Irresistible Knight (2 page)

Fucking shit! How did I miss that?
A short whistle made him look up. Branyan gave him another signal that it was time to leave. Careful not to step on the deep part of the puddle, he left his hiding spot, hoping the cut wasn't big enough to require stitches.

“Eewww! Knight, you stunk up the whole elevator. You know my knees hate the stairs.”

“Hey, Astrid. Good morning.” Bors grinned at the sixty-year-old secretary fanning her face with her wrinkled hand. He ignored the others plugging their noses up. “Sorry about the elevator. I'll make it up to you. Say, Teriyaki?”

“How about you pay for my perm. Got an appointment at The Cut this afternoon.”

Bors laughed. “Sure.”

“I have witnesses, Knight.”

“Knight's honor. I'll pay for your perm.”

“And pedicure?”

“We'll save the pedicure for Christmas.”

“Cheapskate.”

Bors puckered his lips like a fish and made kissing sound. “I love you, Astrid.”

Astrid snorted. “Can't imagine how many women actually heard you say those words to them.”

“I can count five including you and my girlfriend in the tenth grade.”

“Your mother, sister, and sister-in-law aren't counted.”

“What can I say? I haven't found
the
one who deserves those three words.”

“Well, you won't find one if you keep smelling and looking like
that
. You look worse than the homeless guy I've seen downtown.”

“But he doesn't love you.” Bors wriggled his brows, but Astrid only scrunched her nose.

“Are you sure you don't have cooties?”

“Maybe. Wanna check?”

“You're a Knight and I know what's hidden beneath your scraggly, hobo look, but I will not touch your rock-star hair until you had it washed.”

“You wound me.”

“Whatever, Knight. Simms is in his office, tinkering with his laptop. You know what that means.” Astrid took a deep breath, then stepped into the elevator.

“Thanks for the warning.” Astrid rolled her eyes, but Bors gave her a smile before she turned her back on him.

Astrid had been working for Simms since she was nineteen. She'd been qualified for a retirement, but insisted that retirement would only kill her. With her husband gone and no kids and grandkids to visit, her life would stand still.

Downing the rest of his coffee, he tossed the empty cup into the can before rapping on his supervisor's door. Without waiting for an invitation, he opened it.

Just as Astrid said, his supervisor was hunkered in front of his laptop. The man looked like he was ready to kill it. Simms and his computer never got along. He called it a piece of crap and a waste of his time. Bors couldn't have agreed more. Simms didn't look up when he walked in. He merely grunted his acknowledgment.

Bors stretched on the leather couch and closed his eyes. Two cups of coffee didn't help cheer up his scummy morning. It only made him piss every fifteen minutes like his pregnant sister-in-law.

Simms let out an aggravated sigh. Bors understood. Like Simms, he hated this new technology crap. Writing a report was easier before. All he had to do was find the right form, fill it out and bam, report finished. Now he must log in to dot GOV, type his name, password, which he could never remember, click here and click that. It was all bullshit. Of course, his brother Percival would disagree. But Percival was born with patience to sit down for hours staring at a computer screen and a blinking cursor. His brother's brain worked like a genius when it came to new technology.

“Fucking computer,” Simms said, running his fingers through his thick gray hair. “There are always updates I don't even understand. Good God, Knight! What the hell are you doing contaminating my couch? You stink.”

“I know.” Bors opened his eyes, then sat up. His head was fuzzy from days of no sleep and his cut throbbed. He pried it with his fingers. The damn thing looked infected already.

“What the hell happened?” Simms asked, his voice hoarse from years of smoking, and then went back to glaring at his computer.

“Nothing happened. Branyan and I waited for hours and Jean didn't show.”

“I am asking about your arm. Whose bones did you break this time?”

“What?”

“Come on, Knight. You wouldn't let anyone get away intact after cutting you like that.”

Bors looked at his arm, then shrugged. “Cut myself on a broken piece of glass.”

“Lack of sleep.”

“What?” Damn, he sounded like a parrot repeating a question every second.

“Carelessness is a sign of sleep deprivation. And you, Agent, look in need of a long sleep. When was the last time you saw your bed? Ah, never mind. You probably sleep on your feet. Go to the hospital and have that stitched up.”

“Hate hospitals.”

“I know, but they're here for a purpose. You know that.”

Bors took a deep breath. “I know.” He knew how important hospitals were. His brother Tristan and sister Kirsten wouldn't be alive if it weren't for the doctors and hospitals. But his siblings were just a small fraction of reasons why he didn't like hospitals. The place reminded him of death, near death, or pain. How many times had he taken scumbags, innocent victims, or fellow agents, to the emergency room? Too many times to count.

“Where's Branyan?”

“I gave him a ride home. The man couldn't wait another minute to see Susan and take a shower.”

“How's the pregnant wife?”

“Still pregnant. Walks like a duck and real pretty.”

“All pregnant women are pretty.” Simms looked at the three clocks on the wall. Each one showed either the Pacific, Central or Eastern times. “It's almost noon, Agent.”

Bors knew where the topic was heading so he decided to tell Simms where he was between visiting Branyan's wife and before coming to this office. “I went back to Zhin's.”

“You just don't know when to stop, do you, Knight?”

“I know I am close to getting Jean. I can feel it.”

“Shit, you won't feel a thing soon if you don't take care of yourself and that nasty cut. I suggest you see a doctor first before that thing gets infected, then go home. You're not
7-Eleven.
Open twenty-four-seven. You are your father's son. If it weren't for Katherine, Arthur would still be working his ass off. Go home, Knight. Take a nap.”

A nap? The hell. Last time he took a nap was during his preschool years. “Don't you want me to write a report first?” Bors leaned back, draping his arms on the back of the soft leather couch, not caring if he was
contaminating
it. Shit, counting the number of agents who had sat on this couch after visiting places he could only describe as hell would be as difficult as counting leaves on a tree.

“Since you said nothing happened, your report can wait.” Simms looked at Bors and pointed his finger at him. “Go home. I don't care if you go to your condo or to the one you had built recently. Just go home. I promised your mother to send you home once in a while, intact. And you're useless to me walking around in a fog.”

“I'll go home. Don't know if Snitch gave us a bogus tip or not, sir. Have you heard from him?”

Simms threw up his hands in the air, leaned back on his chair and then rested his elbows on the armrest. “Life would be a lot easier without this computer.”

Bors's brother Percival would disagree. “I agree.”

Simms looked at him with his brows arched high. “Don't know how your brother could stand this thing. Anyway, Snitch was positive about the delivery this morning.”

“Then what happened?”

“Okay, I'll give you something, but you act on it after you recharge.”

“Cool.” Bors leaned his elbows on his knees, then hung his head. The simple movement made the room spin. Crap, he'd really pushed himself close to the limit.

“Are you still awake?”

“If this had to do with Jean, I'm all ears.”

“I heard from him, just before you walked in. What Snitch told me might have something to do with why Jean didn't show up this morning.”

“Yeah?”

“Jean has something more important to do.”

“Other than luring girls into his den? Hard to believe.”

“Well, better believe it. Someone took Jean's mind off his business.”

“Infestation of crab lice on his pubes?” Bors grinned.

“Trying to be funny, Agent?”

Bors shrugged, ignoring the shooting pain in his arm from the simple gesture.

“Snitch finally got something on the mysterious limo coming in and out of Jean's mansion. Apparently a woman uses it.”

“And?”

“This woman caused an uproar and most likely the cancellation of Jean's delivery.”

“Why? She left Jean unsatisfied after his Viagra failed to work?”

Simms gave him a look that said he wasn't in the mood to listen to sarcasm. “No. This woman is special to Jean and she disappeared.”

“I knew it. He's banging someone special.” Rarely seen in public with a woman on his side, the bastard was smart enough not to link anyone with him. A pretense. Bors fucking knew it. “I've watched Jean many times, but I've never seen him with a woman. He's always with his bodyguards and or other lechers, but never with a woman. And it's because she rides the limo.”

“She's a secret.”

“Until she disappeared. Isn't that ironic.” Only a spoiled, egotistical maniac would make a big deal out of a missing woman. She must be unique and an expert in bed. Or fuck ugly, but could suck dick really good. “What made this woman special?”

“We don't know yet. However, we now know that Jean never lets her leave the house without a guard.”

“A very special prisoner.”

“And she lives in Jean's mansion at Lake Washington.”

“That mansion? Jean hardly goes there. He lives at the Westin Tower downtown.”

“Right.”

“How long has she been with Jean?”

“We don't know.”

“Damn, Jean is fucking good at keeping secrets.”
Can't believe this.
“Do we know if this woman was taken, kidnapped, or did Jean kill her because she pissed him off, but wants it to sound like she simply disappeared?”

“She ran away.”

“Good for her. Only an idiot would want to stay with that bastard.”

“Might not be good if she gets caught. Jean is livid.”

“How long has this woman been gone?”

“Since this morning.”

“She never leaves the house without a chaperone, but she managed to disappear.”

“Snitch didn't get the details on how exactly she escaped without her guard noticing.”

“Could be that she sucked the guard's dick to let her go and make it look like she had managed to escape.”

“Whatever the reason, it's not my concern. She disappeared after she played for Seattle Symphony.”

“Okay, so we know that she's a musician who plays for Seattle Symphony. There's our ticket to finding out who she is.”

“No need. I already called. The director said they don't have a Taylor Monte Carlo that plays for them. My hunch tells me that she uses a different name.”

“How do we know her name is Taylor Monte Carlo?”

“Snitch bribed the limo driver.”

“He only thought to do it now?”

“The regular driver couldn't be bribed. The reliever was new. Snitch knew right away he could bribe the schmuck. For fifty bucks and a hit, he got everything that I just told you.”

“Anything else? Family, school, boyfriends?”

“No records or anything. We don't want to ask Seattle Symphony for more information. The bells would start ringing, then Jean would know we are looking for this woman.”

“Did Snitch describe her at all?”

“Uh-huh. He used only one word to describe her.”

“And that's what?”

“Goddess.”

“That doesn't mean shit. Taylor could be a man's name. Didn't Snitch fuck a transvestite he thought was a woman because he was high?”

“God. You and your brothers. Don't know why Katherine asks you Knights to pay a quarter each time you curse. She should have made it ten bucks because a quarter obviously didn't help any of you stop from cursing.
Fine.
She could be as ugly as a burned wood. Well, at least we know there is a woman involved with Jean who, at present, is a prick in his balls. Other than that, we know shit. So, I don't have the answers to the whys right now. One thing for sure though, Congressman Jean wants to find his woman.”

“And you want me to find her.”

“Yes. I smell something foul, Knight. Find the source before the stench spreads. Jean is intent on finding this woman. We need to know why. Get to her first. Most likely she heard or saw things about Jean. I have a feeling she's your ticket to sending Jean's ass to jail.”

Or in hell.

“Focus on finding Taylor. And when you do, get as much information as you can from her. Maybe we could put her on the stand. Find her and you'll find Jean. It should be easy. We are the fucking FBI.”

“I'll see what I can do.”
Taylor. Pretty name. But is she pretty? Who the fuck cares?

“As soon as Taylor's picture gets in my inbox, I'll forward it to you.”

“There must be a picture of her somewhere else.”

“We looked. Couldn't find one. Not even a blurry one. Jean did a great job of keeping her out of prying eyes. As far as everyone knows, Taylor doesn't exist. How Jean did that, who the fuck knows. I suppose if he could hide his shit, he could hide a woman easily.”

“Maybe Jean's afraid Taylor will start talking about his puny dick.”

“Agent, enough. Just find the woman. Damn pictures and documents are all digital now.”

“Where is the picture coming from?”

“Snitch took it with his cell phone.”

“How did he get it?”

“He was at the orchestra and took the picture of the group. We don't know which one is Taylor, but that'll be easy enough to figure out.”

“And Snitch is clueless about the mysteriousness clouding Taylor,” Bors said more to himself.

“If he knows something, he would have told me. He knows better than to hide that kind of information. It's either spill what he knows or sit his ass in jail.”

Curious about the woman, his impatience bubbled on the surface. “Why couldn't you just ask for his cell phone?”