A Lot like Love (FBI/US Attorney #2)(62)

Jordan’s mouth dropped open, and she barely noticed as the doctor left the room. “Puchalski? The harmless bald guy with the snake tattoo?” He was the undercover agent on the inside?

Inconceivable.

Kyle threw out his free hand in exasperation. “I know—he and I always got along fine. Then tonight during lock-down, we were in line heading back to our cells and he starts up again with the Sawyer crap. So I told him to drop it, like I’ve told him a hundred times before, and he just loses it. Grabs me by the collar, tackles me to the ground, and starts yelling that he can call me whatever the hell he wants. Then he pulls a fork out of his shoe and does this.”

He shifted and lifted the bandage with his handcuffed hand, revealing four red—and pretty damn tiny—puncture wounds. Jordan squinted. “Is there something I’m supposed to be looking at there?”

Kyle made a face. “Very funny. It stung like a bitch. For at least . . . two or three minutes.” He saw her staring at him and cocked his head. “What?”

Jordan said nothing. Instead, she reached out and did something she hadn’t been able to do in four months. She hugged her brother hard and held on for as long as she wanted. “I’m just glad to see you’re okay.”

“Don’t be getting all mushy on me now. You know the rules,” Kyle growled. But he squeezed her back tightly with his free arm.

She felt tears of relief spring into her eyes. “Different setting, different rules.” She pulled back, and quickly brushed at her eyes. “Mr. Cranky the prison guard told me that.”

“Did he also happen to tell you why they brought me to this hospital?” Kyle asked. “Because I sure as hell can’t figure it out.”

There was a voice to their left.

“They brought you here because I asked them to.”

An attractive woman with long brown hair and wearing a gray pin-striped suit stood in the doorway. She walked over and shook hands with Jordan and Kyle.

“Cameron Lynde, U.S. attorney,” she said in introduction. She folded her arms across her chest and studied Kyle. “So what do we do with you now, Mr. Rhodes? I’ve been getting all sorts of reports that you’re having problems at MCC.”

Kyle brushed his hair off his face defensively. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Six fights in the last four months—and now this attack. You’re a PR disaster waiting to happen,” Cameron said.

Jordan threw Kyle a look. “You only told me about four fights.”

“It’s nothing,” Kyle said to both of them.

The U.S. attorney appeared to mull this over. “I don’t like it. With the media’s interest in your case, if something happened to you at MCC, my office would take a lot of heat.”

“Your office didn’t seem too concerned about my wellbeing four months ago,” Kyle said.

“I think it’s safe to say that the former U.S. attorney had a very different agenda than I do,” Cameron said. “You’ve served four months of hard time—harder than many others. Perhaps we can look into an alternate arrangement.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I don’t want to be shipped off to another prison—the same thing will just happen there.” Kyle pointed begrudgingly to Jordan. “Plus, if you take me out of Chicago, I’d miss my annoying sister’s cheery visits.”

Jordan nearly got teary-eyed again. That may have been the nicest thing her pain-in-the-ass brother had ever said to her. She put her arm around him. “He’s the gum I can’t scrape off the bottom of my shoe,” she explained to the U.S. attorney.

Cameron laughed. “I have a friend like that.” She turned back to Kyle. “I wasn’t talking about moving you to a different prison. I was thinking more along the lines of home detention.”

The door opened again, and a tall and well-built man wearing jeans and a corduroy blazer walked into the room. He carried a backpack in one hand. Jordan recognized him as the FBI agent who’d “accidentally” bumped into her at Starbucks and slipped Nick’s keys into her coat pocket. But if the agent recognized her—and she was sure he did—he gave away nothing.

“Agent Pallas. Perfect timing,” Cameron said.

“Are we all set?” he asked.

“I was just about to explain to Mr. Rhodes how this will work.” She turned back to Kyle. “This is Special Agent Jack Pallas—he’s going to fit you with an electronic monitoring device that you’ll wear around your ankle twenty-four hours a day. Inside the device is a GPS transmitter that will tell the supervising probation officer in charge of your parole where you are at all times. You’ll be able to work, and will be permitted to leave your residence for preapproved purposes like doctor’s appointments, court appearances, things of that nature. Your probation officer will go over the specifics of the arrangement with you.”

Kyle held up his hand, confused. “Probation officer, parole—what are you talking about? I have twelve more months of incarceration to serve.”

“Not anymore. You’re going home, Mr. Rhodes.”

Agent Pallas moved to Kyle’s side. He took keys out of his pocket and unlocked the handcuff with a snap.

Kyle stared at his free hand for a moment, then peered up at Cameron with a confused expression. “I don’t understand. Why would you do this?”