escort.”
“An escort? Who?” Jack asked as if he already had been told the answer.
“Dmitriyev.” She waited for a change in his facial expression, a sign of shock or surprise. The sign never appeared. “Tony and I will be leaving to check the signal shortly. Just in case.”
He grabbed an individually wrapped Twizzlers from the family-sized container on his desk, noisily crackling the paper. After he chomped a licorice stick, the arrogant glutton folded his arms across his rotund belly and cocked his head to the side.
“Don’t even bother!” he snapped as he bent forward and wagged the uneaten portion in her face. “Cham and Money T picked up Plotnikov and Dmitriyev near Dulles as they entered the airport parking lot. Plotnikov was on the afternoon Aeroflot flight back to Moscow.”
“What!” She lurched forward in her seat. No. No. No! The screams echoed in her head. Her eyes flooded with contempt. How could Jack sit before her so nonchalant and unaffected knowing Plotnikov had disappeared and he was responsible?
The sound of a gunshot ripped through her mind, sending a chill through her entire core. She envisioned Plotnikov collapsing on the floor and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force the thought from her mind. J.J. vowed to prove Jack’s guilt. He’d get locked up before he struck again.
“Yeah. Another one bites the dust.” His glib tone was almost too much for J.J. to withstand. Her eyes darted across the surface of his desk, scanning for potential murder weapons. A paperweight. A lamp. A Twizzler. “He’s probably dead by now with his hand in a parcel headed to Moscow station thanks to you.”
His words dripped with snide condescension. Given the day she’d had, J.J. would’ve have liked nothing better than to stuff the Twizzler down his throat until he shit red licorice sticks. An incredulous look consumed her expression. “If I didn’t know any better, Jack, I’d be inclined to think you were making an accusation.”
“Well, somebody better get me some fucking answers. This is the fourth source recalled in almost seven years. Three out of four of them belong to you. I wonder why you , of all the agents assigned to work counterintelligence, are so . . . unlucky .”
Because I work for a traitor! she thought. J.J. stared in stunned silence. Couldn’t believe what the asshole had suggested. He had some gumption, taking so lightly the deaths of men who risked more to protect the United States than he ever would.
“Could it be because I’m the only one who’s recruited anyone in four of the last seven years?”
J.J. struggled to stay composed, but she had no choice except to hold her tongue. She’d need to keep her job for a little while longer. Locating her source and nailing Jack’s ass to the wall were more important than acting on professional grudges.
“I should’ve put Lana on this one. She’s a fuckin’ pro. You on the other hand...”
She clasped the armrests to push herself up from the chair. The decorum-deficient piece of her mind burned across her tongue and nipped at her lips as she inhaled a calming breath.
“Let’s not go there. You and I both know I’m the best recruiter you’ve got. Lana hasn’t recruited a single source in nearly seven years and has more guns floating in the river than the Gambino Family. Blond hair, blue eyes, and big boobs do not a professional make. Now if you’ll excuse me...”
Jack leaned forward in his seat and sneered. “Neither do shit brown daughters of domestic terrorists . . . or your little guinea wise guy partner,” Jack said of J.J. and Tony. His father had been a capo in the Bonanno family before getting arrested on racketeering charges seven years before.
J.J. froze and glared at Sabinski, then shifted her body at an angle as if to avoid the sun’s glare. She tightly pinched her lips together, until she could feel teeth marks in her flesh. Every ounce of common sense in her body screamed, begged her to lay
“An escort? Who?” Jack asked as if he already had been told the answer.
“Dmitriyev.” She waited for a change in his facial expression, a sign of shock or surprise. The sign never appeared. “Tony and I will be leaving to check the signal shortly. Just in case.”
He grabbed an individually wrapped Twizzlers from the family-sized container on his desk, noisily crackling the paper. After he chomped a licorice stick, the arrogant glutton folded his arms across his rotund belly and cocked his head to the side.
“Don’t even bother!” he snapped as he bent forward and wagged the uneaten portion in her face. “Cham and Money T picked up Plotnikov and Dmitriyev near Dulles as they entered the airport parking lot. Plotnikov was on the afternoon Aeroflot flight back to Moscow.”
“What!” She lurched forward in her seat. No. No. No! The screams echoed in her head. Her eyes flooded with contempt. How could Jack sit before her so nonchalant and unaffected knowing Plotnikov had disappeared and he was responsible?
The sound of a gunshot ripped through her mind, sending a chill through her entire core. She envisioned Plotnikov collapsing on the floor and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force the thought from her mind. J.J. vowed to prove Jack’s guilt. He’d get locked up before he struck again.
“Yeah. Another one bites the dust.” His glib tone was almost too much for J.J. to withstand. Her eyes darted across the surface of his desk, scanning for potential murder weapons. A paperweight. A lamp. A Twizzler. “He’s probably dead by now with his hand in a parcel headed to Moscow station thanks to you.”
His words dripped with snide condescension. Given the day she’d had, J.J. would’ve have liked nothing better than to stuff the Twizzler down his throat until he shit red licorice sticks. An incredulous look consumed her expression. “If I didn’t know any better, Jack, I’d be inclined to think you were making an accusation.”
“Well, somebody better get me some fucking answers. This is the fourth source recalled in almost seven years. Three out of four of them belong to you. I wonder why you , of all the agents assigned to work counterintelligence, are so . . . unlucky .”
Because I work for a traitor! she thought. J.J. stared in stunned silence. Couldn’t believe what the asshole had suggested. He had some gumption, taking so lightly the deaths of men who risked more to protect the United States than he ever would.
“Could it be because I’m the only one who’s recruited anyone in four of the last seven years?”
J.J. struggled to stay composed, but she had no choice except to hold her tongue. She’d need to keep her job for a little while longer. Locating her source and nailing Jack’s ass to the wall were more important than acting on professional grudges.
“I should’ve put Lana on this one. She’s a fuckin’ pro. You on the other hand...”
She clasped the armrests to push herself up from the chair. The decorum-deficient piece of her mind burned across her tongue and nipped at her lips as she inhaled a calming breath.
“Let’s not go there. You and I both know I’m the best recruiter you’ve got. Lana hasn’t recruited a single source in nearly seven years and has more guns floating in the river than the Gambino Family. Blond hair, blue eyes, and big boobs do not a professional make. Now if you’ll excuse me...”
Jack leaned forward in his seat and sneered. “Neither do shit brown daughters of domestic terrorists . . . or your little guinea wise guy partner,” Jack said of J.J. and Tony. His father had been a capo in the Bonanno family before getting arrested on racketeering charges seven years before.
J.J. froze and glared at Sabinski, then shifted her body at an angle as if to avoid the sun’s glare. She tightly pinched her lips together, until she could feel teeth marks in her flesh. Every ounce of common sense in her body screamed, begged her to lay
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