The Seven Year Itch (7 page)

Chapter 8

J.J.
burned with angry fire as she raced from Jack’s office,
her feet pounded hard against the floor. She charged toward the vault entrance,
frustrated. Pissed off. Thirsty. She had a duty to stay and cared too much to
quit and leave it all behind. She hadn’t planned to walk into the vault but for
the fact that she could take swig without everyone staring down her throat.
J.J. had been teetering on a thin line for years and he’d managed push her
over. Now she didn’t want a drink, she needed it.

“What’s going on, J.J.?” Tony asked, concerned. He hurried
his pace to catch up with her. Once he was out of earshot of their nosy
colleagues, she stopped and turned to him.

“Refresh my memory. What’s the penalty for first degree
murder?”

J.J. badged into the vault, placing her index finger into the
new biometric scanners, the most hi-tech security used in the Bureau outside of
the labs at Quantico. She waved her badge in front of the infrared reader until
the lock clicked then entered with Tony following close on her heels.

“What happened? What did he say?”

She collapsed into a chair and buried her face in her hands,
tried to shake off the disastrous meeting. Then she pulled her spare flask from
a desk drawer and opened it in front of Tony. He bit his lip, his neck
stiffened.

“J.J.”

She took a short gulp and twisted the cap shut. She never
took more than a sip or two at a time. A slow drizzle. “Trust me, when I tell you
what happened you’re going to want some too.” She handed the flask out to him.
“What do you want first, the
bad
new
or the
worse
news?”

“Gimme the worst first,” he said, sitting at attention and
wagging his hand to refuse her offer.

“It’s Plotnikov...he was recalled to Moscow.” She returned
the flask to the drawer. “He’s gone, probably dead by now if Golikov’s people
had anything to do with it.”

“You’re yankin’ my chain. I don’t even believe this shit!”

“Believe it.” J.J. peered at him, and then tilted her head
toward the ceiling. “I just got word from Archie Bunker. He tried to pin the
blame on me, said he should’ve assigned the case to Lana. No, no, please
contain your astonishment.”

“Lana? Get the fuck outta here! She couldn’t recruit a
Mousesketeer into the Mickey Mouse club.”

He took a seat beside J.J. and rubbed his hand against her
back. Their eyes met for a moment, but she never held his glance for longer
than a few seconds at a time. His glare pierced her, exposed her vulnerabilities
in a way she’d prefer not reveal to him...or any man for that matter.

“Listen don’t let him get to you. He probably forgot to take
his crazy pills today.”

J.J. shrugged. “Well, looks like we’re all getting hooked up
to the box unless we can find this damn mole. I’d half hoped the package from
Karat
might give us a clue as to his
identity, but right now, we got nothing’.”

“I know. Let’s just hope we’re the last on the list to take
the polygraph. It’ll buy us some time to figure out what happened to
Karat
and find the rat. And I gotta
tell ya, I feel sorry for him when I do,” Tony threatened.

“Maybe we can send him to Supermax to keep Hanssen company.
He probably needs a new boyfriend right about now.”

Tony smiled, happy to see her spirits lifted once again.
“Thatta girl . . . anyway, let’s grab something to eat and we’ll go check the
signal,” he said.

“You eat. I’ll drink.”

The fates bestowed upon her the boss from hell and the
co-case agent from heaven and leaving one meant leaving both behind. If
Sabinski had a fraction of Tony’s good nature, she might not be so willing to
turn in her badge. “Sounds good but I gotta make a quick phone call first. You
think Kevin Douglass from Organized Crime-Drug Section still has the pink
convertible Mini Coop they seized from the Bonanno raid—
”
She winced, cut herself off a moment too late.

Whatever discomfort Tony had, he shrugged it off. “Probably.
I don’t think it’s been auctioned yet. Why you wanna know?”

“Remember my promise to Jake?

Tony nodded and chuckled. “Remind me to light a candle for
your soul at mass this Sunday. Yeah, make the call. I wish I could see his
face.”

“Hey, he asked for a convertible. A convertible it is.”

•
 
•
 
•

Thursday
Evening…

At the Hawk-n-Dove, J.J.’s favorite watering hole,
Tony gulped the last of his lager as she drank in
him
. He was easy on her eyes as Sunday morning and hard on her
feminine sensibilities. Tony’s glance lingered in her direction more times than
she cared to admit, but she kept her mind locked on the task at hand. Usually.
Besides, they were both relationship-challenged workaholics. Neither one had a
personal history conducive to…humans. Hard to believe it’d only been a year.
They meshed well inside the office and out.

J.J. felt Tony’s eyes on her. He sat unnaturally still,
twirling his fingers as she shamelessly inhaled the last of her burger and
fries. She loved that about him, the fact that he didn’t judge when she scarfed
her food down. But she didn’t like his expression, the one that said a lecture
was imminent.

“We should talk about the white elephant in the room,” he
said.

“I prefer blue gorillas,” J.J. joked in an effort to lighten
his tone.

“Blue gorilla, white elephant. I don’t care. I’m just gonna
say it,” Tony began, his voice laden with apprehension. “I’m a little worried
about you. I mean, you say you’ve got everything under control but this shit
has a way of sneaking up on ya. I gotta make sure you’re all right. You’re the
one who has my back. Maybe you should think about gettin’ some help.”

Tony. He’d never been this direct, nor the look of worry so
pronounced, evident. She felt in control. Mostly. The timing, the problems,
everything else was out of balance. As soon as her troubles ended she’d
recover, get back to her old self.

“First of all, I’m okay. When have you ever seen me sloppy
drunk or out of control? Never. So, I take a sip here and there to knock off
the nerves. It’s no big deal,” she said, delivering her patent speech.
“Besides, if I went to get the help that I obviously
don’t need
, I’d have to report it to security. And you think I
can’t get a promotion now? That’s all the excuse Sabinski would ever need to
put me on airport surveillance for the rest of my career.”

“But—”

“But nothing Tony. I’m going through a lot right now. She
died 25 years ago next Friday. Did you know that?”

He shook his head.

“And then Polyakov’s hand, Plotnikov’s departure, and only
God in heaven knows where he is, if he’s still alive. So cut me some slack. I’d
be more surprised if I
wasn’t
drinking.”
She twirled her thumbs to relieve her own tension. Finally, Tony’s shoulders
relaxed. “Now can we just toss back a couple of beers? If it bothers you that
much, I’ll lay off the booze. Just a beer every now and then. Is that
satisfactory?”

He nodded, unsure of whether to believe her, or whether she
even believed herself. But he nodded.

“You know, if I was one of your boys, you’d offer to buy me a
beer and just say I was blowing off steam.”

“But you’re not just ‘one of the boys’ to me, J.J. That’s why
I give a damn.
Hai capito
?”

She nodded and smiled in the uncomfortable silence. He cared
for her, and she knew it. She just didn’t have time to care as much for
herself. They both took long sips to finish their first beers and sat the
glasses at the end of the table, seconds were on the way. She was much more
relaxed until she stoked Tony’s ire. The details of her conversation with
Sabinski didn’t go down as smoothly as the beer.

“I don’t understand why you don’t report that scumbag. I
mean, there’s gotta be something we can do.”

“Please, Tony. You’ve been at the Bureau almost as long as I
have.
You know
what happens to
supervisors accused of racism, sexism, or any other kind of ‘ism’.”

Tony picked up his glass to take another sip of his beer.
“Yeah, they get promoted.”

“Bingo. Then spend the rest of their careers making your life
a miserable hell from a high-ranking position with even more authority to fire
your ass. No thanks. And I don’t need any more drama than I’m already mired
in.”

“Well, just wait and see what Cartwright’s gonna do. He’s the
AD for crying out loud. If anyone can make the situation right, he can.”

“As soon as we nail this bastard and take care of
Plotnikov―” she began, avoiding his piercing stare. She couldn’t face him
when speaking of leaving. He too often made her want to stay.

He leaned forward and smiled, his deep gaze forcing her to
look at him. He effortlessly disarmed her, shifted J.J.’s thoughts from her
misery to his eyes, just as she knew he would.

“What?” She said, feeling naked in a room full of strangers.

He chuckled. “Nothing. Just wanted to make you forget what
you were about to say.”

Her lips curled upward as she bowed her head in concession.
“Mission accomplished.”

They both laughed, at least until a sexy distraction passed
the table caught J.J.’s eye. He moved toward a small stage in front of the
restaurant and announced he’d be kicking off the karaoke contest. Moments
later, he belted out “We Are the Champions” by Queen in a voice devoid of key
or tune. She ogled him, and Tony appeared astonished given his severe lack of
talent and apparent tone deafness.

“I love when a man can express his feelings through music.
Mhm. So sexy.”

Tony glared at the guy with a blank expression and blinked in
amazement. Then he turned back to J.J., watched her openly lust for the wannabe
crooner.

 
“Hmph. You call that
music? I can sing and rap too. How ya like me now?” Tony said, striking a B-boy
pose.

She reveled in Tony’s clash with the green-eyed monster,
despite his vain attempt to cover it up. It pleased her as much as the sight of
the talentless hunk on stage.

J.J. grinned. “Whatever. We’ve known each other for three
years, been practically attached at the hip for one, and I’ve never heard you
rap or sing—not even to the radio. Now all of a sudden you’re Eminem.”

“I’ve got skills. Just didn’t want to
overwhelm
you with my...
talents
.”

She let out a loud chuckle as Tony slipped out of his seat
and into the one next to her. There he was, his cologne haunting, the heat
between them undeniable. He leaned in, his lips barely inches from hers. Her
stomach spiraled wildly, but she refused to back down. She could never reveal
that he plucked her strings, and struck
all
the right chords.

“I have many,” he whispered, his words swirled in her ear and
shot a chill down her spine, prickling every nerve along the way.

She leaned toward him and inched her lips even closer. Her
eyes locked on him. Her heart palpitated faster and faster. “Well...so do I.
And mine don’t involve
rapping
.”

A pregnant pause hovered between them, ripe with possibility.
They inched so close she could smell the remnants of the Sam Adams lager on his
breath. Each held their stances for a moment too long for comfort. She wanted
him, needed him, but it could never work, not now, not this way. Despite his
persistence, she backed down, eased away from him as she laughed uneasily.

“Lucky for you I already know you’re full of shit,” J.J.
said. “You better stop all the shameless flirting and teasing before you find
yourself in trouble you can’t get out of. And you know trouble is my middle
name.”

A thousand volts of electric shock surged between them
whenever they stood near one another, a force neither could deny. He moved back
to his seat before the risky teasing turned in a direction neither of them was
ready to travel. “Well, how about we make a bet?”

“Okay, I’m in. But no booty bets.”

He laughed and nodded. “If you win, I’ll get up there and
sing. You can pick the song,” he said.

J.J.’s eyes narrowed, skeptical of his intentions given the
intensity of their exchange but she conceded. “Deal.”

Tony grabbed his nearly full pilsner and lifted it toward his
mouth. “First one to empty their glass wins.”

Didn’t take an idiot to figure out Tony could out-drink J.J.
on her best day. He was a hundred pounds heavier than she and chucked down
beers like a Marine on shore leave. But she refused to lose. She grasped the
glass, prepared to take him on, mind over matter.

“Okay, you’ve got a bet. Let’s do it. On one,” she scanned
the table and lifted the glass to her mouth. “Three. Two. One!”

Tony chugged down his beer, his Adam’s apple bouncing at a
frenzied pace. J.J. never lifted the glass to her mouth. Instead, she poured
her beer out, directly into the empty glass waiting for the waitress on the
edge of the table. Two seconds and done.

“I win!” she yelled.

Tony finished, playfully slammed his glass on the table.
“What? That doesn’t count. You cheated!”

J.J. shook her head. Cheating was not in her vocabulary.
“You’re such a baby. You said empty the glass. You didn’t say I had to drink
it. Now, get your ass up out of that chair and go sing my song. Tony Sinatra.”

“Man, I’m keeping my eye on you.” He stood and checked to see
who was at the stage. The first contestant had already vacated and Tony was
satisfied. “Let’s go. Remember, you get to pick the song.”

J.J. and Tony weaved through the tables toward his
destination. All eyes on them. They weren’t a couple, but the stares and glares
from the patrons suggested some thought they might be. She grabbed the song
list and ran her finger from 1 to 50.