Society Rules (60 page)

Ben stood for a long moment, unsure what kind of reply would be appropriate for such an act of selflessness, finally deciding that he couldn’t come up with one. He made a noise in the back of his throat before speaking again.

“They haven’t found Lockhart yet either, have they?”

“No, the APB still stands.” Will could see that Ben had had enough. Actually, he wasn’t looking very well. Ben was an office guy . . . good with the paper, but not into the whole
Die
Hard
scene.

“I’ll see you later, Will. And, uh, thanks for telling me the story. I really am sorry, man.” As Will gave Ben a salute of dismissal, his suit jacket fell open slightly, revealing the soft glow of expensive leather, running in a one-inch wide strip of well-polished mahogany across his chest.

The holster and shoulder strap fit Will like a glove, as did the handgrip of the Walther PPK 7.65mm that rode proudly in it.

Ben nodded his head toward the exposed leather and weapon. “Baker’s mom let you keep that, huh?”

Will didn’t answer, and simply stared steadily back at Ben Blackstone.

Understanding flowed to the surface of Ben’s eyes, and he inclined his head once more and left, as Will re-buttoned his jacket.

He’d asked no one’s permission to keep the weapon.

Enough said.

Will’s supervisor popped his head around the corner, and spoke in his usual diplomatic style. “Taylor, get in my office!”

Will deliberately took a little more time than was necessary to get around the corner to the man’s space, even stopping to pour himself a cup of coffee, just to show Mr. Hard-ass how well his approach to management worked.

He calmly added creamer to his coffee, and stirred with methodical thoroughness, enjoying the burn of the man’s glare from the corner of his eye.

Mark Levinson liked Will just fine; however, everyone who worked under him enjoyed the crap treatment. The man was confident in his belief that the way to run a tight operation was to be sure everyone hated you. Meant you were doing your job.

“Glad you could make it, Taylor!” The sarcasm was heavy in his supervisor’s voice.

“Glad I could, too, Levinson. What do you need?” Will strolled into the slightly larger cubicle space allotted the anointed members of management, and realized that they had company.

A woman with sharply angled, chin-length red hair, who Will guessed to be in her early forties, was perched lightly against Mr. Hard-ass’s desk, arms folded and all business.

“William Taylor?” She offered her hand. “I’m M.” she inclined her head briskly. “M Townsend.”

Will snorted hot coffee through his nose, choking and splattering the cream covered walls of Hard-ass’s cubicle with small flecks of brown.

“Jesus,” muttered Levinson, reaching for a handful of Kleenex.

“Are you okay?” she asked dryly, withdrawing her hand rapidly, to avoid the coffee shower.

“Uh . . . yeah.” Will coughed a few more times before regaining control.

M? Oh
my
God
. Wherever Baker was, he hoped he was hearing this.

“No . . . I, uh, I’m sorry. The name just caught me off guard. M?
Really?”

“Yes, Mr. Taylor. Is there a problem?”

“Oh, no . . . just, you know, the James Bond thing. You must get that all the time, huh?” Although M’s tone remained crisp, Will thought he could detect a little warmth sneaking its way through.

“My name is Meredith, Mr. Taylor, and I feel that the name is a little cumbersome. Since the available nicknames for Meredith are limited to Mare, which, nothing against horses, but I don’t want to be called one, and Merri, which merry I am most definitely NOT, all we have left over I suppose is Death, and death is not a title I am comfortable with. Therefore, that left me with “M”. Is this okay with you, Mr. Taylor?”

“Absolutely . . .
M!”
Will smiled and extended his hand, wondering who this person was.

“You put in for a transfer, Taylor, to Texas.” Hard-ass was speaking again.

“That’s right.”

“M is . . .”

“I can speak for myself, thank you Mr. Levinson. I am head of the Security division in Corpus Christi, and I flew down to interview you in person, although I must say, your resume is quite inspiring. Can we go back to your office and talk?”

Hard-ass was irritated by the woman’s dismissal, Will could tell. Hell, he
liked
this lady.

“After you!” Will made a sweeping gesture with his good arm, indicating his office around the corner, and gave a nod of “
see
you
later,
jerk,”
to Hard-ass.

Mr
. Hard-ass.

Will did not want to be disrespectful, after all. As Will was exiting the office, Hard-ass called out to him once more.

“Oh, and Taylor, when she gets done with you, get back in here so I can introduce you to your new partner.”

“What new partner?” Will demanded, stopping dead in his tracks. “I’m getting transferred out of here. Why would you assign someone to me when I’m leaving?”

“‘Cause this guy requested you, specifically, and the top boys think a lot of him, apparently. He goes where you go.”

“But . . .” “No ‘buts,’ Taylor. This came from Washington.”

Will started moving again, straining his brain mightily to try to guess who in the hell would request to be his partner in such an imperative manner.

Someone with pull in Washington, huh?

Just as Will rounded the corner to enter his office, a cool voice called out to him from the front lobby.

“Hello, Will.”

Will dropped his coffee, dumbstruck. No. Not possible.

No freakin’ way!

“Mr. Taylor, are you coming this way anytime soon?” came the brisk voice of M from Will’s office.

“Yes ma’am,” Will called over his shoulder as he stepped toward the lobby. “Be right there.”

Will took a very deep breath, blew it out slowly, and decided he had just learned something the hard way; whenever you think you’ve hit rock bottom, there is always an asshole standing by to throw you a jackhammer and a shovel.

He extended his hand shakily. “Hello, Jackson!”

Chapter 39

Will maintained eye contact with Jackson as he backed his way toward his office cubicle.

He had no explanation as to how he managed to have a sane and rational conversation with M, but he must have done so, because she offered Will the position in Texas on the spot. As if in a surreal fog, Will smiled and accepted the job, thanking her and even seeing her out to the lobby.

He even managed to go back into Hard-ass’s office to be formally “introduced” to Jackson.

A week gone by and not a word from anyone about his family, and then
HE
just shows up like this?

Part of him wanted to collapse with relief, even though he truly had felt sure that his family was safe, there was no substitute for seeing and hearing for yourself.

But part of him was beginning to feel a little belligerent.

First, Will basically had to hand over his wife and kids like taxes to the government, and now he was going to have to work with this guy, too? This was beyond unfair.

It might even fall into the “not doable” category of possibilities.

Will finally made his escape to the men’s room. He backed up against the far wall, and slid to the floor, checking under the stall doors for feet, just to make sure that he was alone when he started screaming.

Or puking. He wasn’t sure which he wanted as a first course yet.

“Are you alright, Will?” Christ, the man had come from nowhere. Will hadn’t even heard the door open. Without asking or waiting for permission, Jackson reached down and unceremoniously pulled Will to his feet.

As Will was pondering whether he wanted to option his right to punch the guy in the face for this violation, Jackson spoke first, his voice even and controlled. “I really hope you don’t try it.”

Mind
reading
bastard.

Hmm. Will thought he could detect a slight contradictory emotion from the man. He almost laughed.

Hell yeah, the guy was hoping he
would
give it a go . . . maybe just a little. Jackson sighed. “Not really, Will.”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

“Believe me, I have some very . . . mixed feelings about this placement myself, but I go where I’m told, and do what I must. It is the blessing of my genetics, I suppose.”

Will thought that the way Jackson spoke the word “blessing,” sounded like the man meant something more along the lines of “curse.” Jackson shrugged.

“It is a burden I bear with pride.”

“
Sure
you do.” Will assumed a stance similar to Jackson’s, arms awkwardly folded, accommodating the shoulder gear, with a dead steady look back into his eyes before firing off his wrath at the idea of this cozy little arrangement.

“Just what the hell makes you think you’re qualified to do what I do? I mean, what training did you get in your fancy law school, what, was it Harvard?”

“Oxford.” Jackson replied calmly.

Of
course.
Even better.

“Whatever. What training did you receive at
Oxford
, qualifies you to be a federal agent for the United States Department of Homeland Security, and our classified unit especially? And furthermore . . .”

Will hit on something that should have been a major complication. “How long do you expect to be able to mingle in a nest of people trained to spot you and your kind, huh?”

“Yes, well that would have put an end to things rather quickly, but you see, I have been allowed to share in Indie’s gift, by the grace of the Elders. You know, the one that allowed
you
to remain ignorant of her status for quite some time.”

Will’s jaw muscles were clenching ominously as Jackson continued. “As for my credentials, perhaps I’ve had more education than you are aware of, Will. Education, training and maybe even some relevant experience.”

“Care to elaborate?” Will asked through his teeth.

“Not particularly, if you don’t mind.”

“Suppose I do mind?” Will was now psyched and primed for action. He decided he could overlook his vow to get along with this guy for Indie’s sake, just for today.

“Look Will, can we not do this . . . please?”

“What’s the matter, can’t handle a little macho bullshit posturing?”

“I can handle whatever I need to handle,” was Jackson’s maddeningly passive response.

“Well, that makes one of us, Jackson. When I decided to try really hard not to harbor any hatred toward you, that did not mean that I was up for us becoming best buddies. I put in for that transfer to Texas mostly because I didn’t want to hang around and watch you and my wife making lovey-sick eyes at each other, you get me?”

Jackson’s eyes seemed to tighten briefly with an emotion that Will had recently had the pleasure of brushing up against.

Jealousy.

He leaned toward Will ever so slightly, arms crossed. “Then you’d better learn not to look.” He spoke in a cold whisper, his eyes suddenly nearly black . . . and murderous.

Will was surprised.

“Oops. Better be careful Jackson; your show is slipping!”

Well
well,
what
do
you
know.
The
pious
priest
does
have
a
streak
of
man
in
him
after
all
, Will thought.

With a slam and a grunt, Will discovered that his healing rib bones had somehow become one with the men’s room floor. He found himself staring at the filthy tile as he strained to keep his head up.

Jackson’s knee was planted painfully in his back.

Shit
fire,
but
the
man
was
inhumanly
fast.
Imagine that.

“I would respectfully ask that you do not think of me as anything less than a man.” Jackson’s voice was soft, calm and lethal, his cultured accent somehow making the statement even more menacing.

Will had to admit it, at least to himself. He was impressed. So, okay, maybe the guy could handle himself in a fight after all.

“Point taken,” Will gasped. “But I do have one thing to say . . . .”

Jackson’s knee provided a little more pressure to the area between Will’s shoulder blades. “And that would be . . . ?”

Jackson’s voice was still perfectly calm and controlled. “If you let my face touch the floor of this damned place, so help me God, I will find a way to kill you!”

Instantly the pressure disappeared, and Will found himself lifted and set on his feet for the second time of the day. He dusted off as best he could, gagging at the thought of all of the germs he had just been up close and personal with, and looked over at Jackson.

His posture was unchanged, just as if he had never moved from his position against the wall. Will couldn’t be sure, but he thought he could detect a glint of amusement in Jackson’s slightly hooded eyes.

So obviously, Jackson was worthy of a little respect in the fisticuffs department, no doubt about that. But still, Will had a need for a little “back at ya” action.

Thinking quickly, Will focused his mind.

David
Ortiz
 . . .
Josh
Beckett
 . . .
Hunter
Jones
 . . .
Nick
Green
 . . .

He took a shifty step toward Jackson, who now wore a slightly confused expression.

Will caught Jackson completely off guard with a right hook to the side of his face, delivered with respectable force, nearly taking the man off his feet.

Jackson recovered instantly, and stared back at Will in disbelief.

“Unfair. That was a sucker punch!”

“That’s probably going to be the only way I’ll ever get one in on you, so yeah!”

“Aw, you
jerk!
I think you knocked loose a tooth!”

Jackson rubbed his jaw and began to smile. “So that’s why you took a sudden interest in providing roll call duty for the Red Sox. Brilliant distraction!” There was clearly a tone of grudging admiration in his voice now.

As both men stood quietly petting their respective sore spots, an uneasy truce announced itself, silently. Jackson extended his hand toward Will.

“Shall we start over? Think of it this way, Will . . . you will be able to stay close to the kids, and Indie will not have to worry about you. Nor will you have to worry about her. I will take care of her forever, do not doubt that. She is the gravity in my world.”

Will hesitated for only a moment before accepting Jackson’s outstretched hand, and smiled a sad little smile.

“I know that. God help me survive it, but, yeah . . . I know it.”

As they exited the men’s room, Will slapped Jackson on the shoulder, none to gently, and spoke gruffly. “I guess maybe you won’t be so bad to have around . . . for back-up. We’ll need to loosen up your vocabulary, though. Too fancy for me!”

“Right. I’ll get to work on that right away.” Jackson replied sarcastically. He glanced over at Will’s profile.

“Texas, is it? Another move. Indie will be thrilled.”

Will stopped and faced Jackson with a genuine smile this time. “And just think, my man. This time
you
get to be the one to break the happy news.

A small tip from me to you; bring home flowers and chocolate!”