“How did the Detective treat you?”
“Alright.” Jordan smiled ruefully, her mind going back to yesterday’s encounter. “She did make it quite clear that she didn’t give a rat’s ass that we were FBI, and her only reason for cooperating in the least, was her desire to catch this bastard. She’s ballsy. She might be the best person to have taken the case. I don’t see her giving up.”
“I guess if she doesn’t put up with your shit, she won’t let anyone run over her.” A hint of a smile played on Susan’s face. Whatever their relationship, the two women had a lot of respect for each other. Jordan knew any teasing from her boss was because she genuinely liked her.
“Hey, she didn’t fall for Matty, either.” Jordan said defensively. She wasn’t sure why it mattered that Detective Foxx had shot her down. She tried to tell herself to take the rejection and move on, but her thoughts had returned to the hot redhead more times than she was comfortable admitting.
“Don’t get sidetracked, Gray.” Susan said sternly. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly, but Jordan knew from the throwback to her last name that Susan wasn’t joking, and she wouldn’t be stupid enough to blow this case because she couldn’t keep her libido in check.
Jordan fidgeted in her chair. “I won’t, Assistant Dir…”
Susan waived a hand dismissively. “Jordan, please. I know I’m asking a lot for you and Matty to do this on your own time. I hope I’m not asking too much.”
“You aren’t.” Jordan shook her head. Her eyes turned cold. “I want him just as badly as you do.”
Susan gulped the remaining coffee and set the cup on the table. “I need to get back.” She stood up, her eyes telling Jordan to stay seated. She tapped a finger on the file and met Jordan’s eyes. “I’ll call you when Julie feels like talking. I’m not sure if she got a look at him. It was pretty dark. However, maybe she can remember something.”
Jordan watched her walk away; her shoulders huddled against the wind. Her heart went out to her boss. Her partner was safe, albeit hurt, but they had lost their baby. She hoped that the wounds she couldn’t see would heal with time.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialed a number and waited. When he finally picked up, she smiled. “Hey.”
“Hey, boss.”
Jordan smiled again. His moniker for her made her smiled every time. She wasn’t his boss. In fact, he had shown her more than once that if anyone were boss, it was him. She stood up and stuck the file under her arm. “You busy?”
“Nah. What’s up?”
She could hear his gravelly voice and wondered how he was as healthy as he was when he smoked like a chimney. It seemed almost illegal that her trainer was in better shape than she was, given her strict diet and exercise regimen. The only vice she allowed herself, besides cars and women, was alcohol. She figured she was going to die one day, might as well let liver failure take a shot at her. “You up for some sparring?”
“Yeah, sure.” She could hear him talking to a voice in the background, decidedly female, and she chuckled. It was obvious she was interrupting some sparring already. “Give me thirty minutes and I’ll meet you there.”
“Sure thing.” She ended the call and shoved her phone back in her pocket. She cinched her collar up around her neck in a vain attempt to block the wind. “Fucking cold weather.”
She didn’t realize she’d sworn out loud until a fellow pedestrian glared at her and tried to cover her son’s ears. “Sorry.” Only she wasn’t remorseful. The kid probably heard worse in school anyway.
She crossed Michigan and headed back towards Mercy Medical. She was illegally parked in an unloading zone in front of the hospital and figured her fifteen minutes was passed being over. She increased the speed of her stride. The wind blowing off the lake was the coldest of the season, and she shivered uncontrollably.
She spotted her car and rolled her eyes at the pink ticket flapping under the wipers. She ripped it off her car and wadded it up, her irritation making her want to toss it on the ground to prove a point, but instead she shoved it in her pocket and got in her cold car. It turned over reluctantly, wanting to make a point that it didn’t want to work in this weather any more than she did. She proved her own point and sped away from the parking lot before the engine had a chance to warm up and let it whine in protest.
A half an hour later, she was strapping on gloves, waiting for her trainer to show up. She threw several blind punches in the air, feeling the muscles in her shoulders start to warm up. She moved slower in the winter, or maybe she was just getting old. Thirty-six wasn’t exactly old, but lately she felt it. The last few years had snuck up on her and a quick look in the room-length mirrors confirmed her suspicions. The wrinkles were starting to show.
She ran a finger over the laugh lines around her eyes and lifted her eyebrows, groaning at the creases on her forehead. “Ahh fuck, Gray. Don’t let one crazy redhead make you feel old.”
A loud chuckle from across the room got her attention, and she spun around to see Tony laughing at her. Tony Wozniak, or Woz to his close friends. Retired FBI, at fifty-eight, the man looked better than most guys half his age. “See what women will do to you.”
“Hey, Woz. How come it hasn’t happened to you?” Jordan smiled and punched him in the shoulder.
“Whiskey and maybe cigarettes. All the preservatives.” Tony was the father she never had. Her own father had abandoned her mother years before, and most times, unless she thought long and hard, she couldn’t even remember what he looked like. Tony had taken her under his wing long before she joined the FBI. In fact, there had been a time when she thought that maybe he and her mother might like each other.
His proclivity for women and smoking changed her mind rather quickly. Her mother, God bless her soul, didn’t need another man coming into her life and leaving just as fast.
She watched him pull on his own gloves. He punched one hand into the other to make sure they were tight then repeated the process on the other hand. “You ready, kiddo?”
Jordan nodded, her feet already dancing on the pad below her. She put her mouth guard in and waited while he did the same.
She watched his eyes, admiration in them. She was cagey and a good boxer to boot. She could feel his respect for her. Their sparring matches usually ended in some well-placed punches on both sides, but more often than not, he could still take her. She thought back to her childhood and wondered if she hadn’t wandered into this very gym twenty years ago, if her life would have taken the same course.
They danced around each other, throwing a few light punches, each feeling out their opponent. In silent agreement, they both raised their gloves and readied for the real match. She moved around him, her left hand resting just in front of her chin protectively. She jabbed with her right, and soon, she had landed several good blows to his ribcage.
He took advantage of her weak left shoulder, a result of a gunshot wound years earlier and took a poke at her unprotected jaw. She wheeled around, stunned momentarily. She shook her head, shaking off the stars.
“Come on, kiddo. Keep your left up. You gotta guard your moneymaker.” He smirked behind his glove, and she felt her blood start to boil. Jordan was competitive by nature, and she hated to lose, especially to someone twenty years her senior, whether she liked him or not.
She brought her shoulders forward. Her eyes narrowed, and she focused on the small opening above his glove. She threw a roundhouse punch to his left ear and smiled when it hit home. His head whipped sideways, and his left hand flew to his ear protectively. She jabbed at his abdomen, and when he bent forward, she threw an uppercut at his chin. He reeled backwards, his hands in front of his face, and she went at him, her fists pummeling him everywhere.