The Thing About Love

  “I would imagine you’ll be in town more often once that gets started.”

  Jessica had a sneaking suspicion that comment was not as casual as it sounded. “Dave handles most of the day-to-day stuff, but I’ll probably fly in a few times a month to help oversee the project.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Blair’s eyes held hers. “You’ll have to let me show you around town sometime.”

  “You certainly would make a qualified tour guide.” She used Blair’s comment to buy some time until John arrived. “Here’s a hypothetical question for you, Mr. Mayor. Let’s say I’m a tourist in Jacksonville for a weekend. What things should be on my must-see list?”

  As she’d suspected, Blair spent the next several minutes talking about his favorite things to do: going to the beach, kayaking along the St. Johns River, eating snake and alligator at Clark’s Fish Camp, driving in a convertible along A1A from Jax Beach to St. Augustine, horseback riding on Amelia Island, and drinking craft cocktails in the speakeasy room of the Grape & Grain Exchange.

  Apparently, they made a mean vodka/blueberry black tea drink.

  Jessica nodded along attentively, thinking that, for all his faults, the mayor did love his city. It was a shame, really, that he’d strayed so widely from the straight and narrow path. When he wasn’t renting out the power of his office for fifty thousand dollars, or making not-so-subtle innuendos and ogling women’s chests, he had a natural charisma that probably would have taken him far in politics.

  “Do you play golf?” Blair asked her.

  “Not as well as I’d like,” Jessica said.

  Right then, John walked through the front door of the restaurant.

  Seeing him for the first time in three weeks, Jessica immediately noticed something that made her want to smile.

  He’d cut his hair.

  Looking as handsome as ever in his gray suit and light blue shirt, John glanced around the restaurant and spotted her. His eyes met hers as he crossed the room, and for a split second, Jessica could’ve sworn they’d traveled back in time. Between the short haircut, his clean-shaven jaw, and the suit, he looked almost exactly the same as he had six years ago, that first day they’d met at the Academy.

  Chicago, huh? We should team up, Harlow. I say we take down the three trainees from New York first.

  Swallowing, Jessica stayed in character. “Ah, good. Dave’s here.”

  Just before he arrived at the table, John gave Jessica a slight, private smile.

  Let’s do this, his look said.

  It was exactly what she needed to see. Given their history, it was more than a little weird reuniting with John here, under these circumstances, without having spoken to him once in the last three weeks. There were so many things she wanted to ask him—how he was doing, and if NOTS was going well—and more than anything, she wished she could tell him how good it was to see him again. God, it really was.

  But.

  There were things happening in that restaurant that went way beyond her and John. They had a lot of people counting on them to do their jobs right then, so that was precisely what they would do.

  “Look who finally made it,” she said to John, with an easy smile.

  “The joys of airline travel,” he said. An inside joke—the same thing she’d said to him the morning after she’d been stranded in Columbia. Then he turned to Blair with a charismatic grin. “Mr. Mayor. My apologies for being late.” After shaking Blair’s hand, he took the seat next to Jessica.

  Blair looked John over. “New haircut, huh? You look like you just stepped off the Navy base.”

  Thinking it was best to steer away from that analogy, Jessica was quick to change the subject. “How was Detroit?” she asked John.

  “Promising. I can fill you in more during the flight back to Chicago,” he said.

  The waitress came by the table to take John’s drink order, and for a while, the conversation at the table remained social. Blair continued to flirt with Jessica, but with John present the comments never got too forward, which left her free to do her thing and schmooze and pretend to be impressed and entertained as Blair told one personal anecdote after the other.

  After their entrées arrived, however, Jessica steered the conversation toward business. As much as Ashley might have enjoyed hearing Blair talk about his golf game—or at least, she let him think that—she and Dave hadn’t flown all the way down to Jacksonville just to shoot the shit over some steaks.

  “Tell us more about this building we’re going to see after lunch,” she prompted Blair.

  “It’s in the San Marco historic district. Used to be a Laundromat and dry cleaner, but it’s been vacant for five years now. Great price,” Blair added. “A couple of savvy entrepreneurs could snatch it up and really make something of the place.”

  “What’s the neighborhood like?” John wanted to know.

  “Generally, it’s a mix of residential, office, and commercial space, but that particular corridor is almost entirely commercial. Boutique clothing shops, art galleries, that kind of thing.” Blair took a sip of his dry vodka martini. “You’ll see for yourself. It’s a nice spot.”

  “Why has it been sitting empty for five years?” Jessica asked.

  “As I mentioned on the phone, there are some zoning restrictions that probably have scared away potential buyers.”

  “Define ‘some,’” John said.

  Blair leaned in, appearing more than happy to do so. He spoke in a low voice, although the restaurant was crowded and noisy enough that no one could hear them anyway. “So here’s the deal: The building is currently zoned as a CRO—Commercial Residential Office. To use the building as a restaurant, however, you’d need to get approval from the Land Use Committee to change the zoning to a PUD—that’s a Planned Unit Development—that would allow you to serve alcohol and seat up to a hundred and fifty customers.”

  Jessica raised an eyebrow. “How difficult would that be?”

  “Not difficult at all. If you know the right people.” Letting that sink in, Blair looked at them both. “You know I can make this happen.”

  “For a price,” John noted.

  Blair smiled, all charm. “Well, I am a busy man, Dave. As I told y’all before, I can’t help everyone who asks me for a favor. I have to choose those causes I feel most motivated about.”

  “You’d use this friend of yours on the Land Use Committee again? This Paul Ryu?” Jessica said.

  “Yes. And again, he’s not just on the committee. He’s the director.”

  “That’s my one concern,” John said. “That Ryu gets suspicious and wants to know why you’re now supporting a second zoning change on our company’s behalf.”

  Blair shrugged unconcernedly. “So I’ll tell him the truth.”

  “The truth would put us all in prison, Mr. Mayor,” John said dryly.

  “The truth, at least as far as Paul needs to be concerned, is that the building we’re talking about hasn’t had a tenant for the last five years. You have this beautiful neighborhood, with an empty building that sticks out like a sore thumb. Of course I’d support putting the property into reuse. Paul isn’t going to ask questions beyond that.”

  Jessica paused, as if considering that. “All right, let’s say we’re interested. How much would it cost to get you motivated to help us out?”

  “I’m not trying to gouge you,” Blair snorted. He met her gaze. “Fifty thousand. Same as last time. And the deal stays between us—Morano never needs to know about any of this.”

  And there you have it, folks.

  In her head, Jessica pictured Leavitt and Todd sitting in their car parked a few blocks away, high-fiving each other as they listened in via the microphone she had stashed in her bra. The Jax agents and the U.S. Attorney’s Office had wanted evidence of Blair soliciting his own bribe, and now they had just that.

 
She looked at John. “What do you think?”

  He took a moment. “If the building meets our needs, I think it could be too good a deal to pass up.”

  She turned, giving her answer to Blair. “I agree.”

  Blair grinned. “Good. We’ll drive by the place after lunch. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.” He picked up his steak knife and dove into his filet.

  Thinking she’d earned a sip of wine for a job well done—hell, she’d earned more than that—Jessica reached for her glass. John picked up his drink, too, and Jessica mentally clinked her glass to his.

  Cheers, partner.

  And just when all was right with the world, the unimaginable happened.

  “John Shepherd!” boomed a voice.

  Heading straight for their table, with a huge grin on his face, was a guy in his midthirties. Wearing jeans and a T-shirt and an obvious look of recognition, he threw out his hands excitedly.

  “Dude, what are you doing here?” he said to John. “Last I heard, you were working for the FBI up in Chicago.”

  Oh shit.

  It was every undercover agent’s worst nightmare: being recognized while on the job and instantly having one’s cover blown. For that reason, Jessica always told her family and friends to never approach her if they ever randomly spotted her out in public.

  But this kind of fluke happenstance was nothing any agent could prepare for.

  To John’s credit—even though he undoubtedly was sweating bullets right then—he handled the situation as best he could.

  He calmly set his drink on the table. “Um . . . I think you’ve mistaken me for somebody else.”

  The guy laughed this off. “That’s funny, Shep.” He then noticed who else was sitting at the table. “You’re hanging with the mayor? Nice.” He turned to Blair, gesturing to John. “We were in the 75th Ranger Regiment when the FBI came to recruit him. They told Shep he could put bad guys in prison for the rest of his life, and he couldn’t sign up fast enough.”

  Oh my God, it just kept getting worse.

  Jessica jumped in, needing to do something. “You have an FBI twin? How exciting,” she teased John.

  “Apparently,” he said, his expression a mixture of bewilderment and amusement. “Sorry, but you really do have the wrong guy,” he told his Ranger friend.

  The other guy opened his mouth but then paused. “Oh.” His face went pale, as if he’d just clued in to what was happening and how much he’d messed that up. “Sorry about that. You look a lot like him. But . . . yeah, my mistake.” Shifting nervously, he gave them an apologetic wave. “Sorry for the interruption.”

  He turned and walked toward the front of the restaurant. Jessica didn’t want to stare, so she glanced at John instead and remained in character. “Well, that was odd.”

  “I think somebody had a few too many drinks for lunch,” John said.

  It was the best they could do under the circumstances.

  But Blair was no fool.

  “FBI?” He spat out the letters, looking at both of them. Then his gaze settled on Jessica.

  “You whore,” he sneered.

  “Watch it, Blair,” John growled.

  The mayor ignored him, continuing to focus on Jessica. “How the fuck is that possible? The guy who vouched for you has known Morano for years. They went to college together and he said—” He stopped, and a sudden look of realization crossed his face. “There never was any friend from college, was there? Morano is in on it, too.”

  Jessica kept one eye on Blair’s hand and the other on his face as he leaned in toward her.

  “That son of a bitch. Did he cut a deal with you to sell me out?” Blair demanded angrily.

  “Put the knife down, Mr. Mayor,” John said in a low voice.

  Blair blinked and looked down at his hand, as if unaware that he’d been holding his steak knife and jabbing emphatically with it this whole time.

  He stared at the knife for a moment, then looked back up at John.

  John didn’t so much as blink. “You’ll lose.”

  Blair swallowed, then set the knife down on the table in front of him. He sat frozen in his chair for several seconds, then cocked his head as if something else had just occurred to him. “You’re not armed. Neither of you.” He looked at Jessica and John, as if waiting for them to acknowledge this. “You can’t keep me here. I can leave this restaurant right now.”

  “Yes, you can.” Jessica’s tone was calm. She could see the cornered look creeping into Blair’s eyes and wanted to de-escalate the situation. “You’re free to walk out, Mr. Mayor.”

  The truth was, she and John were in no position to stop Blair from leaving. They were unarmed and had no handcuffs and no FBI credentials. On top of all that, this wasn’t their case. Agents Leavitt and Todd were calling the shots, and they could hear what was going on through the microphone Jessica wore. Undoubtedly, now that John and Jessica’s cover was blown, they were already on the move and had called in backup.

  Blair locked eyes with Jessica. “And what happens after I walk out of this restaurant?”

  Jessica remained silent, as did John, neither of them having an answer that would help.

  “What? Are you going to arrest me? I’m the mayor of this city. I can’t—” Looking shell-shocked, Blair stumbled over his words. “I was just . . . doing a few favors for some people. Everything I’ve done, all the deals I’ve made—that was part of my job. It’s all been for the good of this city. Nobody gives a shit about these zoning restrictions, anyway.” He scoffed. “Jesus Christ, with everything going on in this country, the FBI doesn’t have anything better to investigate?”

  As he reached for his glass, his hand trembled, belying the bravado in his voice. He took a sip of his drink, then stared them down. “I’m not going to prison.” He waited, then slammed his hand on the table. “Say something, dammit.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Jessica saw people looking over curiously.

  “You don’t want to do this here, Mr. Mayor,” John said.

  “Here’s what we’re going to do: Dave and I will stay and settle up the bill, and you’ll get up and walk out,” Jessica said.

  “Just like that?” Blair said.

  “Just like that,” she answered.

  He said nothing at first, looking her over. “You’re wearing a wire, aren’t you?” He swallowed, panic sweeping across his face. “I know what you’re doing. You’re signaling them. The rest of your FBI team. Telling them where to get me.” His lips curled in a sneer. “Fuck you. Fuck you all. I told you, I’m not going to prison.”

  He stood up abruptly.

  Reflexively, Jessica and John stood up, too.

  She had a very bad feeling about this. “You still have choices here, Patrick. Don’t do anything you’re going to regret.”

  For a split second, a shadow crossed Blair’s face. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that, Ms. Evers.”

  Then, without warning, he pointed at Jessica and John and shouted at the top of his lungs. “They’ve got guns! They’re going to shoot! Everybody run, get out of here now!”

  Oh crap.

  This was something Jessica had not been prepared for.

  The panicked words—coming from the city’s beloved mayor—caused the entire restaurant to erupt in pandemonium. People jumped up from their tables, screamed, grabbed their children, and ran for the door. Glasses and plates broke as tables were bumped in the fray. A chair tipped over, hitting the floor with a loud crack that sounded enough like a gunshot to elicit more cries.

  “That son of a bitch,” John growled, as Blair seized upon the distraction and pushed people out of his way. He hurried for the back of the restaurant, presumably in search of an escape route.

  “He’s heading out back,” Jessica said to the microphone, for the benefit of Leavitt and Todd.

/>   “Cops,” John warned her.

  Barreling through the crowd, heading straight toward them, were the two police officers assigned to protect the mayor.

  Not taking any chances, Jessica and John immediately put their hands in the air.

  “We’re FBI. We’re unarmed,” Jessica shouted, and John did the same.

  Unfortunately, their words were drowned out in the commotion. They each took a step back from the table, so that the police officers could see that they had no weapons on them.

  The cops broke through the crowd, drew their guns, and pointed them at John and Jessica.

  “Keep those hands up and get the fuck down now,” one of them yelled.

  John shifted a few inches closer to Jessica.

  “We’re FBI. We’re not armed,” he repeated. “We’re going to get down on our knees.”

  And then everything happened in an instant.

  Just as Jessica moved to comply with the cop’s order, someone from behind—later, she would learn he was an off-duty security guard who’d been sitting at a nearby table—reached an arm around her throat and pulled her down to the ground. Startled, she let out a yelp.

  John spun around.

  “Stand down. She’s FBI!” he shouted.

  With John momentarily distracted, the two police officers didn’t wait for a second chance.

  Together, they lunged to restrain him, one cop grabbing for John’s hands while the other shoved him down. All three men stumbled awkwardly, and as John fell—without the use of his hands to regain his balance—his head hit the edge of the table hard with a dull thud.

  He slumped to the ground, motionless.

  No.

  Seeing him go down, Jessica struggled to break from the security guard’s hold. “Let me go—get off me! We’re undercover agents, goddammit!”

  Apparently, her words sank in. The security guard let her go, saying something—an apology, maybe—that she barely heard. She scrambled up from the ground and hurried over to John. “Let me see him.” Hovering over him, the cops made room for her as she knelt down at his side.

  He still wasn’t moving.