Contingency Plan (Blackbridge Security 3)

The cop places my things in a bag, sealing it in front of me before walking out of the room. I know most people would be terrified to be left in a dark room with only the red EXIT sign putting off a little light, but the quiet and darkness makes me want to drop my head to the table and catch up on some of the sleep I lost last night.

I don’t know how long I sit, waiting for a detective to show his face, ready to grill me on my actions, but as time drags on, I’m unable to relax. The thoughts of grabbing a nap flew out the window seconds after I considered it. Remington was left alone on the street. In my haste to get some time away from her, I left her vulnerable. Any attempt to shove the threatening stack of letters out of my head is impossible.

My fingers twitch, tension racking up my blood pressure the longer I sit. My leg, bouncing up and down is sore from the impact of Remington’s heels as she flailed in my arms, but it has nothing on the discomfort I’m feeling for doing something so foolish.

She could be seriously hurt. She could’ve been nabbed a block from where I was arrested mere moments after the cuffs were clicked in place, and time is just wasting away while I sit here waiting for whatever they plan to do to me.

An eternity passes before the door opens, only it isn’t some amped-up detective walking into the darkened room and bitching about the lights not being on.

“Jesus, fuck,” the guy complains, and even before the lights flicker on causing me to squint, a smile is spreading across my face. “Kidnapping celebrities now, Coleman? Oh how the mighty have fallen.”

A chuckle bubbles out of my throat as Ryan Booker takes the seat across from me.

“You know better,” I say, lifting my hand to shake his only for it to be prevented by the cuff around my wrist. “Remington—”

“Is fine,” he interrupts. “I made sure she was at home.”

“She could be lying if you called.”

“I’m not a rookie, asshole. I spoke with house staff.”

“Good.” I nod my head for extra effect, letting the tension in my back drain away a little. It won’t go completely away until I set my eyes on her, but for now, knowing she’s safe, I can relax some.

“You’re the third.”

My brows furrow as I look at him. “Third?”

“The third guy she’s had arrested much the same way.”

“And no repercussions? It’s criminal.”

He shrugs. “Eh. What can you do?”

“You can take these cuffs off.” I look down at my wrist, shaking it and making the metal clank.

Without hesitation, Booker pulls a key from his pocket. “You didn’t call and let me know you were in town?”

“Didn’t know you were in the city, thought you were still kissing asses in Virginia.”

He laughs. “I’ve been here a couple months. It’s a whole other ballgame. So Blackbridge has you chasing teenagers now?”

“She’s twenty.” I feel the need to clarify, especially after having racing thoughts of spanking her ass for the mess she created today. “How did you know I was here?”

“Rodriguez saw you get dragged in. It took five minutes for him to stop laughing long enough to explain.”

“Yes, very funny.”

“We’ve all been there. Have you forgotten about the bruised ribs I suffered a couple years back?”

“I was a hard takedown.”

We both grin. Sometimes when undercover, shit goes wild. We know it’ll all get worked out in the end, but staying in character in front of our marks is important. Booker takes it to the extreme, sometimes fighting with police to gain a little more credit.

Me? I’ve never liked the feel of metal around my wrists.

“How are things with Blackbridge? I’ve heard great things.”

“Looking for a career change?” I try to hide the animosity in my tone but a little of it sneaks out.

I love my job, don’t get me wrong, but working for Deacon Black in St. Louis was never my life goal. I wanted a career in the FBI. I started young, researching and learning everything I could about the organization. Everything from the time I was nine until I was sworn in was done with perfection in order to make myself a better candidate for the agency.

One case gone wrong. One slipup. One time I was the played instead of the player.

Five years is all I got with the FBI before the Office of Integrity and Compliance gave me walking papers. Many considered me lucky not to have been brought up on federal charges, but losing my lifelong dream in the blink of an eye didn’t leave me feeling anything but defeated.

“Not a chance,” Booker says with an emphatic shake of his head. “They’ll have to force me out.”

“Keep your nose clean because that’s always a possibility.”