Chapter 3
JETT
“He’s clean,” Trevi said as I walked into the conference room a few days later.
“Who?” I sipped the coffee I’d picked up on the walk in this morning. It always took forever for it to get cool enough for me, despite this being one of the coldest Octobers on record in Manhattan.
“J. Locke Maris. The guy whose phone you cloned? Big shipping exec? Nothing in it except basic work shit and a few texts with family, friends, and lovers.”
My ears perked up. “Lovers?”
Trevi shrugged. “I mean, there are a few texts arranging dates with a few rich ladies, but he’s boring as fuck, honestly. Seems like a workaholic. Which makes no sense, considering he’s a trust fund baby.”
I nodded, unsurprised. That tracked with the man I’d encountered that night at the Candy Bar. The man who’d been determined to stay rigidly in control, even while I was half-naked and gyrating on top of him.
It also tracked with what I’d found online later. While I was… ah, researching someone associated with an op. As a diligent intelligence agent does.
Locke Maris was one of those rich, powerful people who often got written up in gossip blogs. “Famous for being famous,” as my uncle Derek would say.
Sure enough, photo after photo showed the sexy Maris heir dressed to the nines with a model-beautiful woman on his arm, shaking hands with other high-powered executives in boardrooms, or playing golf at exclusive resorts.
In every single shot, his face was tense and unsmiling, like he couldn’t wait to get back to his spreadsheets.
And fair enough, I supposed. Maris Holdings was a massive conglomerate managing shipping lanes, satellite tracking, and data analytics for global trade, and he would run the whole thing someday. Those were probably some pretty important spreadsheets.
None of that explained why he’d come to a gentleman’s club for a conversation with Ronald Gillen, though.
The good news was, I’d managed to clone Ronald’s phone later that night when he’d gone to the men’s room and the damned thing had fallen out of his pocket onto his chair. I’d rolled my eyes hard at how much effort I’d gone to, only to succeed through dumb luck.
“What about Gillen’s phone?” I asked Trevi.
He grinned. “Oh, there was all kinds of shit in his. Names, dates, transactions. What a dumbass. None of it connected to Maris, though, that I could find.”
Before he could tell me more, our boss and a few other support staff came in.
Rocky’s long blonde hair was pulled up in its usual twist, and the high heels paired with today’s dark suit were black with red polka dots.
Though ESP agents could wear whatever we wanted as long as we were professional from the waist up for Zoom calls with the Feebs and CIA higher-ups, Rocky only ever let loose with her footwear.
“Good work, everyone. Thanks to Agent Marian here, we now have the names of three longshoremen suspected of moving the drugs off the Meridian Bell before customs inspection. The FBI’s picking the suspects up for questioning and pulling surveillance for the dates and times of transactions noted in Gillen’s phone. ”
“And Gillen?” Trevi asked.
Rocky shrugged. “It seems Gillen didn’t know the precise nature of the contraband shipment, though he accepted money in exchange for looking the other way while the longshoremen had unauthorized access to the container. They’ve decided to leave him in play, just in case he can prove helpful again.”
Even a year and a half into this job, part of me still expected someone to protest. Gillen might not be the biggest fish in the criminal pool, but he was undoubtedly a criminal.
ESP’s job was to gather information, though. Deciding what to do with that information was outside our purview.
Rocky finished up a few last points, then thanked everyone again before moving on.
“Alright, next up is something that just came in this morning. We’ve been tasked with sending an agent to Nome, Alaska, to check out credible evidence of suspicious drone activity at a remote outpost. Last summer, a joint research exercise was aborted when it became clear it was a cover for unauthorized surveillance.
We need to determine if this drone activity is related. ”
Her eyes met mine, and she gave me an apologetic wince.
“Sorry, Jett. I know the last thing any of us wants is to go somewhere colder than here, but a female agent would stand out too much on this one, and you’re closest to being able to grow out a scruffy beard.
” Her eyes flicked to another agent in the room. “No offense, Thompson.”
Thompson’s baby face turned pink while Trevi elbowed him and snickered. “Don’t worry, boo. You’re next up on the college ops.”
I thought about the trip home I’d been planning to take in a few weeks. While it wasn’t exactly hot in South Carolina this time of year, it was definitely warmer than here. And sure as shit warmer than Alaska. “Yeah, no problem. I can handle it.”
“’Course you can. And in exchange for this op, you’ll get extra time off when you return, so feel free to start researching discount Caribbean cruises now,” she added with a wink.
“Yeah,” Trevi said with a snicker. “Maybe having those images in your head will help keep you warm.”
It did not, in fact, keep me warm in Nome. Nothing did. Not the high-tech clothes I’d brought or the hot baths I’d taken every night in my hotel room, or even the memories of fondling myself while perched on Locke Maris’s lap.
I froze my fucking ass off while spending two weeks running down a group of rogue high schoolers who turned out to be playing an obscure internet game that relied on drone footage to score points.
In addition to freezing to death, I also managed to get food poisoning from bad fish and spent four straight days stuck between my bed and the bathroom.
When I finally got back to New York, I was ready to catch the next flight to Charleston so I could visit my family and recuperate in the house on Rabbit Island. But when I video called my parents to tell them I was coming, they said I couldn’t.
“There’s a late-season hurricane heading our way,” Mav said. My poor dad looked as devastated as I felt. “We’re heading out to Napa to visit everyone at the vineyard.”
Beau popped his head in the frame. “Hey, kiddo. Come join us in California.”
The thought of turning right around to the West Coast made my stomach turn. “Can’t do the long flight or the social rah-rah. I think I’m going to stay here and let the jet lag overtake me.”
Beau’s eyebrows dipped. “At least go out with some friends. Seems like you’ve been doing nothing but work since you started that job. We know you want to impress the consulting firm, but they have to allow you some personal time.”
Mav nodded over Beau’s shoulder. “Corporate life in a traveling job’s hard enough as it is. Be sure you’re taking time for yourself so you don’t burn out.”
I nodded and grinned. Little did they know I did just fine with personal time. Between cases, I usually managed to go out to bars in the city and pick up men to go home with. I danced, drank, and fucked before it was time to dive into another case.
My cousin JJ claimed I was in my Sex and the City era. My brother Gabe claimed I was abusing Grindr. They were both right.
I loved the city. Loved the diversity compared to my small South Carolina town. Loved the anonymity. The opportunity. The shopping and eating. I loved everything about New York. And now here I was, able to suck every bit of marrow out of its bones.
After finishing the call with my parents, I went back to my tiny apartment and slid between rumpled sheets, falling asleep for a solid ten hours before waking up crusty-eyed and gross. I showered for a long time, then dressed before heading to get something to eat.
My uncle Jude was a famous musician who’d given each of his nieces and nephews trust funds to help pay for our education and give us financial security.
Other than using some of it to pay for my college tuition, I tried never to spend any of it.
But tonight, I allowed myself to splurge on a kick-ass steak dinner.
I was worn down from the travel and stomach bug, and I never wanted to see another fish as long as I lived.
Thankfully, Rutherford’s had a spot in the very back corner next to the kitchen. I caught up on my social media scrolling while eating my buttery filet and garlic mashed potatoes. After the amazing meal and a few drinks, I headed to the men’s room.
Instrumental music filled the dimly lit tiled space, glinting off old brass fixtures. As I pulled myself out at the urinal, someone came in and took the spot at the urinal next to mine.
I was planning to mind my business, but something about the way the man smelled was so familiar I couldn’t help but turn my head slightly…
Locke Maris was already looking at me, eyes narrowed like he was trying to place me.
Fortunately, my ESP training kicked in, reminding me that to this man, I was Jethro Davis, go-go boy at the Candy Bar.
“Aren’t you the… stripper?” he asked, finishing and putting his dick away before I had a chance to sneak a peek at it.
Annoyance flashed through me. “Dancer,” I corrected, putting my own dick away as quickly as possible. “Yes.”
“What are you doing here?”
The question wasn’t rude. More genuinely curious. And I didn’t blame him for wondering, since most of the staff at the Candy Bar—hell, most of the staff at ESP—wouldn’t be able to afford a glass of water at Rutherford’s.
“I had a… a date.” I lifted my chin and tried not to notice the way his suit—possibly custom, definitely expensive—lovingly hugged every inch of his broad frame.
His eyes widened. “A… date?”
The way I’d said it was normal. A reference to a man taking me out to dinner for the purpose of romance.
The way he’d said it was different. A reference to a man taking his boy toy out to dinner before fucking him. For cash.