campus. If you have any concerns or questions, please feel free to contact me directly.” He pulls out a card from his inner jacket pocket, and scribbles something across the back of it.
