Page 20 of Shameless

He consulted a clip chart. “Oh, yes. Marshal Jacobs will be escorting you to him. Have a seat.” He turned aside, murmured something into a mike attached to his collar.

Cass settled on one of the hard plastic chairs lined up along one wall and looked around. Typical government décor. In other words, no décor whatsoever. Bland beige walls enlivened with yellowing federally mandated notices nobody ever read. She busied herself with a favorite mental exercise. How would she describe the guard to make him come alive in a reader’s mind?

Two minutes later, as she searched her mental thesaurus for the perfect word to describe a once-hard fifty-year-old body sadly gone to flab, the glass doors across the room flew open. A surprisingly small woman strode into the lobby. In her mid-forties, she wore a navy jacket over a no-nonsense white cotton blouse, black polyester slacks, and gray running shoes – with neon-pink laces. Not exactly standard fed attire for pursuing your common criminal. Cass let her eyes travel up, away from the shoes. Shoulder-length blonde hair, soft blue eyes, pink lipstick in a color only one shade less vibrant than her shoelaces.

She offered a hand. “Katherine Jacobs.”

Cass stood up and shook it. Starting out, she’d attended a women’s power luncheon where the speaker spent a great deal of time discussing the importance of a firm handshake for a woman in business. She’d even made all of them stand up and practice shaking hands with everyone else at their table. Apparently, Kathryn had had similar training somewhere along the way. Her handshake was as decisive as that of a CEO.

“Cassandra Newcombe. I’m sure you’ve heard this before, but you’re not what I pictured as a US Marshal.”

“Yeah. I’m not what most of our ‘clients’ picture either.” Kathryn grinned, waving a hand at her attire. “The jacket and black pants are strictly for the office. Usually, I’m in jeans or sweats. It’s useful to look like a soccer mom when I’m doing a routine maintenance visit on someone we’ve placed in the witness protection program. The last thing new residents trying to blend into the neighborhood need is a six-foot-three guy with dark glasses in a navy-blue suit showing up on their doorstep in the middle of the afternoon while the folks next door are peeking out between the curtains.”

Cass smiled back. “I never thought about that, but it makes sense.”

“Follow me. We’re doing this interview in a private room the DOJ offered us in their suite downstairs.”

Katherine led the way back down in the elevator. Cass caught the marshal giving her the once-over in the elevator’s mirror. She knew her black open-toed heels with fire-engine-red toenails peeking out didn’t square with the conservative black blazer and tailored slacks she had on. Neither did her flowing mane of copper hair shot with streaks of gold, thanks to a very expensive salon that was her one indulgence.

“I must say, you’re not what I imagined either,” Katherine remarked, without a trace of embarrassment at having been caught staring. “I read your bio. You’ve interviewed some pretty tough characters.”

“They weren’t choirboys, that’s for sure. But I bet you’ve got some great stories you could tell.” Into her interviewer mode, Cass automatically turned the conversation away from herself. Katherine obliged, sharing a few funny anecdotes Cass suspected she dragged out whenever anyone asked about her work. Carefully couched to entertain without divulging a single substantive detail about herself or her work.

They stopped at a lower floor where Katherine flashed her badge at an armed guard who could have been a twin to the one upstairs.Must be something about trading a life of action for hanging out all day in a sterile lobby that makes a man turn to meatball subs for comfort.

He took her enormous shoulder bag over to his desk and pawed through it, piling the contents in front of him and inspecting every item thoroughly before replacing it in the bag. Kathryn made small talk, but Cass had a feeling the woman was studying her the whole time for any hint of nervousness or undue impatience. She didn’t take offense. In her line of work, the marshal must have to consider every person she saw as a potential threat to the life of her witness.

After what seemed like hours, the guard handed it back and buzzed them through the door, where they were met by another man.Finally, somebody who looks like a fed. Hefty build, all muscle. Dark suit, crisp white shirt, black tie. Sensible black dress shoes. No smile.

“I’m Agent Smith.”

Sure you are.And I’m J.K. Rowlings.

Katherine introduced her and he led them down a series of brightly lit hallways lined with solid doors marked only with numbers. He opened #427 and ushered them into a room bare of furnishings except for a rectangular metal table and four straight-backed wooden chairs. A single sparkling-clean window offered a birds-eye view of blossoming cherry trees lining the street below. Cass noted there was no way to open it.

Other than the sexy dark stubble on his face and the expensive charcoal suit he wore, the guy sitting at the table could have passed for a fed himself. In his mid-thirties, she guessed. Big and solid with wide shoulders, like a linebacker. Dark hair cut short with military precision, square jaw, the planes in his face so sharp they could have been chiseled out. Expressionless deep-blue eyes looked back at her, impossible to read.I bet this guy is one hell of a poker player.

The well-cut suit hid his body, but Cass had a feeling there wasn’t a spare ounce of fat on it. She swallowed hard. He could have stepped straight out of last night’s personal-trainer fantasy. Tough. Hard. And definitely hot.

He lounged on the unforgiving chair, looking as comfortable as if he’d been at home on his leather recliner in front of a big-screen TV with a cold beer in his hand. That is, if he sat around at home in handcuffs.

“Zander Cole, I’d like you to meet Cassandra Newcombe. Cass will be interviewing you for a new true-crime web magazine. I believe you already signed the release.” Katherine gave them both one of her engaging grins. “To tell you the truth, I think it’s owned by a nephew of the assistant director. I can’t think of any other reason why the guys in charge would allow an interview with someone about to be ushered into our supposedly super-secret witness protection program.”

Cass had been in enough of these situations to know better than to reach out to shake hands with him. There would be no physical contact allowed between her and her subject, handcuffed or not.

Katherine pulled out a chair on the other side of the table and motioned for Cass to take a seat. “I’ll be joining you for the entire interview. I hope that’s all right,” she added.

“It’s fine. I’m used to having a security detail present when I work. But if you don’t mind, maybe you could pull your chair over there,” Cass replied, waving to a corner near the window. “You can see both of us clearly, but Mr. Cole and I won’t feel quite as much like we’re on our first date, being chaperoned by my aunt Maude.”

Pulling out the line she always used to establish her first tentative bond with a subject, she flashed him a warm smile, making it clear she wasn’t on the same plane as his guards.

* * *

Zander Cole sat up a little straighter, sizing her up. Intelligent brown eyes, strong cheekbones. Wide mouth – perfect for sucking a dick. Shoulder length reddish-brown hair, shot with streaks of gold.

And that body. He gave it a slow once-over, starting at the bottom. Sexy black heels. Every guy knew shoes like that weren’t made for taking long walks in the park. When he saw a woman in a pair of shoes like that, all he could think about was how she’d look if she didn’t have anything onbutthose shoes.

The legs in question ended in full hips curving into a narrow waist. He couldn’t see her ass, but judging from the rest of her, he’d bet it was fine. The severe black blazer she had on did nothing to hide a magnificent pair of tits, outlined by the formfitting white T-shirt. He stared straight at them, gauging her reaction. She never attempted to close her jacket, simply leaned back in her seat, let it fall open a little more. No annoyed frown. No “Hey, my eyes are up here.” He smiled. The lady was definitely playing him.

---