6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
That was dark, I apologize
Keir
I let my phone ring while staring down at the paperwork on my desk. Disbelief holds me captive at the police reports, statements, and attached photos spread out in front of me. Good god. Is this really happening again?
The impulse to find Eden grabs hold of me.
It was over. The memories of what I did that summer come back full force, like a gut punch.
I don’t regret it. I’d make the same split-second decision again. But there was a change inside me I’m just grasping. Life is so damn fragile. I’ve seen it leave people I love and people I’ve despised. It’s snuffed out so easily.
My career as a special agent with the FBI working on sex trafficking cases is owed wholly to Matt. I knew where I wanted to help, but didn’t have the tools to make it happen. He advised, supported, and at the same time cautioned against it. My mentor. That dynamic became more over time. I started to look at him differently. A dark, dirty part of me I suppressed…dammit, I tried…longed to feel loved by him. Held in his arms. Lusted after by him. When I admitted it to myself those same suicidal feelings from years ago came back.
Ending my life felt easier than giving in.
My identity is so shrouded in what I was forced to do for years. Impulses I had to hurt anyone touching me sexually would appall me. I’ll never let anyone inside me anally again because of all the scarring and pain I dealt with. So, I get rough when I dissociate during the act. Even with Eden…but especially wise-cracking, cocky Blaine.
They think I don’t realize how uncomfortable that side of me makes everyone. Matt still doesn’t believe I need him that way. I see it in his eyes when we’re intimate. The sex with Blaine makes the guilt inside me build. I’m using him. We both know, but it continues to happen.
Then there’s Eden. She’s my soulmate. We can say everything with a look, never uttering a word.
I have this incredible, complicated, priceless life now. That summer seven years ago was the beginning of my life. Everything I endured prior to that was a mere dream. A bad fucking dream.
I won’t lose my family, my chance to live a life I’m proud of with the only people I love like this. Both Caleb and Hutton are like brothers to me.
Losing even one of us…I’d stop trying to hold on during the bad stretches.
I get ribbed by my partner, Rivera, about being hung up on my past. “You’re still working through that? It happened a long time ago.” In therapy, I’ve learned my brain is on constant alert to send a warning, so it doesn’t happen again. That extends to people I care about. I’m never making Jergen Rivera grasp that. For a survivor of abuse the memories make it seem like it was yesterday.
A technician ducks into my open office door. “Guy out front wanting to talk to you, sir.” Our office isn’t easily accessible or easy to find. We’re located in an inconspicuous, secure government building.
“Past the checkpoints?”
“No sir, at reception. He asked for you by name.”
I take my time strolling through checkpoints while looking at my cell phone. No word from home. I’m not expecting any visitors, our division doesn’t deal with the informants, and, due to my status as active undercover, my name shouldn’t be known in general.
Uh, a little disturbing.
We have a camera at the last checkpoint stationed in the reception area. I take a hard look at the screen. Zooming in to look at his face, I do a double take. For fuck’s sake. “Can you call Rivera? Send him to interview room eleven down the hall.”
The confused civilian guard nods before picking up the phone.
Stepping into the reception space with the FBI logo emblazoned on the marble floor, the intern working the desk suddenly tries to look busy. I say firmly, “Follow me.” If the man dressed in jeans, a blue T-shirt, and sneakers thinks I’m being forceful in tone, he doesn’t flinch in the least.
We both sit in the gray-on-gray-toned nondescript closet of a room. No table, just four black faux leather armchairs and a sickly fern in one corner. The room is monitored by guards and is wired for sound and video. It’s one of fifteen like this here. “How can I help you today?”
“You Special Agent Keir Marcus or what?” His accent is strong Long Island New York.
“Before I answer that, how about you tell me who you are?” He’s not taking charge of this meeting.
There’s a loud tap on the door before Jergen lets himself in. He tosses his tie over his shoulder, then smooths his thick black hair back. “Don’t mind me over here. Thought I’d join the party.”
The male doesn’t react other than glancing Rivera’s way. “I’m a paid messenger, man. Can I talk to Agent Marcus or what?”
Interesting. He obviously doesn’t know what I look like.
Rivera’s biggest flex is pretending there is no urgency or issue. He reclines back in his chair, ankles crossed.
I tense up when the man reaches into his back pocket pulling out a thumb drive. He goes on to say, “Just need to pass this off to the guy. To Agent Marcus.”
“I’ll make sure he gets it.” Putting my hand out to him while tilting my head toward the male. I silently implore Rivera to look at where my eyes are trained.
“Can’t do that, boss. Need to make sure it gets to Agent Marcus. I have strict instructions. You understand?”
All gas, no brakes.
“Because you’re a paid messenger,” I repeat. “Here’s the thing.” I scratch one of my eyebrows as I lean toward him. “Did you drive here today?”
None of his bravado slips as he replies, “Why do you care?”
Rivera moves to the door in case the guy tries to bolt. “I take it you did?”
He shrugs before grunting out, “Yeah? So?”
I can tell by the pinpoint pupils alone. Sighing, I shake my head. “It’s a ballsy move to deliver a message to law enforcement high on who knows what.”
He snorts a laugh in derision, “I’m not.”
Pulling on a glove from my pocket, I pluck the needle he has tucked behind his ear. “You’re literally wearing evidence.”
While Rivera, who is trained as a drug recognition expert, runs tests on the man, I flip my badge out, demanding the thumb drive from him. He mumbles to himself, “Fucking prick.”
He’s passed off to another agent after being cuffed for transport to the county jail. Turns out our messenger has a record full of past offenses ranging from petty misdemeanor drug charges to a felony charge for drug distribution. Whoever “hired” him to deliver the message chose a thug with an obvious mob affiliation. Why? I don’t believe he was here with any other purpose than what he stated. But until I see its contents, I won’t know.
My partner, Jergen, claps me on the back as we walk back to our offices. “He didn’t like you much.” Laughing at his own comment he continues, “People usually fall all over themselves around you.”
Do they?
Matt once said if everyone likes you then you’re being inauthentic, you’re dead, or you’re throwing a party. One of his many wisdoms I’ve internalized. I don’t give a fuck if the guy didn’t care for my interaction with him, my need to be liked greatly diminished once I became an agent. “Could you work on his connections? I need to get Hutton the thumb drive. I’m not opening this without him.”
“Good call, my man. That guy is a legit genius. Remember that code IT was running on Sirat’s case? He dismantled it in three minutes.” Rivera holds the door open to the property room. “They’re still pissed at him for doing the job five of their best and brightest couldn’t crack for two weeks.”
There isn’t anyone else I’d trust more with this drive. Odds are, he’ll be able to trace source material quickly, too. There’s a reason he’s sought after by billionaires and heads of state.
“Our mark is projected to land on US soil tomorrow afternoon. Where is the team with staging for surveillance?” Anxious, I fold a piece of cinnamon gum into my mouth from the pack I keep on me, needing to relax the tension in my jaw from clenching it during negotiations this morning. “We need to head him off before he reaches San Diego.”
Rivera screws up his mouth. “We need to pin down his contact on that. The dude is a waffler. Tried to get all up in Sirat’s feelings with that old adage. Damn, how'd it go? Imagine being bitten by a snake, and instead of focusing on healing from the poison, you chase the snake to understand why it bit you and to prove that you didn't deserve it. Went all philosophical on Sirat. You think you’ve seen him angry…whew…”
No, you chase the snake to cut its head off and prevent it from biting others.
Rivera is a blabbermouth, and he loses me while I get as angry as Sirat may have been. He’s one of the best team members we have; we’ve spent many sleepless caffeine-fueled nights of frustration on stake outs together. I’d trade Rivera for Sirat in a heartbeat.
“...give into the demands of a fucking terrorist cell.” I look over at Rivera as he continues his diatribe about a developing issue within our government. The dark underbelly of the CIA, colluding with a faction of the FBI, is back up to its old tricks. “Tell your husband to crack down on that bunch of assholes in Washington D.C. who sit at their desks diddling themselves. He has more pull with his latest promotion.”
I could tell Rivera every day until retirement Matt doesn’t take suggestions or orders from me. He’s not to be purchased or influenced. Jergen still regards our connection as beneficial to me; just one of the many irritations I have with him.
“He’s got his hands full. What we need is less bureaucratic red tape; so we don’t have to sit on our hands while marks continue to traffic children that slip through the system’s cracks.” Like Chris, my brother-in-law. Like…me.
When I let the memories in, a rage in my core fuels me, driving me to push back harder at the obstacles. It calls on the part of me destroyed by the past.
How do you destroy a monster without becoming one?