The Thing About Love

  • • •

  Back at the HRT compound, in the locker room, the new recruits’ spirits were high after the river jump. While getting dressed, John joked around with his classmates and joined in the smack-talk about everyone’s scores. His undercover skills came in handy right then—to everyone else, he appeared as cool and relaxed as ever.

  But on the inside, he was pissed off and giving himself one hell of a lecture.

  He wasn’t entirely sure what direction his mind had been heading in up on that gunwale ledge, but he did know that this wasn’t the time or place to be distracted. After lunch, he and his classmates would be loading into a UH-60 Blackhawk helo for a rappelling exercise, and he needed to be crisp and sharp for that.

  Whatever was—or more accurately, was not—going on in his personal life would have to wait. When he was here, at Quantico, the team came first. Period.

  After pulling on his shirt, he grabbed his phone off the locker shelf and reflexively checked it before sticking it into the pocket of his pants.

  Unexpectedly, he had a new message from Leavitt.

  “You coming?” Rivera asked, on his way out of the locker room with the rest of the guys for lunch.

  “I’ll be right there.” Not looking up from his phone, John quickly skimmed Leavitt’s message. Apparently, there’d been some kind of development in the Blair investigation, and the Jax agent wanted to know if John would be free any time that day for a conference call with him, Agent Todd, and the two Assistant U.S. Attorneys who would be leading the prosecution of the mayor and the developers who’d bribed him.

  Jessica, too, would be on the call.

  The locker room quiet now, John took a seat on the bench and read through the e-mail a second time, trying to glean any further information about whatever the heck was going on in the investigation. He’d gotten an e-mail from Leavitt last week, letting him know that the grand jury had indicted Blair and the developers, so he’d assumed the next time he would hear about the case would be on CNN, after word got out that the mayor of Jacksonville and eight prominent local businessmen had been arrested in a corruption and bribery scandal.

  But now, apparently, there was a “development.”

  He briefly considered texting Jessica. What’s the deal with this call? he could ask her, casually. But then, almost certainly, she’d ask him how HRT was going, and then there’d be some back-and-forth, and she would probably say something saucy and funny that would remind him of all the moments he’d spent the last two weeks busting his ass to not remember.

  It was better to maintain some distance, he reminded himself.

  That decided, he hit “reply all” to the e-mail, keeping his response short and sweet.

  How about 6pm EDT?

  • • •

  During the dinner break before the evening lecture, John made his way to the HRT classroom, which was currently deserted. Cell phone in hand, he took a seat in one of the chairs and pulled up the e-mail Leavitt had sent everyone with the phone number for the conference call.

  After he dialed in, a beep on the other end of the line prompted him to identify himself. He stated his name and was patched through to the others.

  Leavitt immediately welcomed him. “John! Glad you could join us. How’s NOTS treating you?”

  “Not too bad. But ask me that again once we start fire training,” John joked. He caught himself listening for Jessica’s voice among the subsequent chuckles.

  Huh. Maybe she hadn’t dialed in yet.

  “Well, we all appreciate you calling in tonight on such short notice,” Leavitt said. “I’m sure they’re keeping you busy up there at Quantico, so I’ll try to move this along as quickly as possible. Agent Todd is here, too, and Mark Duffy and Kristin Loeffler are joining us from the U.S. Attorney’s office—as I mentioned in my e-mail, they’ll be leading the prosecution team. Unfortunately, Jessica had a last-minute conflict and won’t be calling in. Something about a change in the trial schedule for one of her old cases, and she had to catch a flight out to Los Angeles.”

  Oh. Well, that was . . . probably for the best. John had wanted distance, and that’s exactly what he’d gotten. “Sorry to hear she won’t be joining us,” he said, before exchanging hellos and small-talk with the two AUSAs.

  Then Leavitt got down to business. “So, John, we should bring you up to speed on a couple of things. You already know that last week, the grand jury returned indictments against Mayor Blair and all eight developers. Our plan had been to arrest the nine of them this week. In fact, we’d just about finalized the details for that, when Jessica called me yesterday morning to let me know that Blair had contacted her over the weekend.

  “From the sound of things, he’s decided that Ashley and Dave are a couple of cash cows. And now he’s looking for another score. This time, he has his sights set on that second restaurant you guys told him about—the farm-to-table neighborhood bistro with a rotating special of gourmet scrambled eggs.”

  “I still say somebody needs to actually open that restaurant,” Todd chimed in, getting a laugh out of everyone.

  “In the message he left Jessica over the weekend, Blair said he knows of a location that would be perfect for the bistro: an abandoned building in the San Marco historic district,” Leavitt said. “When Jessica returned the mayor’s call and expressed interest in hearing more about the property, Blair told her that she could get it for a steal. And he’s right—we looked up the address he gave her and the building is indeed listed below market.”

  John highly doubted Blair had brought this to Ashley’s attention out of the kindness of his heart. “What’s the catch?”

  “The catch,” Leavitt answered, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice, “is that in order for the building to be used as a restaurant, it would have to be rezoned by the city’s Land Use Committee.”

  Ah. “Let me guess: and Blair would be willing to help facilitate the rezoning of the property. For a fee, of course,” John said.

  “He didn’t expressly state that on the phone, but that was certainly the implication,” Leavitt said. “He made a reference to the pizzeria and wine bar, and said he saw no reason why the zoning issues related to this second property couldn’t be resolved just as easily.”

  Mark, one of the AUSAs, jumped in. “This is new for Blair. Assuming he’s going where we think he’s going with this, it’s the first time he’s ever initiated his own bribe. In the past, Morano had always arranged the deals. In a corruption case like this, we have to assume that Blair’s attorneys might argue some sort of entrapment defense. I don’t believe it would be a successful defense, but Kristin and I aren’t taking anything for granted. Blair is a very popular mayor—if even one juror buys into some cockamamie theory that the FBI set him up, and that he was enticed into taking the bribes, we’d have a problem.”

  Kristin, the other AUSA, picked up there. “But if we have proof of Blair actually soliciting his own bribe, that essentially puts the nail in the coffin on any entrapment defense. Given how valuable that kind of evidence would be, Mark and I—along with Agents Leavitt and Todd—feel it’s worth reopening the investigation. We discussed this with Agent Harlow yesterday, and she’ll be going back in undercover to meet with Blair.”

  John went still. “When?”

  “She’s flying down to have lunch with him this Saturday,” Leavitt said. “And Blair also suggested that, afterward, the two of them take a drive to the San Marco property so she could check it out.”

  I’m sure he did, John thought dryly.

  “Obviously, we’re all excited about this development,” Mark said. “It’s a credit to the work you and Agent Harlow have done on this case. If you hadn’t earned Blair’s trust in such a relatively short amount of time, we wouldn’t be fortunate enough to be in this position.” He cleared his throat. “There is one slight issue, however. While reviewing the aud
io recordings of your meetings with Blair, Kristin and I noticed that the mayor has been . . . making overtures of a personal nature to Agent Harlow.”

  “That’s lawyer-speak for ‘flirting,’” Kristin joked. “We know that the four of you discussed how to handle that situation, and we agree with the call you made. One potential concern, however, is that in a one-on-one scenario, Blair might take the flirting up a notch. Or several notches. That could put Agent Harlow in an awkward situation.”

  John opened his mouth to say that they could put Agent Harlow in any situation and she still would do what needed to be done, but Mark the AUSA beat him to the punch.

  “We have every confidence in Agent Harlow’s ability to manage such a situation,” he said. “But I think we all can agree that the best-case scenario would be to not put her in that position in the first place.” He paused meaningfully. “As in the past, if someone else were at that meeting with her and Blair, it would force Blair to remain more business-focused.”

  “We can’t bring in another agent at this point,” Kristin said. “That would make Blair suspicious. And we can’t use Morano, either—the mayor has deliberately cut him out of the loop. So, if there was going to be another person at Saturday’s meeting, it would have to be you, Agent Shepherd.”

  There was a pause then, as everyone waited for John’s response.

  He said nothing for a moment. Technically, he didn’t have a direct conflict with the meeting—even NOTheads got occasional weekends off, and as it happened, the only plans he had for Saturday were to go house-hunting. But regardless, this was a big ask on the part of Leavitt and the U.S. Attorney’s Office, and they knew that. John was an operator now, and his responsibilities and dedication lay with the Hostage Rescue Team. Undercover work, Jessica, and the Blair investigation were all in his past, part of a life that he’d left behind.

  As if reading his mind, Leavitt spoke. “We realize that this is asking a lot with you being at NOTS. If you can’t do it, John, we understand. In fact, Jessica made me promise to pass along a message to you: She said that she can handle Blair on her own if need be, and that she knows a good leg move that’ll keep him in line. I’m guessing that’s some sort of inside joke.”

  Something inside John softened, and he smiled despite himself. “Yes.”

  And in that moment, he knew what he needed to do.

  He might not have been a special agent anymore, and, yes, he had a new life at Quantico now. But he and Jessica were partners in this. They had started this undercover assignment together, and now, with this one last meeting with Blair, they would finish it.

  That decided, he gave Leavitt and the others his answer. “I’ll book my flight tonight.”

  33

  Sitting alone at a table near the back of Alexander’s Grill, a crowded surf-and-turf restaurant in Jacksonville Beach, Jessica took a slow, quiet breath to calm her nerves.

  The mayor would arrive any moment, although that wasn’t the reason she had butterflies in her stomach. She knew how to handle Patrick Blair and understood exactly what she needed to get out of him during today’s meeting. They would have a nice lunch with lots of schmoozing, a little shop talk, and, knowing Blair, some not-so-veiled flirting on his end. Following lunch, they’d drive out to the property the mayor had found for Ashley and Dave’s second restaurant, where—after examining the building—they would agree that it was, indeed, the perfect spot for their farm-to-table brunch bistro with a rotating special of gourmet scrambled eggs.

  Jessica doubted it would take much prompting to get Blair to spell out the terms of his bribe. In addition to his general propensity for bragging about his ability to get things done in “his” city, he was greedier now, and bolder, and believed he’d found an opportunity to score another quick fifty thousand in cash. He would be chomping at the bit to get the ball rolling on that front—of that, Jessica had no doubt.

  What she was less certain of, however, was the thought of seeing John again.

  When Leavitt and Todd had informed her, earlier in the week, that the U.S. Attorney’s Office wanted to reopen the Blair investigation—and that they also wanted to ask John if he, too, could go back in undercover—she’d answered, as she should, like any other special agent in those circumstances.

  “If John can make it work with his NOTS schedule, he’s more than welcome to join the party,” she’d said breezily.

  Frankly, she’d never thought he’d say yes. She’d assumed he’d be far too busy at Quantico with the other HRT guys, scaling burning buildings with their pinky toes, playing with their flash-bang grenades, and running around with their helmets with the little bushes on their heads. And to let John know that there were no hard feelings, that she understood and respected that he had other commitments, she’d even passed along an inside joke via Leavitt.

  But now, here they were, working side-by-side once again.

  Or at least, they would be as soon as John actually showed up.

  They’d had to roll with one minor glitch this morning: John’s flight out of Virginia had been delayed, and as a result he would be about ten minutes late to the meeting with Blair. She’d been midflight when John had found out that his flight would be late, and then he had been in the air after she’d landed, but through a series of e-mails with Leavitt and Todd they’d worked up a cover story to explain why Dave and Ashley hadn’t flown in from Chicago together.

  Professionally, the delay wasn’t a big deal; Jessica could chat up Blair until John arrived. But on a personal note, it meant that she wouldn’t have any time to be alone with John before lunch, to get a read on him before they slipped into their Ashley and Dave personas.

  Although what she’d been hoping for if she’d had the chance to get a read on John was a question she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.

  The easiest scenario, obviously, would be if she saw John and felt something along the lines of, say . . . warm fondness. That had always been the plan, for the two of them to part as friends. After wrapping things up with Blair, they could grab a drink before catching their respective flights back home and jokingly toast to being really, really done with the investigation. He’d tell her about HRT, she’d tease him about being a hotshot operator, and then they’d hug—perhaps a moment longer than necessary, just because—and go their separate ways once again.

  Her inner pragmatic was a big fan of the easiest scenario. In fact, she’d been praying for it all week.

  But something deeper inside Jessica, a voice she’d been trying to shush since the morning she’d said good-bye to John, kept asking what her plan was if she saw him and felt, say . . . more than warm fondness.

  The simple, scary truth of the matter was, she had no damn clue.

  And the other simple truth was, she needed to momentarily table that and all other scary truths and what-if scenarios.

  Because it was showtime.

  The Honorable Patrick Blair walked through the front door of the restaurant, accompanied by the two police officers from the sheriff’s office who were his personal detail. As the two officers settled in at the bar up front, Blair did his usual politician thing: smiling, waving, and stopping to shake hands with some of the restaurant patrons as he followed the hostess to Jessica’s table.

  When he got there, Jessica stood up to greet him. “Mr. Mayor,” she said warmly, extending her hand.

  He wrapped his hand around hers and stepped closer. “I thought we agreed you would drop the title.”

  “But you wear it so well.”

  He grinned—not disagreeing with that—and took a seat in the chair across the table from her. Then he cocked his head, eyeing the two empty chairs next to them.

  “Just you today?” There was a sudden gleam in his eyes.

  “Dave’s coming, he’s just running a little late. He’s flying in from Detroit, and his plane was delayed.”

  “Oh.” Blair
frowned. “What’s he doing in Detroit?”

  They’d chosen Detroit because it was a city John was familiar with, in case Blair asked him any questions about the trip. “He’s scouting out potential restaurant sites.”

  Blair spread his napkin over his lap, sounding a touch haughty. “I wasn’t aware Detroit had much of a culinary scene.”

  Neither was I, until an hour ago. As soon as they’d come up with their cover story, Jessica had done some quick research into the Detroit market. She’d e-mailed the information along to John, as well, so that they were on the same page. “Actually, it’s really exploded in the last couple years. Zagat puts Detroit at number three in ‘America’s Next Hot Food Cities.’ And the Washington Post just did this interesting piece about how the city is in the middle of a ‘culinary revolution.’ Apparently, statewide restaurant sales are expected to increase by 5.2 percent this year.” She feigned a self-deprecating smile. “And that’s probably more than you ever wanted to know about the Detroit culinary scene.”

  “Probably. But still, it’s interesting to hear you talk about these things.” Blair rested his forearms on the table, looking her over. “You’re very good at what you do.”

  Buddy, you don’t know the half of it. “I’m fortunate to have a job that I enjoy.”

  They were briefly interrupted when the waitress stopped by the table to take the mayor’s drink order. After she left, Blair sat back and casually draped one arm over the back of the empty chair next to him.

  He made no attempt to hide his appreciative gaze. Jessica had chosen to wear a slim-cut navy dress and heels, even though it was a weekend, because Ashley didn’t strike her as the kind of woman who would wear anything less to a business meeting.

  “Speaking of your job . . . what’s happening with your pizzeria and wine bar?” Blair asked. “I drove by the building the other day and noticed you haven’t started construction yet.”

  “We had to tweak the plans based on some recommendations from our general contractor. But we’re hoping to get started next week,” she lied.