Re/Paired (Doms of the FBI Book 2) (4 page)

This was difficult, as painful for him to say as it was for her to hear. She realized that now. She realized she’d stepped over a boundary he’d put in place long ago, and she knew how much he needed those impenetrable lines.

“I’m sorry.” And she was. Sorry she’d asked. Sorry he’d refused. “I shouldn’t have asked you. Can we forget about it?”

He nodded. “I’m sorry too, Kat.”

Monday morning, she woke up singing the chorus of that song about hating Mondays. She didn’t know more than a few lines, and they pulsed through her brain to the rhythm of her headache. Normally she looked forward to the workweek. She loved her job as an assistant US attorney, and she very much enjoyed her coworkers.

Though she hadn’t done anything much except for the rest of her laundry on Sunday, the day had passed slowly. Each time she found thoughts of Keith occupying her mind, she unearthed another demanding mental task to kick it out, or she played games on her computer that ate up the time.

By the time her head hit the pillow, she’d written three briefs and beat her high score on a game whose primary objective seemed to be the obliteration of little colored balls. Ghosts of the graphics invaded her dreams. Now she was neither rested nor ready to face the day. Her body felt battered. She dragged herself to work and plopped down at her desk. Luckily she wasn’t due in court. Only those nearby would be treated to the sight of her bloodshot, puffy eyes.

“Was it that good or that bad?”

She glanced up to find Aaron Buttermore sitting on the corner of her desk, a caramel macchiato, her favorite drink, in his hand. He handed it over. As she sipped, she realized she hadn’t unpacked her briefcase, and she wasn’t wearing nylons under her knee-length skirt.

With a sigh, she set the cup of heaven next to her keyboard. “Neither. I stayed home all alone. Worked a little. Did a whole lot of nothing. Woke up feeling like my head’s full of cotton. Thanks for the coffee. You rock.”

He smiled, an expression that lit his friendly face. When he’d first begun working at the US Attorney’s office last summer, she’d toyed briefly with the idea of dating him. He was handsome and tall. With his clipped blond hair and mossy green eyes, he seemed a watered-down version of Keith. However, the chemistry between them had fizzled within the first five seconds of actual conversation. They had so much in common, and he behaved more like a girlfriend than boyfriend material. It was just a matter of time before he met the perfect woman and they had a perfect wedding and perfect kids.

“No problem. You should have called me. I would have helped.”

Katrina shook her head. She didn’t need a witness to her wallowing. With the first smile of the day blooming on her face, she lifted her coffee in a toast to Aaron. “You helped.”

He grimaced and looked away.

She realized he had something on his mind, but he was waiting until she could gain her composure. Feeling sorry for herself wasn’t going to make anything better, so she took another deep breath and squared her shoulders. “What’s going on?”

“I wasn’t assigned to the Holbrook case.”

The Holbrook case involved a school district superintendent who funneled payments intended to pay for physical therapy for special-needs students into his personal bank account. In the current political climate, nailing anyone in the schools for embezzlement and fraud meant garnering the attention of powerful people. Aaron had been schmoozing Elizabeth Alder, the chief of the White Collar Crimes Unit and their immediate boss, for the past month.

In addition to kissing up, he’d also done a ton of grunt work leading up to the indictment. Katrina squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry. Maybe next time?”

He stared at the place she touched him for a long moment. “Hopefully. I won’t stop trying; that’s for sure. Alder said I don’t have enough experience yet.”

Perhaps she shouldn’t have let her attention wander, but at that moment, she figured out the real reason Keith had turned her down. His kiss, the one that had knocked both of them senseless, proved he found her attractive. He was reluctant to take her on because her lack of experience increased the likelihood that he’d do something she wouldn’t enjoy. Training meant experiencing new things. Some of them she’d like; some of them she wouldn’t. Keith didn’t want to take the chance he’d wreck their friendship with something she didn’t like.

Aaron was still talking, but she only heard the buzzing in her head. Keith couldn’t turn her down if she had experience. He wasn’t the only Dom she knew. If Keith wouldn’t train her, she would find someone else who would. Then she could go back to him with the kind of knowledge and experience he required.

Just before lunch, Special Agent Jordan Monaghan dropped in on her. Though he was a newer agent and younger than them all, he had already struck up a close friendship with her brother and Keith. Jordan didn’t seem to have much in common with many of the other agents she knew. He wore his black hair long and loose. Dark stubble perpetually lined his cheeks and jaw. The knot of his tie hung level with the third button of his shirt, which gaped open at the neck. The relaxed, semi-scraggly look worked for him, and he only cleaned up for court. The first time she’d seen his transformation, it had taken her several moments to realize who he was. He’d grinned at her the entire time.

Jordan was also a Dom. A handsome face hid behind his facial hair and the locks falling over his eyes and ears. He wasn’t her type, not at all, but he was a Dom. She put him on her list, but not at the top.

He took off his wraparound sunglasses and sank into a chair next to her desk. “Do you have a few minutes? I have some theoretical questions I’d like to discuss.” He studied her intently, no smile on his face.

She slid her laptop aside and nodded. “For you? Of course.”

He flashed a quick smile, more a dutiful reaction than an indication of emotion. “Let’s say there were some discrepancies in the evidence logs.”

Katrina knew he was talking to her for a reason. Though they knew each other socially, they weren’t close. The details of cases she was currently working zinged through her brain. She needed more from Jordan. “How do you know there are discrepancies?”

Jordan tapped his thigh. “A hunch. Some of that evidence has gone missing, or it has been conveniently misplaced.”

Missing evidence could destroy a case. Tampering with the chain of evidence could also destroy a case. Katrina frowned. “The evidence rooms are kept under surveillance.”

“Sometimes criminals are smart enough to hide their faces and any identifying features.” He stared at her hard, studying her face.

She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “Jordan, what’s going on?”

He shook his head. “I wish I knew.”

She wanted to ask how much of this theoretical problem involved her, but she knew better than to ask questions whose answers could jeopardize cases. If Jordan had enough to speak in absolutes, he would.

“Sometimes the FBI installs cameras that nobody knows about.”

Jordan chuckled, but his laugh wasn’t real. “You’re confusing us with the CIA.”

She wanted to help, but she could only offer insights he already had. “Investigate the cases. Follow the money. Find a motive, find the bad guy.”

This time, he snorted and gave her a genuine smile. “It’s just like you lawyer types want everything handed to you on a silver platter.”

She grinned. “I prefer platinum.”

An intern whose name Katrina didn’t know came over. She folded her hands demurely in front of her. “Agent Monaghan? Chief Alder will see you now.”

Jordan rose with a grace that surprised Katrina. “I’ll catch you later, Legato.”

__________

Keith’s office on the fifth floor overlooked Cass Avenue. If he followed that corridor down to Bagley, he’d find the location of the first BDSM club he’d ever attended. He thought about that club now, long since vanquished by the economy and frequent law enforcement raids, and longed to rewind the clock a few years.

The club had featured trained experts who would, for a reasonable fee, whip him into oblivion. Submission was not obligatory, and he always opted to exclude that element. He wasn’t submissive, but he did have a masochistic streak that occasionally required nurturing. He could use that kind of anonymous, mind-numbing subspace right about now.

A knock tore his attention from the dark places it had wandered. “Come in.” He kept his invitation curt, his way of letting his unscheduled visitor know they were intruding on his valuable brooding time.

Juliette strode into the room, unaffected by his gruff demeanor. Tall and willowy, she had a stately air about her that she’d probably possessed her entire life. She’d been an administrative assistant at the McNamara Building long before he’d arrived on the scene, and she didn’t hesitate to let him know it. He might be an agent, but she was in charge.

She smacked a piece of paper down on his desk. “I’m not your personal assistant. It isn’t in my job description to field calls from your family.”

He glanced down to see that his sister had called six times since Monday. Given that they were only halfway through Tuesday, that was a lot, even for her. Normally Juliette would forward messages like this electronically. Writing it on paper meant she knew he didn’t want evidence of his personal life in the official records, and e-mail was an official record. He appreciated her effort.

“Thanks, Jules. I’ll take care of it.” He fought the urge to crumple it up and throw it in the trash. There was a reason his parents and sisters didn’t have his cell number. He wanted nothing to do with them, but they didn’t seem to care about what he wanted. Nothing new about that.

“Hey, Jules.”

Keith’s day officially became more difficult. Malcolm stood in the threshold, leaning against the jamb. Dressed in a suit, minus his jacket, he managed to look every inch the federal agent he was. The affable smile on his face never failed to put people at ease. He radiated confidence and acceptance. People naturally gravitated to Malcolm. Now that he was in love, his magnetism had increased.

Mal beamed a smile at Juliette, which she returned wholeheartedly. Where Keith had a rather no-nonsense reputation, Malcolm was widely regarded as the more approachable of the duo. That was why Mal often took the “good cop” role when they worked together. People tended to like Malcolm, and they tended to be intimidated by Keith. As a pairing, it worked well.

Getting close to people wasn’t easy for Keith. He’d spent too much of his life practicing the art of shutting them out to shift gears and let them in. When they’d first met, Malcolm hadn’t seemed to notice Keith’s inherent unfriendliness. It had taken some time, but the man had come to occupy a place in Keith’s life that few people could ever claim to have held. He had a ton of acquaintances, and being an agent had come with automatic brotherhood, but none of that mattered to him very much without the only person he called a friend.

The state of their relationship for the past two months had cast Keith’s world into a hellish state. Juliette slid past Malcolm and squeezed his arm. Even though Keith’s actions had netted a huge bust and several breaks on other cases, since Malcolm had been subject to investigation by internal affairs, he got all the sympathy.

She closed the door on her way out, but only after turning to give Keith a warning look.

Malcolm parked his ass in the chair on the other side of Keith’s desk. He leaned back and drummed his fingers on the padded armrests. “I forgive you.”

If it were anyone else, Keith would have thrown out the sanctimonious bastard. Malcolm’s lapse in judgment—who took a time-out from an undercover assignment to argue with the woman he’d knocked up in a house they knew had state-of-the-art security?—had led to Malcolm being shot and put Darcy in danger. People who weren’t privy to all the details inevitably blamed Keith’s planning for the mess instead of realizing that his quick thinking had salvaged the operation.

However, he knew Malcolm meant what he said. Keith lifted his chin in acknowledgment. “I forgive you too.”

Mal chuckled softly. “What’d you do to Jules? She’s been muttering under her breath about you since yesterday.”

He’d been in the field conducting research. The job of a special agent never ended. “I didn’t do anything. Savannah keeps calling here.”

“Your sister?” Malcolm frowned thoughtfully. “How long has it been since you talked to her?”

Though he shrugged, he knew the answer. Subtract one month from the number of years it had been since he’d achieved sobriety. He’d given his sisters and his parents an ultimatum. He couldn’t have them in his life if they were going to continue to drink. Leaving that life behind meant leaving everything connected to it, including the people who taught him how to be an alcoholic. Of course, that worked better in theory. His mother managed to track him down every six months or so. Sometimes she wanted to know how he was doing, but usually that just meant she was calculating how much money she thought she could shake out of him. He wasn’t much of a giver, but that didn’t stop her from trying.

“Are you going to call her back?”

“Nope.” No hesitation there. He’d meant what he’d said. “I made my position clear a long time ago.”

Mal rubbed his chin. “What if she’s sober? What if she’s calling to tell you that she’s turned her life around and she wants to make amends?”

Leave it to Malcolm to poke holes in his logic. It was another reason they worked so well together. The question forced him to reconsider something he’d given up on, compartmentalized with the rest of his shattered hopes, and sealed off. It wasn’t that simple.

He knew how to play the logic game. He caught Mal’s pass and threw it back. “She’s probably calling because she’d been arrested and she wants me to help get her out of jail.”