breaths until he regained control. Fight or flight responses denied, he sank to the floor in defeat.
The cold metal felt good on his shoulders and was probably the closest thing to an ice pack he would get in here. He tilted his head back and stared at the dull white ceiling. A black plastic bubble poked out of a corner. A camera. He almost laughed at the irony.
Hours passed and as the metal warmed, his bare shoulders stuck to it, but he didn’t bother moving. He had nothing to do, and even with his constant anxiety about what the future held, boredom set in. How long would they hold him like this?
His life, especially since he bought the old camera, had been a whirlwind. If he didn’t have a future picture to make right, he had photo shoots scheduled or clients to meet. Even on the rare days when he had nothing scheduled, he rode his bike, jogged, or just hiked around town, his camera a constant companion. He missed the weight of it around his neck. Reaching up, he felt the roughened skin on the side of his neck where the strap always chafed. How many times had he been teased because it looked like a hickey?
Mark stared at the opposite wall, smiling at the memory of Jessie Bishop raising an eyebrow at the sight of the permanent abrasion. He took a deep shaky breath. What he wouldn’t give to talk to her right now. Hell, to talk to anyone.
His throat constricted, the ache building until he was sure it would choke him. What if they kept him in here for months? He would go crazy.
Once, he had been on Lower Wacker Drive just trying to get some shots of something different. A homeless man had staggered into him, and Mark would never forget the chill he had felt when he had looked the man in the face. The man’s expression held no emotion. After stumbling away from Mark, he had pulled a dirty bakery bag out of his coat and dug out bits of donuts, shoving them in his mouth. It was like the man ate only to exist. Mark shuddered. Would he become like that poor fellow-just a shell of a person, more animal than human?
CHAPTER SIX
Jessie tapped her pencil eraser against the desktop as she surveyed the files stacked in the out-box and felt a surge of satisfaction. She was finally caught up. It had taken two months, but every case file that held something that might interest the FBI had been identified and the information forwarded to the Chicago bureau. It was out of her hands now.
She glanced out the window at the bleak gray sky. The few leaves, brown and curled, clung to a maple outside her building and twisted in the wind. Jessie wondered how a few always managed to cling all winter despite the abuse. How come the rest of the leaves couldn’t hang on? She shook her head at the idle thought. Yawning, she opened the bottom desk drawer and withdrew her purse, digging into it for her lip balm. A knock at her doorway made her look up.
Balm poised in front of her mouth, she said, “Yes, can I help you?” to a man standing in the threshold.
His off-the-rack suit couldn’t quite conceal a slight paunch and the button on his jacket strained. Short, dark hair, graying at the temples should have lent him a dignified air, but his sallow complexion detracted from it. A briefcase completed the picture of a middle management government employee.
“Jessica Bishop?”
Capping the balm and tossing it back in her bag, Jessie nodded. “Who wants to know?”
The man reached into his suit-coat breast pocket and pulled out identification. “Sean Daly, CIA. Is there a place we can talk?”
A sliver of dread coiled in her stomach as she dropped her purse back into the drawer. Jessie stood and motioned to the chair on the other side of her desk. If she had to speak to the CIA, it would be on her home turf. “Have a seat. We can talk right here.”
He stepped in and shut the door. Any objections he might have had to doing the questions here, didn’t show in his expression. Jessie sat and scooted her chair closer to the desk then folded her hands and waited. Hopefully, Dan wouldn’t walk in right now. He had gone down to talk to the desk sergeant about practice for the precinct basketball league. She had a feeling this was going to be about Mark, and Dan had already tried to grill her about Mark’s arrest a few months back. He’d have a field day with this. It wasn’t every day a police detective’s boyfriend was arrested as a terrorist.
Daly glanced around the cramped office and then lifted his briefcase onto his lap and withdrew a pad of paper, a tape recorder and a file folder. Jessie narrowed her eyes at the recorder. So, this was going to be official. He set the case on the floor and then arranged the other things on Jessie’s desk, raising his eyes in question when he began to move a photo of her niece. Jessie shrugged. She was determined not to make this any easier for him.
He clicked the button on the recorder and said, “This is Officer Sean Daly. For the purpose of accuracy and records, please state your name.”
Jessie spoke in a clear voice, “Jessica Bishop.”
“Do you know Mark Taylor?”
“Yes.”
Daly looked like he expected her to say more and he waited a few seconds. She was familiar with the tactic. People liked to fill silences and he thought she would jump in with more information without being asked. She quirked an eyebrow. Nice try.
“When did you first meet the subject?”
Jessie thought for a moment. There was a file in the cabinet with the information, but unless he asked, she wasn’t going to mention it. “I don’t have the exact date right now, but it was approximately two years ago.”
Once again, he waited and when she didn’t elaborate, a trace of a smile played around his lips. “And under what circumstances did you meet?”
“I was working a case and he called the precinct with some information pertinent to my case. I agreed to meet with him.”
He didn’t wait this time, but just jumped in with another question. “What was your first impression of the man?”
Jessie looked towards the window, recalling how nervous Taylor had appeared. The meeting took place at a fast food restaurant in the River North area. He had given her a general description of himself and what he was wearing so she spotted him before he saw her. He had been standing at one end of the front counter, a cup of coffee in front of him and a couple of open creamers. Her first impression was that he was taller than she expected. Her next impression had to do with how well his jeans fit.
Jessie glanced at Daly and hoped she wasn’t blushing. Taylor had been too modest when describing his looks. Brown hair and a bit over six feet tall made him sound average. But more than his looks, she had been struck by how expressive his face had been. She recalled thinking he would be terrible at poker. “My first impression was the guy couldn’t lie his way out of a parking ticket.”
Daly tilted his head and leaned forward. “What made you think that?”
Smiling, Jessie looked down at the desktop before raising her head to meet the agent’s eyes. “Have you met Mark Taylor? If you had, you wouldn’t have to ask. Every emotion he feels zips across his face.”
“No, I’ve never met the man.” His tone hinted that he never wanted to.
Jessie’s smile hardened. “Well, it’s your loss.” The words surprised her even as she spoke them, but she realized it was the truth. “He’s a bit different, I’ll grant you that, but I no more believe him capable of helping al- Qaeda than he is of flying to Mars by flapping his arms.”
“What do you mean about different?” Daly picked up the note pad and pen. He finally looked interested.
Jessie wanted to bite her tongue. Despite her best efforts, she had done just what she had vowed not to do. She had offered more than was necessary to answer the question. “I mean that he would call me with information. Like he had heard a mini-mart was going to be robbed. He thought one of the robbers had a gun he might use. When I would ask how he came by the information, he gave vague answers.”
His pen flew across the paper and without looking up, he asked, “And, was he right?”
“That’s the thing. He usually was.” It still bugged her that Mark never told her the truth about his sources. One look at his face and she knew he was lying, and he knew that she knew. He had always squirmed and looked
