Not So Innocent (Shattered Glass #2)

Chapter Fourteen

State Senator Walter Cole carried his twenty-five years of military service in his posture and haircut. He rose from his chair with stiff shoulders and then snapped his fingers. The man next to him shot to his feet, standing ramrod straight. Both men directed their outstretched hands to Riley when he entered. “Agent Riley Cordova,” he said, his grasp firm but non-threatening.

Neither man appeared to even notice Kelly until she stepped forward. “Senator Cole.” She speared her hand into the space between them. “Or do you prefer Colonel?”

“Senator,” Cole offered, making sure to hold eye-contact while shaking her hand. Then he added a wink and a chuckle. “Though, I’d prefer ‘Governor’.” If he’d been thrown off guard or felt uncomfortable, it didn’t show. Too seasoned a politician. “This is my son, Thomas.”

“Agent Cordova.” The younger Cole’s gaze was as limp and shy as his grip. “Ma’am,” he said, and then waited for everyone to sit before he hunched into the chair next to his father.

An old expression of Riley’s grandmother popped in his head. ‘Like he was spit right out of his papa’s mouth.’ No one would doubt they were father and son. Two blond beards cropped close to their jaws, though silvery strands threaded through the Senator’s whiskers. Two pairs of dull blue eyes, one only distinguished by the crinkles of age. But the similarity ended at facial features. The Senator had tailored his suit to fit his muscular physique. Thomas Cole’s baggy suit had likely been passed down by his father. It dipped at the shoulders, partly because he weighed fifty pounds less and partly because of his posture.

Senator Cole opened his mouth to speak again. Kelly took control. “Thank you for coming in, Senator,” she said, as if the FBI had arranged the meeting rather than the other way around.

“Anything I can do to help.”

“Great!” She lifted the middle folder out of the pile. “How can we get in touch with your head of security, Maxwell Porter?”

Walter Cole was stone, but his silence suggested he wasn’t prepared for the question, nor the lack of niceties.

“Max is on assignment in Europe,” Thomas said.

The senator patted his son’s back. “My boy will get you his number.”

His boy? Thomas Cole was at least early thirties.

“We have his number, Senator,” Kelly said. “What we don’t have is a response.”

“Can’t help you there. Haven’t heard from Max in weeks, which is not unusual. As the boy says, he’s on assignment.”

“His passport shows him reentering the U.S. six weeks ago. He hasn’t been in touch with you since he returned?”

“Max has his own way of doing things, Agent Marks.” The down-home smile seemed genuine. “I only ask questions when I don’t get results.”

“What was his assignment?”

“We’re not at liberty to divulge that,” Thomas said quietly. “It’s a private security matter.”

Apprehension slithered up Riley’s back. Was Porter one of the men in the masks? Was he the one in charge?

“Senator Cole,” Kelly said, leaning back in the chair. “Two of your employees have been murdered. Now your head of security is MIA.”

“Two?” Thomas sat up, pale eyebrows blending into the furrows of his forehead.

“James Thorpe, along with his wife, Letitia.” Kelly opened the file and turned it so the images of Thorpe and Lemelin faced the two men. “And Patrick Lemelin, your head of IT.”

“Unfortunate,” the Senator murmured. “You’ve connected the two cases?”

“Senator Cole, after what I’ve just told you, why is your only question about whether we’ve connected the cases?”

Thomas pulled a file over by its edge and said, “I think my father meant to ask if you believe our company and its executives are being targeted. James and my father were close friends, Agent Marks.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Kelly crossed her legs and tapped her pen against the folders on her lap. It was one of her indicators that she was about to switch interrogation tactics. “We are looking into connections between the two cases. As for your other executives, where is Maxwell Porter?”

“On assignment. As far as—”

“How do you get in contact with him?”

“While undercover, he contacts us.” The Senator spat out his answers like Kelly controlled his diaphragm.

“What was he doing in London?”

“Investigating a legal matter.” Cole’s mouth snapped shut with a subtle wince. He hadn’t meant to give out that information.

“For whom?”

“Our clients choose us for our discretion, Agent.”

“Your employee is missing. Two others are dead. Aren’t you concerned?”

“No.” The Senator wiped his mouth as if he wanted to scour the admission away.

“Why not, Senator?”

“My father—”

“Quiet, boy,” Senator Cole said. “Private security is a risky profession. We investigate industrial espionage and kidnappings, along with the other work we do abroad. Max requires a large degree of autonomy and anonymity.”

“When was the last time you spoke with Mr. Porter?” Kelly asked, allowing no time for even a breath after the answer.

Cole slammed both hands down on the arms of his chair as he stood. “Why are you questioning me about Max?”

“Is he in Denver?”

“You should be finding the boys who did this!” Cole shoved the copy of Thorpe’s picture across the coffee table.

The overhead lights flickered.

Kelly didn’t so much as twitch in her chair. “Which boys, Senator?” she asked calmly.

“Dad,” Thomas whispered. The older Cole closed his mouth and sat heavily into his seat. In an effort to do damage control, Thomas tried again to cover for his father’s outburst. “The security guard for the Thorpe estate mentioned two possible witnesses when we questioned him.”

“Your father said ‘boys’. Not a couple. Not witnesses. Not three men and a Chihuahua. Boys.”

“My father misspoke,” Thomas answered smoothly.

“That’s interesting, Mr. Cole. I questioned the security guard. He made no mention of witnesses, let alone gender.” Loaded statement with no safe way to answer.

“He misspoke about the security guard’s descriptions.”

“Then why did he specify boys?”

The Senator rose and snapped his fingers again. “We came here out of goodwill to assist your investigation, not to be grilled as if we were suspects. You can finish this discussion with my attorneys. You’ll find Mr. Diedrich and his associates in a much less cooperative mood than I have been.”

* * *

Without the other people’s body heat, the room quickly grew chilly. And being this close to getting arrested reminded Cai of the frigid cot he’d shared with Lyle, stuck under thin prison-issue wool and huddled together for warmth. Lyle of the fetid breath and flawless pink cheeks. “Bacon. Get it, ‘cause my dad was a cop.” Ha. Ha.

Perhaps they’d share a cell again someday. Cai needed to learn how to make someone choke on their own tongue. Lyle would make good practice. Probably not a good time to Google how to do that.

Goosebumps sprinkled down his arms. He reached for his coat, turning it backwards, then tucking it under his chin and wiggling it over his shoulders. Since it was just Agent McCleary now, he had to work harder at looking vulnerable, and this would do.

“I’ll see if they’ll turn up the heat.” Angelica stood, flinging her pen down atop her papers and cursing under her breath. “Manipulative bastards.” In terms of filthy mouths, she rivaled Austin for his crown. Today was a tame day, though. It always amazed him that she could go from X-rated to professional with a literal sweep of her brown hair into a knot. The magical properties of a tight bun?

Yanking her blazer off the back of her chair, she strode toward the door just as it opened. “Agent McCleary, I don’t appreciate your tactics. Stalling for time. Turning the heat off. The two guard dogs at the door preventing us from leaving.”

“Ms. Jackson—”

“Don’t bother with excuses. It’s been hours. We’re leaving.”

McCleary held his hand up for her to stop. “Unfortunately, I was delayed by my duties as SAC and a call from the Director of the FBI, not, as you put it, stalling for time. And unless overridden, the heat in the entire building automatically adjusts after six. One of the ways we save taxpayers money, Ms. Jackson. I asked my administrative assistant, who kindly stayed to make coffee for us, to speak to maintenance before she leaves.”

On cue, the vents pumped warm air into the potted plants along the floor. The leaves contorted against the barren walls like tribal dancers at a rave. Cai poked his arm through his sleeve and snatched up a felt pen to capture the curled and twisted shapes on a nearby legal pad.

Angelica jabbed a delicate finger at the door. “What about—”

“And the two agents at the door are preventing your client from running into Senator Cole and his son.”

Cai froze. Ink bled out and spread across the page, devouring his sketch millimeter by millimeter.

“I got something for you, baby. ”

He fixated on the circle of black, no longer spreading outward, but seeping down in the well he’d pressed into the tablet. The voices in the room crackled in and out of frequency.

“My dad is such a dick. Maybe you could kill him too?”

“...downstairs...”

“You’d kill him for me, right?”

“...Cai someplace safe.”

“You feel really good.”

“...not done questioning him!”

“Stab him in the throat. Then I’d be free, man. I’d be free.

You feel so good.”

Which floor?

Too many windows on the first. No conference room there. Second or third floor, then.

Cai closed his eyes and recounted the steps from the elevator to the conference room. He calculated the number of cubicles and offices, making mental notes of entrances, exits, and special rooms.

Hundred feet to the stairwell. Two flights per floor. Thirty seconds. Roughly twenty-six hundred square feet per floor. Conference rooms at the center. Three hallways splitting thirty-eight to forty cubicles, each with a wall height of—

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” McCleary yelled.

The pen rolled into his now vacated seat. Angelica set it, and his fallen coat, on the table. Her face pinched with concern. “Cai?”

He looked down and released the door handle. “I—I, um, the bathroom,” he lied.

What was he thinking? That he’d get to Tommy before being plowed down by fifty agents? And if by some miracle he made it past them, Walter Cole’s fists were bigger than his head. After bundling up in his seat again, he blinked through his bangs. “I can wait.” He pressed his chin to his knees, digging the heels of his shoes into the edge of the chair.

Agent McCleary tossed his blazer on his chair then rolled up his sleeves. “Where is the gun?” Those caterpillars met again.

“Pardon?”

“The gun you took off the man you shot.”

“I dropped it?” Oh dang. Well, the guy wasn’t dead so that admission hadn’t cost much. Cai tousled a bit more of his hair forward to hide his cheeks.

“Where is Maxwell Porter?”

“In—”

The abrupt shift in questioning had nearly done its job. Confused, Cai’d almost answered.

“In? Where?”

“Sorry, I thought you were going to ask where I dropped the gun. In the woods, I was going to say.” He scooped up the last of the M&Ms on the table. “I’d like to go now, Ms. Jackson.” He ended the conversation by shoveling the entire handful of candy into his mouth and looking up at Agent McCleary with chipmunk cheeks and an innocent-as-he-could-manage blink.

Sometimes the infantilizing worked in his favor.

* * *

In the underground parking lot of the Federal building, Riley leaned against the Firebird while Cai conversed with Angelica a few feet away. It amazed him that one young man could cause this much collateral damage in three short years. Even more amazing, with Riley’s career dangling on a fraying thread and his ethics stuffed in an evidence bag in his pocket, he wanted Cai. Wanted him more than his next breath.

Impossible situation.

The car ride home was going to be monumentally difficult without something giving way. Either he’d explode from the anger he’d bottled up, or he’d finish that kiss from this morning, preferably while Cai was pressed into the bed with those knobby knees bent around his ears.

Cai walked toward him, his bottom lip firmly ensconced in his teeth and his eyes darting all over the place. He hid his hands in his coat, but the pockets jumped with his fidgeting. The small grey beanie sent spikes of black hair out of the edge— like a stone had flattened a raven. Riley opened the passenger door, fighting to keep from smiling. Not a lot to smile about. He was pissed at Cai’s reckless behavior and pissed he was pushed off the case, but he was also relieved at having him here, alive, and fumbling with his safety belt.

After pulling out of the lot and into a steady fall of thick snowflakes, Riley jammed on the windshield wipers, nearly snapping the button off in the process.

Cai glanced sideways and chewed his lip. “Did...Were you reprimanded?” he asked.

Rather than letting his temper respond, Riley stayed silent, trying to fight the anger and his attraction to Cai at the same time. One was bound to lose.

“Riley?”

“Yes, I was,” he snapped. “They generally frown upon agents telling a suspect not to answer questions. Why would you do such a stupid, boneheaded, idiotic thing?”

“I’m sorry,” Cai said. “I didn’t mean for you to intervene.”

Anger was useless. Riley took a breath, letting it go. “It’s not your fault.” The warning from Dan was his own damn fault.

“I know.”

Riley chuckled in spite of himself. “Oh, you do, do you?” Between each pass under the streetlights, he glimpsed the small curve of Cai’s mouth, along with the tired blink of his lids. He wanted to press his lips against Cai’s temple and feel the soft murmur of his pulse.

“I used to cry really easily,” Cai said quietly, his lashes falling a final time against his cheek.“Without shame, I mean.”

“If you feel like crying, I’m not going to judge. Tissues in the glove box.”

Cai’s mouth tilted up a little more. “Do you remember the night they took Mama away?”

“She’s in witness protection. She wasn’t abducted by aliens.”

“We were standing on the tarmac,” Cai said. “Mama was crying and holding me so tight, begging me to go with her. Never heard her sob like that. Only heard her cry once ever.”

“I remember,” Riley said. Cai had stood there, arms hesitant and finally just patting his mother’s back, whispering ‘Sorry, Mama.’ When Rosafa Strakosha finally walked away, Cai had scratched his head and winced. He’d seemed to search for something. How to feel or act? Or he’d been confused about his feelings. Or didn’t know how to console his mother.

“Agent McCleary looks at me,” Cai continued. “He’s got this…disgusted expression, and he says, ‘What are you?’ And I realized I should have been crying. Should have felt something. But I only felt relief that I didn’t have to hear her crying anymore. And I repeated the question, what am I? What am I? And that’s when I started crying.”

“You were a boy who had spent six weeks with his mother in eight years. You made a choice between never seeing her or never seeing Peter and Darryl—the people who raised you. That doesn’t make you...whatever terrible thing you think you are.”

“I know. I know because you took my hand with Agent McCleary standing right there. You took my hand and held it without a word.” Cai rubbed his palm with his thumb as he stared out the window. “I couldn’t think about anything but the way you were stroking my skin. My heart beat so fast I thought it might collapse. I already loved you then, but that feeling, in that moment, that was, that is something more than love.”

The car splashed into a pothole and jolted Riley’s attention back to the road. He considered pulling over before he drove them into a ditch. If he stopped the car, there would be nothing to keep him from yanking Cai into his lap. He needed to stop this, but he couldn’t capture enough air in his lungs to finish a sentence. “Cai...”

“You asked why I confessed tonight. I’m answering. I was looking at your badge and thinking about what was important to you. Maybe not the badge, but truth. Truth means something to you. I wanted one terrible truth out there. I couldn’t tell you the terrible truth about what I felt when Mama was leaving. Not in the room with everyone. But I could do what you believe was the right thing. Now, you know just about every bad thing I’ve done. Someday you’ll know all of it, when I can tell you. When it’s just my secrets I’m keeping. I don’t want secrets hanging over our heads.” Cai took a shaky breath. “I’ve never hidden what I am. Not from you. And I won’t start now.”

The truth about what he is? A killer. Without remorse and without hesitation. But Riley had known that. Had ignored it because there was a code. A fucked-up code, but one where ordinary people mattered. It finally dawned on Riley that this part of Cai had always been irrelevant. And that too was pretty fucked up. He wanted Cai anyway. Was this who he was all along but lying dormant for fifteen years? When he finally spoke, it came out hoarse. “Take it or leave it, huh?”

Cai looked directly at Riley. “We will be authentic, or we will be nothing.”

Riley turned on the radio as they exited onto the highway. The gentle sounds of Mendelssohn’s Songs Without Words fell and rose with piano and strings. Cai’s breath fogged the window as he leaned against it.

“Get some sleep,” Riley said softly and reached over to take his hand.