Karma Page 7

  The men in the back of the SUV choked on their laughter. Mitch stared at me, and when I glared at him, he held his hands up in surrender before starting the engine. I flipped him the bird.

  “Afraid so, pumpkin. You okay?”

  “Ripped out the IV trying to kill Jake. Other than that, fit as a fiddle.”

  Jake huffed.

  At the rate I was using my middle finger, it was going to get stuck in the upright position.

  “Why were you trying to kill that nice man?”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time. Is Ma around?”

  “Sure is, pumpkin. I’ll get her for you in a minute. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  “No idea yet. I haven’t been briefed or debriefed. All I know is that I had a gun to my head and was given the choice of cooperating or finding out what happens when shot in the temple at pointblank range.”

  “You did just fine, pumpkin. Sorry about the newspapers. They said they needed to manufacture a reason you might be a target.”

  “Manufacture? And here I thought I was so beautiful everyone wanted to grab me off the street at gunpoint.”

  “That you are. If you’re done fishing for compliments, here’s your ma.”

  Calling Pops an asshole was a fast way to get him to pay me a visit to kick my ass, so I kept my mouth shut. A moment later, Ma said, “Baby?”

  “Hey, Ma. Sorry for worrying you.”

  “You okay?”

  Ma wouldn’t be too pleased if I told her about the IV, so I replied, “I’m all right. They kept me for observation, but they didn’t have a whole lot to observe.”

  “Good to hear. When you coming home?”

  “Good question. I’m not sure. I haven’t been debriefed yet, so it might be a while.”

  “You want us to fly out there?”

  “It’s okay, Ma. I have no idea how long I’ll be here. For all I know, I might end up being on a plane headed east in a couple of hours.”

  Several snorts from the back seat warned me I’d probably be stuck in Colorado for a lot longer than I liked.

  “All right, baby. You just give us a ring if you change your mind or need us. We can be on the next flight out if you need us.”

  “Thanks, Ma.”

  “Of course. You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “The news said you were in stable condition in the hospital.”

  Shit. Unless I managed to distract Ma or convince her I was safe and sound, she’d never let it go. I bit my lip. “Okay, so there was a river. I fell in. Jake had to go fishing for me. That water was cold, Ma. I’m fine. Mild hypothermia at worst. They just wanted to keep an eye on me. They let me out and everything.”

  “You better thank that nice man properly, you hear me?”

  “Yes, Ma.”

  “Good. Now, why don’t you tell your ma how you let someone get the jump on you while you were holding a baby?”

  I closed my eyes, slouched in my seat, and wished I could disappear. “Her sister, Chloe, was interested in my gym bag. Saw the kickboxing patches. She’s just started, so I was chatting with her about it. I was distracted. It was a festival, Ma. I was supposed to be distracted. You’re always telling me I need to relax. I was relaxing.”

  “Don’t you give me any attitude, Karma Clarice Johnson.”

  “Sorry, Ma.”

  “Damn right you’re sorry. You thank that nice man properly, you hear me?”

  “Yes, Ma.”

  “Good. Now, I’ll let you off the phone before you run up his phone bill. Give us a call when you know something, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Be more careful, baby.”

  “I will, Ma.”

  We said our goodbyes, and I heaved a sigh of relief when I heard the line disconnect. Another snort from the backseat heralded a fit of uncontrolled laughter.

  “Hey, Mitch?”

  “Yes?”

  “I guess killing the fuckers in the back would get me kicked out of CARD, wouldn’t it?”

  “Probably.”

  “Well, shit.”

  Although I had spent at least half a day and a full night unconscious, I was stifling yawns by the time we arrived at Denver’s FBI headquarters. To my dismay, there was a news van parked on the street, and where there was a news van, there was a reporter. I slid down in my seat until I couldn’t see out the window.

  “I hate reporters,” I muttered.

  “You’re going to end up on the floor if you keep that up.” Mitch sighed. “Don’t worry yourself about the reporters. Secured parking is a wonderful thing. They aren’t going to see you go into the building.”

  “Why is there a news van here? You didn’t identify me as FBI, did you?”

  “You were exposed,” he confirmed. “Sorry. Wasn’t our call. They didn’t give specifics, just that you were a part of the FBI. They said you’re a vacationing FBI employee who was caught up in a kidnapping case. Apparently, we can’t buy publicity that good. It was pure luck you had such an interesting hobby on the side.”

  “I’m supposed to be a field agent, Mitch.”

  “And being ousted as FBI won’t influence your ability to work with CARD. Your new team made sure of that.”

  “My face has been all over the newspapers. That will influence my ability to work with CARD. Kidnappers will see me poking around and know trouble is coming.”

  “Give it a couple of weeks. No one is going to remember you.”

  Mitch parked the SUV. For a long time, all I could do was groan and cover my face with my hands, muttering about how my life had turned into a nightmare.

  When I made no move to unbuckle my seatbelt and get out, Jake opened my door and poked me in the ribs. “It’ll work out.”

  “Like hell it’ll work out.”

  “You could always start kickboxing professionally.”

  I slapped my hand over the buckle to unfasten it, shoved the straps off, and glared at Jake, contemplating the ways I could inflict the most harm without an official reprimand. “You’re pushing a bit hard, Jake.”

  If his huffs were his warning I was toeing lines, mine was the deathly calm way I spoke those six words.

  “All right, all right. Let’s get you through questioning. I’ll feed you all the pizza you can eat and pay the bill.”

  “You can do better than pizza.”

  “I could, but you called me an asshole after I jumped in a river and saved you from drowning.” Jake grinned at me and stepped out of my range. “If you’re nice to me, I’ll upgrade you from pizza to Italian.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Pizza is Italian. I am not buying what you’re selling, sir.”

  “It’ll be really good pizza?”

  “Does Denver have really good pizza?”

  “If it does, I’ll find it.”

  “All right. Let’s get this over with.”

  “She seems like quite the handful,” Donny said, arching a dark brow at me. “Big personality in a little package?”

  “Only the best,” I replied, lifting my chin. “They didn’t hire me for my good looks or sparkling personality.”

  Jake chuckled. “They hired her because of her multiple degrees and utterly unflappable handling of cases that would make men like us cry. She blew through eight partners before they managed to convince her I was worth keeping around.”

  “No one convinced me of anything. You just refused to go away.”

  “At least you didn’t compare me to herpes this time.”

  “That’s your thanks for fishing me out of the river.”

  “I’m hurt, Karma.”

  I stared at him. “Is that even possible?”

  “I’m absolutely devastated.”

  “I’m still not buying what you’re selling.”

  “You’re so cruel.”

  Mitch cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but shall we head upstairs so we can get this over with?”

  I flipped my middle finger at Jake
and followed after the other CARD members, shaking my head in amusement at Jake’s shamelessness. When we passed through security, I was aware of people staring at me.

  Without my badge to prove I was a member of the FBI, I fidgeted. Meeting new agents for the first time always went the same way. No one ever believed I was actually in the FBI. I either looked too young, was too short, or too feminine, or too something to be treated like I belonged. Sometimes agents changed their tunes after watching me work, but as often as not, no one believed.

  I clenched my teeth. I didn’t need anyone to believe, as long as they respected my badge and gun. Determined to keep my dignity and pride intact, I straightened my back and lifted my chin.

  “Uh oh,” Jake murmured, resting his hand on my shoulder. “They aren’t the bad guys, partner. They’re just curious.”

  “Curious? About what? The size of my tits? My other measurements? How about my gun handling skills?” At the rate my temper was fraying, I wouldn’t make it to the elevators before I snapped. I knew it, and judging from the way Jake tightened his hold on my shoulder, he knew it, too. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Of course you’re not,” he soothed. “You had a gun held to your head, you were dragged halfway across the country, and put in a situation none of us ever want to be in. They’re staring because they’re incapable of comprehending how so much awesome could be squeezed into such a tiny package.”

  “What do you want, Jake?”

  “For once in my life, absolutely nothing.”

  “I’m really not buying what you’re selling, Jake.”

  “That’s because you’re awesome and smart.”

  “Mitch? Can I borrow your gun?”

  “No.”

  “I just want to whip him across the ass with it. Come on. It’ll be good stress relief.”

  “I’m pretty sure that’s assault and sexual harassment.”

  “Huh. Even if he deserves it?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “That’s really not fair.”

  There wasn’t much point in taking an elevator to the third floor, but I was grateful I wouldn’t have to climb so many steps. I blamed hunger and a dislike of hospital stays for my weariness. What I really needed was a cup of coffee. When had I last had coffee?

  I couldn’t remember, which was a bad sign.

  “Coffee,” I blurted.

  “I was starting to wonder when you’d remember you haven’t had any coffee yet.”

  “I will pistol whip you so hard you will wake up in next week,” I grumbled.

  “You’re still mad about that?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are you two bickering about?” Mitch asked, holding the elevator door open for everyone.

  “He pistol whipped me in the ass a few months after we became partners. I annoyed him.”

  “He pistol whipped you.”

  “In the ass.”

  “What sort of partnership did you two have?”

  I blinked, frowning at the man. “A good one?”

  Jake jabbed me with his elbow. “That’s not supposed to come out as a question. We’re amazing together and you know it. Our case record was superb.”

  “That did influence my tolerance levels for you,” I confessed. “Unlike those other eight idiots I had for partners, you actually understand the concept of watching my six.”

  Jake got a troubled expression on his face. “I better warn your new partners about that. I’ll make a list. Better yet, I’ll swing by New York and brief them. You’ll eat them alive if I don’t warn them.”

  “Are you sure I can’t borrow your gun, Mitch? Please?”

  “Positive.”

  “Well, shit.”

  Chapter Eight

  Coffee made life a whole lot better. The first sip soothed my nerves. The second had me slumped contentedly in my chair, and the third induced a coma-like state no one dared to interrupt for at least five minutes.

  I had no idea what the delay was about, but I had a hard time forcing myself to care. I had coffee. Everything was better with coffee. As long as I had my hands wrapped around the coffee-warmed mug, everything would work out fine.

  Jake prodded me under the conference table with his foot. “Damn, Karma. Don’t fall out of your seat over there.”

  “The last time I had coffee was the night before a bunch of professional kidnappers dragged me into their SUV and drove me across the United States. Can’t a girl enjoy her coffee?”

  “Should we give you a few more minutes alone with your java?”

  I tried to kick Jake, but I was too relaxed to do more than flop my foot on the floor. “Just get ready to fetch me more coffee. Need three or four more to function.”

  “I should have had the nurse add coffee to the IV.”

  Someone cleared his throat and clapped his hands together. “All right. Let’s get to business, shall we?”

  I cracked open an eye. While Jake and I had done an extensive amount of traveling around the east coast, I hadn’t met the gray-haired man standing at the head of the table. He had a set of three scars stretching across one cheek, partnered with a stripe of white hair near his ear.

  While I had been enjoying my coffee, someone had brought in a digital data board, which the man gestured to. I stifled a yawn and wiggled my way upright. I took another sip of coffee and tried to force my expression to something resembling interest.

  Men, especially the older agents, expected good behavior from me. The good ones expected it from everyone, but the real assholes expected better from me than my male counterparts. It came with the territory, but it always left me with a bitter taste in my mouth and an urge to drag some bitchy chick into the ring.

  Beating down the bitchy ones always satisfied me a hell of a lot more than making a run at the good girls learning to defend themselves. When I got in the ring with them, I had a habit of trying to teach them rather than releasing all the pent-up steam from a bad day at work.

  The man pulled up a map of the United States with Federal Hill, Baltimore and a spot near Denver, Colorado flagged. Nothing connected the two points, so I offered, “South out of Federal Hill to I-95 to the Beltway heading north to I-70, cutting west on I-68 and onto I-79 into West Virginia before cutting south and west again into Kentucky. After that, things got a bit blurry, so I can’t tell you the exact roads.”

  Everyone stared at me, and someone seated near the head of the table jotted down my directions. Without a word, the man tapped on the glass, magnifying the map so he could chart out the route my kidnappers had taken.

  “Define blurry, please,” the man said once he had marked the routes on the map.

  “Barely conscious.”

  “Reason?”

  “They grabbed me to take care of the baby, apparently. I was informed I would do that job, keep her quiet, or outlive my usefulness. I didn’t exactly sleep during the trip. Whoever they were, they were professionals. Kentucky was about when I hit my limit, sir.”

  “So you have no idea of the route they took to Colorado?”

  “It was pretty direct, sir. They stopped to change drivers. When they filled up, they were quick and used the credit card processors on the pumps. I didn’t get a look at their cards. They were careful to make sure the only thing I saw was their faces. One gave me a fake name. They believed I was a teen, sir.”

  “No offense, Agent Johnson, but you look like one.”

  I shrugged and took a sip of my coffee so I wouldn’t say something I’d later regret. “Worked in my favor this time, I’d say. If I looked like an adult, I’d probably be dead.”

  “Probably.”

  Great. I didn’t need anyone telling me the guy was hard and cold as stone. I ran into similar agents all the time; they were only happy cuffing criminals, and anyone who got in their way ended up getting plowed over. Blaming him for being the product of his job wouldn’t do anyone any good, so I kept my mouth shut.

  There was one way to deal with a man like him, a
nd it was to only speak when spoken to. That, at least, I had down to an art.

  “Take it from the top, Agent Johnson. The morning of the day you were kidnapped with Annabelle, what were you doing?”

  “Moving out of my house, sir.”

  “Why?”

  Questioning sessions were all about getting as much information as possible. My job was to answer truthfully, no matter how stupid I thought the question was. Sometimes, the missing pieces of the puzzle were found in the most obscure places.

  It didn’t make me happy having to relate every detail to fellow agents, however.

  “I had sold the property so I could move to New York City, sir.”

  “Why?”

  “Post assignment change, sir. I am scheduled to begin working at the FBI headquarters in New York.”

  “What position?”

  “I have been assigned to a CARD team stationed there, sir.”

  “Doesn’t it seem rather suspicious a future CARD team member is involved in a high profile kidnapping?”

  I blinked. “High profile? Sorry, sir. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Really? You have no idea? Witnesses claim you spent a substantial amount of time talking with the family before you took possession of the infant.”

  I stared at Jake across the table in open accusation, and he held his hands up in surrender. While I expected questioning, the tone was damning enough I didn’t need a mirror to know ‘suspect’ was still jotted on my forehead. When I turned my glare to Mitch, he mirrored my partner’s expression.

  I sat straighter, set my coffee down hard enough I heard the mug crack, and leveled my coldest stare at the gray-haired gentlemen firing questions at me. “Chloe, the teenage girl of the family, noticed the kickboxing patches on my bag, sir. She had questions. I answered them for her. Chloe was holding the girl, Annabelle, when her siblings decided to make a scene. I offered to hold the baby so she could help her mother.”

  I had done substantial damage to the mug, but I ignored the coffee dripping onto my legs, forcing myself not to blink while I met the man’s gaze. Keeping silent, I waited for the next question.

  “Why were you in the line with the family?”

  “I like funnel cake, sir.”