The Eighth Sister (Charles Jenkins #1)(85)

“Agent Daugherty wants to keep an eye on me until he can cross all his t’s and dot all his i’s. I just told him that I disclosed classified information to the FSB.”



Alex greeted them at the door when they arrived home. Jenkins had called her on the drive and told her of the polygraph test and the results.

“I was just getting CJ ready for bed,” she said, sounding more chipper than she had in days. “I have food in the oven if you’re hungry.”

“Let me put him to bed,” Jenkins said. He went upstairs to CJ’s room and found his son sitting on the carpet, putting together Legos, one of a dozen different models Jake had pulled out of the attic and given to CJ.

“Hey.” Jenkins took a seat on the carpet. “What are you building?”

“It’s a Death Star,” CJ said. “Dad, when can I go back to school?”

“Pretty soon,” he said.

“But when?”

“I can’t give you a specific date, son. You miss your friends?”

CJ nodded. “And soccer.”

“I know,” Jenkins said.

“Are you in some kind of trouble?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“I’m not stupid.”

“No, you’re definitely not.”

“Are you?”

“I’m not in trouble but it’s kind of a sticky situation.”

“Could you go to jail?”

Jenkins paused, and in that brief moment of hesitation he saw the boy’s concern etch on his face. CJ started to cry. “Hey,” Jenkins said as CJ fell forward into his arms. “Hey, come on now. Everything is going to be all right.” Jenkins had never lied to his son. He considered honesty to be a big part of parenting. “Listen,” he said, lowering himself to look CJ in the eye. “Your dad didn’t do anything wrong, okay? I want you to know that. I’m telling you the truth. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“So you’re not going to jail?”

“Why are you worried about me going to jail?”

“Because David’s a lawyer and you’re always having meetings with him after I go to bed.”

It was a logical deduction. “David does a lot of different types of law, CJ. Not just keeping people out of jail.”

“So then why are you having meetings with him and why are we living here? Why can’t we go home?”

“Those are good questions,” Jenkins said, and he thought of where to begin. “Listen, a long time ago I worked for the government, and recently they asked me to work for them again. That’s why I was traveling so much. Things have gotten kind of sticky, and I’ve asked David and Jake to help me. Do you understand?”

“Not really.”

“The important thing is I don’t want you to be scared. Okay?”

CJ nodded.

“Good man. Let’s get you to bed so I don’t get in trouble from your mother. Now, she is someone I’m afraid of.”





49



Jenkins spent the next three days giving Alex a break from homeschooling CJ and getting him out of Sloane’s house so she could get some rest. When not doing schoolwork, they fished from the beach and hunted the shore for polished glass and unbroken sand dollars. They finished putting together the Death Star Lego model as well as two others, and while Jenkins loved the time with his son, he was also stir-crazy and anxious waiting for Daugherty to call. Whenever Jenkins left the house, whether to the library to get books with CJ, or to the local Fred Meyer to buy food and fishing supplies, the two FBI agents accompanied him. Hip-pocket surveillance, they called it.

This morning, Jenkins suggested to CJ that they fish before beginning schoolwork, which would give Alex additional time to sleep. CJ didn’t need any more convincing to delay his studies.

They bundled up in winter clothing—a cold spell had dropped the temperature to near freezing—and stood at the water’s edge with half a dozen other fishermen, all casting their lures into Puget Sound. Jenkins had just cast his line when his cell phone rang. He recognized the telephone number to the office building in Stanwood that CJ Security shared with several other businesses. He’d forwarded CJ Security’s incoming calls to David Sloane’s legal office, and Jake had been fielding calls from unpaid vendors and attorneys threatening lawsuits.

“Charlie? It’s Claudia Baker.”

Baker was the receptionist Jenkins shared with the other businesses in the building. Jenkins apologized for being out of touch.

“I wanted to let you know that, well, you had an FBI agent come into the office yesterday afternoon.”

That aroused Jenkins’s curiosity. “What did he want?”

“He had a subpoena for documents. I told him you didn’t keep documents here in the office, and you didn’t have a desktop computer.”

“Did the agent leave a card or a name?”

“He wasn’t going to, but I asked for a card and for his credentials before I’d answer his questions. His name was Chris Daugherty. I have his card.”

Jenkins saw this as a good sign; Daugherty was continuing to dig.

Baker paused and Jenkins could tell she was hesitant to continue.

“What else did he say, Claudia?”