by Julie James
"Must be nice having customers who buy a quarter million dollars worth of wine."
For a brief moment, she loosened up a bit. "Unfortunately, that sale went to Sotheby's," she said with a smile. "But, yes, Xander is a good customer."
And therein lay the question, Nick thought. Just how good of a customer? "I take it you know him well?"
"Well enough, I suppose."
"How well?"
There was a pause, and he saw the stiffening in Jordan's posture the moment she clued in.
"You want to know about Xander. That's what this is about?" she asked.
"Yes."
She appeared genuinely shocked. "Why would you be investigating Xander?"
Nick ignored the question, shifting into interrogation mode. "How would you describe the nature of your relationship with Eckhart?"
She seemed to weigh her options before answering. While sitting in the backseat of an SUV, in the middle of a blizzard, with two armed FBI agents in front, she didn't have many. "Xander has been a regular customer of my store for a few years. I often handle special orders for him, expensive or rare wines you can't get through a distributor."
"Have you had any interactions with him outside the store?" Nick probed.
"Perhaps I really should call my lawyer. I'm suddenly finding myself very uncomfortable with this situation, Agent McCall."
He caught her eye in the rearview mirror. "Why would talking about Xander Eckhart make you uncomfortable?"
She adjusted her position in the backseat, crossing one leg over the other. "Why don't you spare me the interrogation and just get to the point?"
"Outside the store, do you see Eckhart socially?"
"Occasionally. We know some of the same people, so from time to time I'll run into him at a party or at one of his restaurants. And every year I attend a charity fund-raiser that he hosts at Bordeaux. The party is this weekend, as a matter of fact."
"Is that the full extent of your personal relationship?"
She locked eyes with him in the mirror. "What else would there be to our relationship, Agent McCall?"
"Do you have any sort of intimate connection to Eckhart?"
Her voice was smoky in the darkness of the backseat. "Just a deep appreciation for good wine."
She turned away from him and stared out the window once again. Nick got the message, loud and clear: Conversation over.
When they arrived at the FBI office, he parked the car in the spot closest to the entrance of the glass and steel midrise building. The parking lot was virtually empty—with the snowstorm, nearly everyone had gone home for the evening. With a nod, he indicated to Huxley that he would get Jordan. He stepped out of the car and opened the back door.
Jordan hesitated before sliding across the seat. She stepped down from the SUV—one high-heeled, leather-booted leg first, then the other. Because Nick held the door open, they stood close to each other.
Thick snowflakes fell around them and tangled in her hair. Her voice was low, her tone as cold as the air. "The next time you want to know something, Agent McCall, don't bother to sweet-talk me first. Just ask."
"I assure you, Ms. Rhodes, when I sweet-talk a woman, she knows it." He held out his hand, being polite. "You're not going to get far in those boots."
She ignored his hand. "Watch me." She turned in her heels and walked away from the car, heading through the semi-plowed, snow- and ice-covered parking lot toward the entrance of division headquarters.
So help him, she didn't slip once.
Huxley stopped at Nick's side. "You could've given me a sign that you planned to question her in the car. Why not wait to bring up Eckhart at the office?"
"I wanted to catch her off guard. We needed to make sure she wasn't one of the flavors of the month."
"You think it's a good idea to piss her off like this? We're about to ask her to work with us."
"She'll cooperate." Of that, Nick had no doubt. He'd known it about thirty seconds after walking into her store, when he saw the anxious look on her face when they'd first mentioned her brother.
Has Kyle been hurt?
Jordan Rhodes may not have liked him very much, but she was obviously concerned about her brother. At the end of the day, that was all that mattered.
THE TWO AGENTS led Jordan to a conference room on the eleventh floor and told her to make herself comfortable while they "retrieved a file." She suspected this was FBI code for something shady, but wasn't exactly sure what. All she knew was that after Agent McCall's not-so-innocent questioning during the car ride over, she had her eye on him. Two of them, in fact.
She removed her coat, scarf, and gloves, and brushed the snow off her boots. Yes, fine, as McCall had annoyingly pointed out, her Christian Louboutins weren't exactly hardy, all-weather footwear. And back at the store, when she'd grabbed her coat from the back room, she had thought momentarily about changing out of them. But the snow boots she'd bought last November—not having any idea she'd be in this predicament—were hardly business appropriate. The way she saw it, there were some matters of style that simply needed to take precedence over practicality, and right at the top had to be the rule that said one did not wear black dress pants and pink Uggs to a meeting with the FBI. Not anyone who didn't want to look like a jackass, anyway.
Jordan took a seat at the conference table. She watched the blizzard that raged outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, dreading the snow she'd have to shovel when she got home. Perhaps she should look into getting one of those power snowblowers, she mused. Or a man. Either could be quite handy in inclement weather. Then again, snowblowers took up a lot of garage space, and she generally liked to keep at least a three-foot buffer around the Maserati. Not to mention, most of the men she met presumably had even less interest than she did in shoveling snow—they likely would hire someone else to do that kind of thing. The downside to dating Italian-loafer types, she supposed.
Maybe she needed to find more of a guy's guy. One of those men who could start a fire with two sticks, could change a flat tire with one hand tied behind his back, and wasn't afraid that a snow shovel would scuff his cashmerelined leather Burberry gloves.
The door flew open and in walked Nick McCall.
Someone, however, who at least knew what a razor was.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Rhodes," he said.
As Huxley followed Nick into the conference room, Jordan noticed that both men had shed their coats. She also saw that they were armed, catching glimpses of the shoulder harnesses and guns they wore underneath their suit jackets.
"What happened to your file?" she asked.
"Would you believe it? We couldn't find the darn thing," Nick said. "Guess we'll just have to march on without it." He gave Huxley a nod.
"Everything we're about to tell you is extremely confidential, Ms. Rhodes," Huxley began. "You can tell no one about the purpose of this meeting."
Easy enough for her to do, since she didn't understand the purpose of the meeting. "All right."
"You already know that this pertains to Xander Eckhart. For some time now, we've had him under investigation. We believe he's running drug money through his nightclubs and restaurants for an organized crime syndicate led by Roberto Martino. You may have heard about the recent indictments of Martino and the others in his organization." Huxley gave Jordan a moment to process all this.
"You seem surprised," Nick said.
She shot him a look. "Of course I'm surprised. I had no idea Xander was mixed up in anything like this. You're sure of this?"
Huxley nodded. "Yes. We've been watching Eckhart. We've seen him on several occasions with a man we know to be one of Martino's associates. They meet in Eckhart's office, which is located underneath the main level of his restaurant, Bordeaux."
"The one down the hall from his wine cellar, you mean," Jordan said.
Nick sat forward in his chair, interested in this. "You've been inside Eckhart's office?"
"Yes. Last year at his Valentine's Day party, he gave me a tou
r of the entire space at Bordeaux."
"How well do you remember the interior of the office?" Huxley asked. "Would you be able to describe it, tell us the placement of the furniture, that kind of thing?"
"I can certainly try," Jordan said. "Is that what this is about? You want me to describe Xander's office to you?" It seemed too insignificant for all the secret-agent rigmarole.
Nick shook his head. "Unfortunately, it's not that simple. What we want is for you to help us get inside Eckhart's office. This Saturday night."
It took her a moment. "You mean during the party?"
Nick folded his arms on the table. "How would you feel about bringing along an undercover agent as your date, Ms. Rhodes?"
Jordan leaned in to meet him halfway. "I think that depends on who the date is, Agent McCall."
Next to Nick, Huxley pushed up his glasses. "Me."
Jordan looked over, surprised. "Oh. Okay."
"Try not to look so relieved," Nick said dryly.
"Sorry. It's just that Agent Huxley seems more ..." She searched for the right word.
"Like a fancy-wine type?" Nick suggested sarcastically.
"I was about to say 'pleasant.' "
"Actually, I have been doing a lot of research into wine for this assignment," Huxley interjected. "From what I've read, Eckhart has quite an impressive collection." He shot Nick a glance and cleared his throat. "Not that I'll be drinking that evening, of course."
From Huxley's nervous look, Jordan guessed that Nick held some sort of position of authority over the younger agent. Another of the FBI's questionable judgment calls. "So I bring you as my date, and then what happens?" she asked Huxley.
"I'll break away from the party at some point and plant small recording devices in Eckhart's office."
They made it sound so easy. Then again, to them, maybe it was. "Tell me how my brother fits into this."
Nick took the lead here. "The U.S. attorney has agreed to a reduction of your brother's sentence to time served. If you cooperate with us, her office will file the motion on Monday. While waiting for the court to rule, we can arrange to have your brother transferred to home detention."
Jordan studied both agents carefully. "What's the catch? There has to be one, if you're willing to give up Kyle. Several months ago, the U.S. attorney had a blast making a public spectacle of the case. His way of being tough on crime, I suppose."
"The former U.S. attorney made a public spectacle of your brother's case," Nick corrected her. "The new one has a different agenda."
"You need to be aware that with any undercover operation, there is some risk of danger," Huxley added. "We think we can minimize the risk, but nevertheless, you should take that into consideration."
"How long do I have to make my decision?" Jordan asked.
"I think we all know you've already made your decision, Ms. Rhodes," Nick said.
How Jordan wished she could tell him that he didn't know her half as well as he seemed to think he did. But unfortunately, in this case, he was right. "I have one condition. Kyle can't know anything about our arrangement. He'd worry too much about me."
"No one can know about this until it's over," Huxley emphasized. "To maintain the cover, everyone has to think I'm actually your date that evening." He blushed. "Not that I'm suggesting we need to—ahem—get romantic or anything."
Nick hadn't taken his eyes off her. "So we have a deal?"
Despite the fact that Huxley would be her date on Saturday night, Jordan couldn't help but think that she was about to get into bed with the devil.
A green-eyed one at that.
She nodded. "We have a deal."
AT THE END of the meeting, Jordan and Huxley made arrangements to meet on Thursday evening, which was Martin's night to close the shop. The plan was to go over the details for Saturday night then.
After they escorted her down to the lobby, Huxley turned to Nick. "Why don't I take Jordan home?" He smiled at her. "It'll give me time to learn more about my new date." He gestured to the snow falling steadily outside the windows. "I'm not parked as close as Nick, so I'll pull the car around front." That decided, he slid on his gloves and hurried off.
Leaving Jordan and Nick alone.
She eyed him warily, bracing herself for another irksome remark since those seemed to be his specialty. What he said instead surprised her.
"So I guess this is it."
"You won't be around for the big event Saturday night?" she asked.
"Oh, I'll be there," he assured her. "But I'll be parked a few blocks away from Bordeaux, in a van with our tech team, making sure the recording devices are working correctly. So if you do see me Saturday, that means something has gone very wrong with this undercover op."
A silence fell between Jordan and Nick. She tried to ignore the weight of his gaze, but found this impossible. "What?"
"I was just thinking that your brother is lucky to have a sister who's willing to do something like this for him."
Jordan brushed her bangs out of her eyes, not having expected an actual compliment from him. And yes, her screwup of a twin was very lucky. But the truth of the matter was, she knew he'd do the same for her in a heartbeat. "Kyle deserves a break." She saw the skeptical look on Nick's face and sighed. "Go ahead, Agent McCall. Whatever it is you'd like to say about my brother, I've heard it all before."
"I have two brothers myself, Ms. Rhodes. I understand family loyalty."
She waited for the rest. "But?"
"But your brother did break the law. About ten of them, in fact. He hijacked a global communications network and created widespread panic by causing an outage that affected tens of millions of people."
Jordan rolled her eyes. "You can cut the dramatic lingo, Mr. FBI. My brother hacked into Twitter and shut down the site after his girlfriend posted a link to a video of her fooling around in a hot tub with another guy."
"He crashed the entire site for two days. In the most advanced denial-of-service attack anyone has ever seen."
"It was Twitter. Not the Department of Defense's website, or the NSA's. That guy who shut down Facebook last year only got a fine and community service. But in this case, the U.S. attorney—sorry, the former U.S. attorney—argued to the judge that a fine wouldn't be harsh enough for Kyle because of my father's money. Too bad for Kyle that he and I don't live off my father's money."
Nick pointed. "Your ride's here."
Jordan paused midrant and looked through the windows. She saw Huxley's car out front. Another SUV, although this one was a Range Rover.
She turned back to Nick. "Tell me something. Are you trying to get a rise out of me, or does being this irritating come naturally to you?"
Nick's eyes flickered over her with amusement. "I suppose I may be trying to annoy you a little."
"Why?" Jordan asked in exasperation.
He seemed to think about this. "Maybe because I can. Quite easily, apparently." He took a step closer and studied her face. "I bet you need a few more people in your life who annoy you, Ms. Rhodes."
Actually, she had a twin brother in prison who handled the job just fine. And as for Nick McCall's assessment, she'd gotten used to people making quick assumptions about her because of her father's wealth. Although they weren't typically so up-front about it. "Seriously, who are you?" she asked.
He smiled. "Good question. It changes every six to nine months."
Those were the last words he said before Jordan walked out of the FBI building and climbed into Huxley's car. When she looked back, she saw that Nick had already left the lobby.
"Ready to go?" Huxley asked.
Jordan turned toward the road ahead of her. "Definitely."
Four
JORDAN HURRIED TO catch the light at Van Buren Street, thinking that if she never again laid eyes on Metropolitan Correctional Center after next week, she'd be just fine. The building was an eyesore: an ugly, gray triangle that shot up over thirty stories high with tiny vertical slats for windows.
She visi
ted Kyle every Wednesday, having worked out a routine with Martin that allowed for that. She'd been extremely appreciative that her assistant had made it to the store on time that morning despite the near foot of snow the Streets and Sanitation Department was still struggling to clear off the roads. Because her car was snowed in and taxis were always a rarity on bad-weather days, she'd had to ride the L train downtown, which took extra time. Since visitors were permitted at the prison on a first-come basis, she liked to arrive promptly at noon, the start of visiting hours.
Jordan checked her watch as she approached the building and saw that she was right on time. She pushed through the doors and entered the lobby. At least it was warmer than the frigid thirteen degrees outside; at a minimum, the prison had that going for it. At the front desk, she filled out a Notification to Visitors form and handed it over to Dominic, the lobby correctional officer, along with her driver's license. Having visited Kyle every Wednesday for the last four months, she was familiar with the routine.
"So I'm halfway through season two of Lost," Dominic told her. Other than getting to see Kyle, the lobby guard and their chats about television shows were pretty much the only things Jordan liked about MCC.
"Wow, you really flew through that first season," she said.
"What's up with the Others?" he asked. "They're creepy."
"You'll find out in about another hundred episodes. Sort of."
"Aw, don't tell me that." Dominic handed back her driver's license. "Are you and your brother sure you're not missing a triplet? Because the resemblance is uncanny."
Jordan smiled. Ever since Lost had first aired, people had commented that her brother looked like a certain well-known character on the show—which Kyle hated. Probably for that reason, the prison staff and other inmates made sure to tease him about it as much as possible. Personally, she found the whole thing quite amusing.
"I'm pretty sure there's no relation," she said. Either that, or her father had some serious 'splaining to do.
Dominic gestured to her neck. "Don't forget to leave your scarf behind when you check in your things. I'll see you next week, Jordan."