Shelby summoned a geeky grin. “Just want to make sure you’re not hiring a psycho, huh?”
“Something like that.” Dr. Carlson smiled tightly. “If you have time, I can have Dr. McRae interview you now. He’ll also be administering the polygraph.”
“Sure, now is good.”
Like hell it was. She could evade a lie detector test, but usually liked to have a little time to prepare herself. Shelby followed her down the hall.
Dr. Carlson knocked on a door and turned back to Shelby when she heard an answer. “Just wait here a moment.”
Shelby knew Dr. Carlson didn’t have any intention of hiring her. Something had raised a question in the doctor’s mind, and she wanted the psychiatrist to check her out. OK. No problem. Just stay in character. Not like it was the first time this had ever happened. This was not a problem.
Shelby took a breath and closed her eyes, letting her thoughts evaporate. Cathy Silvers had nothing to hide.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t hear their voices through the door to confirm that opinion. She took another breath and let her muscles relax. The door opened.
“Ms. Silvers, come in. This is Dr. Harrison McRae. His interview will only take a few minutes.” Dr. Carlson left abruptly, and Shelby turned to the psychiatrist.
Good thing she’d taken a minute to concentrate on being in the character of Cathy Silvers. Otherwise, she just might have made a fool of herself. Dr. McRae was gorgeous. Delicious. Delectable. And totally, completely off-limits.
His short, dark brown hair stood on end as if he’d just run his hands through it. The rimless glasses perched on the bridge of his straight nose did nothing to hide startling green eyes. Firm lips, set in a square chin smiled politely at her. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, tall and tanned, with an athletic build. Her idea of a total hunk.
“Ms. Silvers. Please come in.”
Crap. An Australian accent. She loved an Australian accent.
Shelby wasn’t arrogant enough to think that she was invincible. She had triggers, emotions, and preferences just like anyone else. She was aware of them and had trained herself to ignore them or circumvent them. Find a way to go beyond them. She reminded herself of that fact about three times in the next ten seconds or so.
“Do you mind if I use the restroom first? I had one of those extra large coffees on the way here.”
“Certainly. You can use mine.” Dr. McRae gestured to a door on the far side of the room.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, dropping her backpack on a chair and walking across the polished tile floor to the restroom. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, taking a couple of deep breaths and letting them out slowly, forcing herself to relax.
Shelby quickly constructed Cathy Silvers’ entire life in her mind, making sure to add incidents that might be on a lie detector test. She concentrated for a moment on the story of how Cathy came to Tucson, her relationship with Ted, and why she had come to The Center today. She worked on the images and details until she could feel them and smell them and taste them. Shelby took another breath and let it out slowly, then tore off a length of tissue, dropped it into the bowl, and flushed the toilet. She turned the water on and washed her hands.
The tissue flushing and hand washing probably wasn’t necessary, but her rule was to never leave anything to chance if she didn’t have to. Looking in the mirror as she dried her hands on a paper towel, she saw Cathy Silvers. A slightly plump, plain-faced woman in her late twenties. No makeup and her dark brown, curly hair a bit unruly. Loose cotton shirt over baggy jeans and well-worn sneakers.
When Shelby came out of the restroom, Dr. McRae looked up and quirked an eyebrow. “Ready, then?” he asked.
“Sure.” She sat in the chair he indicated, while he walked around his desk.
“The written test is fairly brief. Just go through it as quickly as possible and mark the first answer that comes to mind. There are no wrong answers.” He pushed a sheet of paper across the desk. Shelby rummaged in her backpack for a pen and turned to the paper.
Did she prefer chocolate or vanilla? Had she ever committed a felony? Were cats or dogs better pets? Had she ever had violent thoughts? What was the longest time she’d spent at one job? Had she ever pretended to be someone else? Did she prefer television or books? Comedy, drama, or fantasy? Had she ever had periods of time that she couldn’t remember what she’d done or where she’d been? Did she love her parents?
Shelby marked the appropriate answers and handed the paper back to Dr. McRae. He scanned the page and smiled.
“Very good. Now for the rest.” He opened a set of bi-fold doors behind his desk and pulled out a chair and a small table. “If you’d be so kind as to have a seat?” He gestured to the chair and handed her a sheet of paper. “These are the questions I’ll be asking.”
Shelby settled into the chair and glanced at the questions, while he took a tangle of wires and bands from a drawer and plugged them into the small, sleek monitor on the table. There were no surprises on the list of questions. Generally they wanted to know if she had a criminal record, if she’d ever been arrested for any act of violence, if she’d ever stolen from an employer, if she’d ever sold information for any reason. Luckily, Cathy Silvers hadn’t done anything that interesting.
Shelby pushed up the sleeve of her shirt, making sure to catch the edge of the padded tee shirt underneath. “Is this like a blood pressure thing?” she asked.
“It’s a little more complicated than that.” He looked up for a moment and then went back to untangling the wires. He strapped a band around her arm just above the elbow and attached sensors to two of her fingers. He then wrapped a tubular strap around her chest and placed a microphone a few inches from her mouth.
“Just relax. First, I’ll ask you a few control questions to determine a benchmark. Then a few more questions, and we’ll be done.”
“Sure.” Shelby could see the scroll of paper that would print out the peaks and valleys of lines as she answered his questions. At least she’d know right away if she blew anything.
Dr. McRae looked at the resume Dr. Carlson had left and made a note. “Have you recently moved to Tucson?”
“Yes.” When he looked at the resume, she took the opportunity to glance at the scroll of paper. So far, so good.
Have you ever climbed Mt. Everest?”
“No.”
“Did you graduate from Yale University?”
“Uh …” Shelby looked at Dr. McRae and blushed. “I’m sorry, what was the question?”
“Did you graduate from Yale University?”
“Well, I, uh, I actually attended …” She grabbed the opportunity to convince him. “Listen, I didn’t actually graduate, you know? I mean, I did one semester at Yale, and then I couldn’t afford it. It’s really expensive!” Shelby let the persona of Cathy Silvers take over and squirmed in the chair, casting a pleading glance at Dr. McRae.
“So, I had to drop out. I kept taking courses at the community college and stuff like that. But I had to get a job. And I just kind of taught myself computer stuff, and then I got a full time job with computers and—”
“Cathy, it’s all right. I don’t really need to know if you have a degree or if it’s from Yale.”
“You don’t?”
“No, not really.”
“Well, it’s just kind of embarrassing, you know. I mean, I have all those certifications, but I just couldn’t keep going to college. I put that on my resume because I figured if you’re gutsy enough to say you graduated from Yale, who’s going to check?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Do you have to tell Dr. Carlson?” Shelby gave him her best worried look.
“I only have to tell Dr. Carlson if you lied and what my general impressions are.” Dr. McRae flashed a conspiratorial grin that warmed her right to her toes. She smiled back. “Let’s just forget about Yale, shall we?”
Shelby ripped off her clothes as she walked into the apartment. Padded underclothes and a wig! What had she been thinking? Unfortunately, everyone at The Center had already seen her in the chubby disguise, so she was stuck with the pads for a while. She pulled on a tank top and shorts with a sigh of relief and then retrieved an aluminum case from the closet, set it on the bed, and opened it.
The case held an assortment of electronic equipment snuggly packed in foam. Shelby punched in a phone number on the keypad and flipped the switch to the micro recorder and speaker. After a few minutes the sound-activated recorder clicked on. She heard the tail end of a phone ringing; then Mandy’s voice answered loud and clear. Good, everything was working. She plugged in the adaptor to save on the batteries, turned off the speaker, and closed the case.
The hard stuff was over for the day, so Shelby stopped in the kitchen to grab a beer before settling on the sofa to call Ethan.
“Hey, they gave me a psych test and a lie detector test. Just in case they decide to hire me, or so she said.”
“I assume you passed both without a problem?”
“Of course. Threw me for a loop for a minute though. The thing is, I don’t think Dr. Carlson has any intention of hiring me. I think she just wanted to check something out.”
“Not surprising. They’re very secretive there. Probably wanted to know if you were really a friend of Ted’s or up to something.”
“Well, hopefully, she’ll be calling me when that virus worms its way through their system. In the meantime, the listening device is working. But I would have been much happier with a wire tap.”
Ethan sighed. “Chambers flat out refused. No probable cause.”
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“They had a staff psychologist do the test. He wasn’t in the intel packet you gave me, so he’s probably new. Harrison McRae.”
“I’ll have him checked out. Watch your back, Shelby.”
Excellent idea.
“Jackson.” Chris answered her phone absently, still reading the weekly reports from her agents.
“Chris,” the voice purred into her ear, sending shivers up her back and raising gooseflesh on her arms. “So nice to hear your voice again.”
Chris dropped the report on her desk and removed her reading glasses. “Jonah. I’d really rather you not call here.”
“Really, Chris, you’re Special Agent in Charge. I’m sure you have a private office.”
“What do you want?” Chris hurried around her desk to pull her office door closed and then twisted the lock.
“Just checking to see if there’s anything new in the FBI’s probe into The Center’s activities.” Jonah chuckled. “Your boy, Dr. McRae, isn’t having much luck with his investigation.”
“Wasn’t that the whole idea?” God, she hated Jonah Thomas.
“Of course it was. And I really appreciate your help.”
“I’m not helping you. You’re blackmailing me.” She couldn’t believe she’d put herself in a position like this.
“I was just thinking about our arrangement, and it occurred to me that you might consider taking the risk of getting rid of me in order to eliminate the possibility of these photos being released.”
“I wouldn’t take that chance, Jonah.” She would, in a heartbeat, if she thought she could pull it off. Nothing would please her more than to have Jonah dead. Even better if it were at her hands. Whatever he was doing at The Center had to be illegal and immoral.
“Possibly. Still, I have to be careful. My life’s work is at risk here.” Jonah sighed into the phone. “Anyway, I wanted to let you know that if anything happens to me, I’ve arranged for the photos to be sent to your family, your boss, and several national publications and newspapers.”
Chris gasped audibly and then silently cursed herself. She hated showing any signs of weakness to Jonah. Not that it mattered. He had her right where he wanted her.
“I’ve taken the liberty of sending you some copies of the photos. Just in case you had any doubt as to exactly how incriminating they are.”
“You did what? Where did you send them?”
“To your office, of course. They should arrive this morning.”
Damn him. “I have to go, Jonah.” Chris slammed the phone down and rushed to her door, hands fumbling with the lock. She reached the receptionist’s desk just as Joann was opening the mail.
“Joann, I’ll open my mail. No need for you to take the time to do that.”
“It’s okay.” Joann handed her a stack of letters that she’d just opened. “I was just finishing.” She picked up a large envelope and slid the letter opener under the flap, then turned it over. “Oops. Says confidential. Sorry.”
Chris forced herself to take the envelope slowly, resisting the urge to snatch it out of Joann’s hands. “No problem. I’ll be in my office. No interruptions.”
“Sure.” Joann turned back to the mail that she’d sorted for the other agents.
Chris closed the door to her office and turned the lock on the knob. Maybe the photos weren’t as bad as she feared. She dropped into her chair and stared at the open envelope for a moment. Her breathing was shallow, and her heart raced. Finally, she forced herself to reach in and jerk the contents out. Only her iron control kept her from crying out when she saw the first one.
She stood naked, wrists and ankles bound to a wooden rack. Her breasts, belly, and thighs showed angry red welts. A petite, busty blonde in full dominatrix getup held a whip in one hand and had the other shoved in between Chris’ legs. The distinctive tattoo that banded Chris’ upper arm was clearly visible, as well as the small strawberry birthmark on her left thigh. Even her face showed clearly. She’d never convince anyone that it wasn’t she.
Chris felt herself detach as she looked at the other photographs. Pictures of her having sex with other women. Pictures of her and Jonah at the sex club—Jonah dressed as a woman, her as a man.
Damn him to hell! She’d had no idea the pictures had been taken. She’d have to find a way to get the negatives from him. She couldn’t let Jonah make them public.
Of course, her sexual preferences, even her past involvements, shouldn’t have any effect on her career. But they would. Chris returned the photos to the envelope, placed it in her briefcase, and spun the numbers to lock it. Everything she’d worked for would be taken from her. Her career with the FBI would be over even if they didn’t fire her for moral turpitude. She’d be lucky to get a job as a meter maid. Twenty years in the FBI, working her ass off in order to get promotions, and finally making Special Agent in Charge of the Phoenix Division. Now this.
She cursed the night she’d met Jonah at the sex club in Virginia. It’d been almost ten years ago, and she’d just accepted the fact that she liked women a lot more than men. She was just experimenting, testing her limits, enjoying the freedom she felt with finally embracing her sexuality. Jonah had swooped down on her and pulled her into his kinky games. It had been fun for a while, but when she’d tired of it Jonah kept cajoling her back. The last time had been only a couple of years ago.
Chris pulled open her bottom desk drawer, rifled through the file folders and pulled one out. Opening the folder, she skimmed the information until she found the phone number she wanted, and then punched it in on the keypad on her phone.
“Bottoms Procurement Service.”
“Hey, Jim, glad to see you’re still in business,” Chris said.
“Who’s this?”
“Chris Jackson.”
“Listen, I’m not doing anything illegal these days. Strictly on the up and up.”
“That’s too bad, Jim. I need to find someone.”
“Who?”
“It’s more what,” Chris said. “I need something retrieved.”
“I see. And what makes you think I’d be able to help? Or even be willing to?”
“I can make your life a living hell, Jim. And I can arrange for you to go back to prison.”
“You don’t have anything on me.”
“I can manufacture it.” Chris waited while Jim Bottoms considered her threat.
“What exactly do you need retrieved?”
“Some negatives. They are probably in a safe in a private residence.”
“Security system?” Jim asked.
“Most likely.”
“Yeah, I know someone who could do the job. You can meet her tonight at The Bashful Bandito on Seventh at midnight.”
“What’s her name?” Chris asked.
“Zoe. You can’t miss her. She’s a little thing but she gets the job done. Has long red hair. Usually hanging out with a bunch of bikers.”
“I’ll be there.”