Actual Stop (Agent O’Connor #1)(9)

Mark Jennings, my new boss, had been there picking up his daughter and some of her friends from class, loading the riotous crew into the backseat of his government vehicle, which is a huge no-no as far as Uncle Sam’s concerned. His gaze had snagged on mine, and we’d looked at one another for a long moment before I’d sketched a tiny wave, shaken my head, and turned to head inside the school.

In my opinion, what he did on his own time was his business. Unless one of the higher-ups asked me specifically whether I’d ever seen him putting nongovernment employees into his government vehicle on a day he was supposed to have been on sick leave, I was keeping my mouth shut. These things had a way of working themselves out that didn’t involve me. I’d also figured the incident was a nonissue. Na?veté at its best.

The repercussions of that inadvertent sighting had been swift, severe, and ongoing. Mark had done his best to make my life as miserable as possible, giving me the crappiest cases and shittiest assignments to send me a very clear message: it would only get worse if I f*cked with him. Somehow I’d been unable to convince him I wasn’t a danger.

Which brings us back to Mark still trying his damnedest to make his power obvious as he glowered at me from amid all his pirate memorabilia. He was sure he had something on me. And, for once, he was right.

If another office is investigating a case whose leads redirect the case to another district, that office has to send the other district a formal request for assistance, describing the leads to be run out in as much complicated governmental jargon as one can cram into the report without being overly obvious. It could be a real inconvenience, but it was policy. Until last night, when I’d broken it.

My interview the previous evening with Amin Akbari had been a favor to an old friend, off the record and completely against the rules. Obviously, I’d known exactly what I’d been doing when I was doing it; I just hadn’t thought I’d get caught. How had Mark even found out I’d been in that section of Brooklyn at that time of night? I guess it didn’t matter. Either way, I was busted. The transgression wasn’t worthy of formal disciplinary action, but I was going to pay. Somehow.

Fantastic.

“I asked you a question, O’Connor,” Mark barked.

“Agent O’Connor.” My voice was low and icy.

“Excuse me?” Mark demanded after a startled pause, sounding thoroughly outraged.

“It’s either Ryan or it’s Agent O’Connor. I respect you enough to address you as AT Jennings. I expect the same courtesy from you. I worked hard to earn my title. Use it.”

Okay, that line about respect was a lie. But he was my boss—someone somewhere probably respected him, at least a little—and I wanted to keep my job.

Maybe I should’ve just let that go and not stood on principle, just this once. Nah. I folded my arms across my chest as I waited. I scowled and briefly entertained the idea of trying to don a neutral expression. But I blew past that thought as swiftly as the last. Fuck him. He’d disrespected me one too many times. I didn’t care if he knew I was angry.

“Fine.” Mark’s voice was clipped and strained. “Agent O’Connor.” The address sounded more than a little sarcastic to me, but I let it go. For now. “I asked you a question. I’d like an answer.”

“Very well. I was looking into something.” I played the semantics game extremely well. If he wanted answers from me, he’d have to work for them.

“I was unaware of any threat calls connected to Utica Avenue. You weren’t even the duty agent last night. You don’t have any active cases right now. Your annual report on Webster isn’t due for another three months, and he’s confined to a mental hospital in Queens, not Brooklyn. So whatever you were doing, it wasn’t threat-related. What was it?” That last was definitely more of a statement than a question.

“Counterfeit.” I answered him only because it seemed pointless to lie. I was screwed regardless. He was going to hammer me for this. No sense making it worse.

“You don’t work counterfeit anymore.”

“I know.”

“Did the Counterfeit Squad need extra bodies for something last night?” He frowned, and I was willing to bet he thought he’d been left out of the loop.

“No.”

He eyed me, his expression speculative. “Who were you doing counterfeit for?”

“A friend.”

“What friend?”

I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

And it honestly didn’t. At least not as far as I could see. Nothing would be gained by giving him Sarah’s name. She’d most likely get into trouble for even asking me to talk to Akbari.

That she’d broken protocol with the unofficial request was problematic enough, but I wasn’t supposed to be working anything except threat cases. Counterfeit was off limits to me because I wasn’t in that squad anymore. Sarah hadn’t known that.

She also hadn’t known what a complete prick my boss could be, or she wouldn’t have bothered asking. But I’d known. And I’d chosen to help her anyway. I refused to drag her under the bus with me. Mark would call her boss just to spite me.

“It matters to me.”

“Well, I’m not telling you.”

“You’re not telling me,” he repeated flatly.