Page 8 of Choose Me

As I hesitantly stepped into his office, his gruff voice spoke from behind the heavy oak desk he sat behind, “Ah, James.” He said with barely contained disdain, my presence hardly worth acknowledging as he lazily gestured towards the chair in front of him. My gut clenched in anticipation as I sat, facing the source of my mounting dread and apprehension.

I sat down, trying to keep my annoyance at bay, as I directly faced the bringer of constant scrutiny. I clenched my jaw as I stared daggers at the man who ripped me away from Ava on my day off.

This better be fucking important.

“James, the Bureau needs you to immediately fly to Florida to assist our Miami branch with a new case that requires prompt attention.”

“Pardon me, sir, but I am actively involved in a case here.”

“I am well aware of what case you are involved in right now, so I have assigned Agent Matthews to take over your case as lead until you return from Miami.”

“How long am I expected to stay in Miami, sir? I spat through gritted teeth, my voice filled with venom.

“For as long as it takes,” he replied coldly.

“Sir, with all due respect, I need to be here. My girlfriend is pregnant, and there have been threats made that directly threaten her safety.” I clenched my fists in an effort to stifle my rage as I looked directly into his eyes.

“Agent Buchanan, the only reason you are still wearing that badge is that, for reasons I do not understand, my bosses believe you are an asset to the bureau. But after your absolutely abhorrent behavior and unprofessionalism in Oregon, not to mention the direct physical assault you committed against me—your superior officer, you are lucky you aren’t rotting in a federal prison. With that being said, do not assume that your personal relationship with a ward of your past case, a case that, although the killer was caught and killed, did not tarnish your record and or go unnoticed. If I had my way, you’d be on your ass or someone else’s problem. However, this is higher than my pay grade, unfortunately, but that doesn’t mean that your path back up the ladder won’t be painful and requires a certain level of repentance for your poor decisions. And well, with your history and personal ties to the subject of this case, I assumed you would be jumping at the chance to be a part of it.”

“Sir?” I inquired. “What do you mean, my personal ties to the subject of this case?”

Martinez slid a file folder in front of me with a smirk. I tore my eyes away from him to open it. Inside was a picture of a woman with brown hair cut into a longer bob. She had dark brown eyes and was wearing a sort of amused smirk in the mug shot.

“Margaret Callahan, age 30, sister of one Benjamin Callahan, AKA The Skinner. Margaret has been institutionalized since she was fifteen after Benjamin killed their father after finding out he had been raping Margaret since she was three years old. The raping resulted in a pregnancy, and Margaret’s child was forcibly given up for adoption. Shortly after, she broke into the adoptive parent's home and stabbed them over fifty times each. She then took her child and went on the run. Miami PD caught her, and she was charged with first-degree murder but was found to be mentally insane and unfit to stand trial. She was immediately committed to St. Mary’s Institute for the Criminally Insane, where she has remained since her incarceration. One month ago, Margaret was informed of her brother’s death, and she had a psychotic break. She ended up brutally murdering two nurses, one security personnel, and a poor old lady in the parking lot who was visiting her family member, where she stole her car. Miami PD was unsuccessful in finding her, and because of the number of murders she has committed, she is now classified as a disorganized killer. She is believed to be in the Miami area in hiding.”

My mind struggled to wrap itself around the fact that Benjamin had a sister, and this sister was just as psychotic and violent as he was. “I understand that I was a part of her brother’s case, but I am sure that the Miami bureau has this under control, considering this is out of New York’s jurisdiction.”

“While I agree with that evaluation, Agent Buchanan, it seems as if the powers that be think that you have invaluable insight into the thought process and the psychological profile of her brother that may assist them in finding her. You leave tomorrow morning.”

“Sir, respectfully, tomorrow morning is too short of notice. I have an appointment to find out the gender of our baby next week, and right now is a critical point in her pregnancy. I need to be here for her.”

“Respectfully, Agent Buchanan, this isn’t a negotiation. Your flight leaves tomorrow, and you will be picked up by the agent heading this case upon arrival. I expect regular updates and you to be on your best behavior.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but he raised his hand to stop me.

“You’re dismissed, Agent Buchanan.”

I closed my mouth, balling my fists to try to contain the seething rage coursing through my body. My hands shake as I nod, turning to storm out of his office, fighting the urge to turn back around and yank that asshat across his perfectly polished desk.

FIVE

AVA

After James left, I took a shower and returned and cleaned the kitchen. Everett busied himself with making multiple trips up from his car and set to unpacking his things. I was surprised to see how many boxes he carried up and even more interested in what type of car he drove that would fit all the boxes he brought in. Every once in a while, I would ask him if he needed help, to which he gave some smart-ass retort about being a capable man and to sit and look pretty and that I should try not to get too turned on watching the sweat gleam off his muscles. That was just how he was. Our relationship was lighthearted and one that I had grown to cherish.

Pregnancy cravings were coming on more frequently, and often, they didn’t make sense, but I felt this deep-seated need—like an itch that I had to scratch, and I became restless and nauseous if I didn’t settle my stomach. The urge was so strong that my stomach started churning if I didn't immediately get what it wanted. Right now, I could only think about a BLT sandwich—bread, crispy bacon, and juicy tomatoes.

Fumbling around the kitchen cabinets and fridge for the ingredients I needed, Everett grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator. He turned to face me and asked, “Whatcha making baby girl?”

He gulped down some water and leaned against the counter next to me.

“BLT. You want one?”

“You’ve got to quit spoiling me, or I might never leave.”

“I don’t mind you being here.” I popped the bread into the toaster.

“You say that now until you walk in on me spanking my meat.” His lips curled in devilish amusement as he delivered his question.

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