A Lot like Love
Page 61
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?”
Of course, three people in the room knew the true answer to that question. But Jordan maintained her poker face, as did the U.S. attorney.
“Because it’s the fair thing to do, Mr. Rhodes. That’s the best answer I can give you,” Cameron said. “One thing, however—for appearances’ sake, I think it would be best if you spent tonight at the hospital. And I’d appreciate it if you would keep a low profile over the next couple weeks.”
“Not a problem. It’s not like I have an active social calendar these days,” Kyle said.
“Sit back and put your left leg on the table,” Agent Pallas told him. He unzipped the backpack and pulled out a black ankle monitor.
Kyle lifted the leg of his jumpsuit. “I don’t know what to say,” he said to Cameron. “Thank you, I guess. It’s good to see they’ve replaced Silas Briggs with someone who’s a little more reasonable.” He grinned. “Not to mention, someone with a much prettier face.”
Agent Pallas snapped the ankle monitor on, and Kyle yelled out in pain.
“Son of a bitch, you got some skin there!” he said to Pallas.
Cameron threw the FBI agent a look. “Jack.”
He shrugged. “It slipped.” He turned back to Kyle with a look that could wilt plants.
“Easy there, Wolverine,” Kyle grumbled. “Put the claws back in—I meant no disrespect.”
There was a knock at the door. Mr. Cranky the prison guard stuck his head in. “Hey—we’ve got a package for Sawyer.”
“You’re getting deliveries at the hospital already?” Jordan asked her brother.
Agent Pallas went to the door. He took the package from Mr. Cranky, which turned out to be a blue garment bag, and brought it into the room. He hung the bag on the back of the door, unzipped it, and did a quick check of the contents.
“Clothes? Did you arrange for that?” Cameron asked Jack.
He shook his head. “Must’ve been one of the other agents.” He stole a glance at Jordan, and she knew.
Nick.
Cameron clapped her hands together. “Well. I’m sure you two don’t want us hanging around any longer.” She pulled a card out of her jacket pocket and handed it to Kyle. “This is the contact information for your probation officer. He’ll be expecting you to call him tomorrow when you get home. Remember, we’ll be watching.” She joined Agent Pallas at the door, and paused before the two of them left. “And stay away from Twitter, Mr. Rhodes. For all our sakes.” With an efficient turn of her heel, she was gone.
“Are they serious?” Kyle asked Jordan. “I can just walk out of here tomorrow?”
She shrugged innocently. “Looks that way.” She pointed to the garment bag. “Let’s see what’s inside.”
Kyle got up from the hospital bed and walked over to the bag. He unzipped it and pulled out jeans and a gray long-sleeved shirt. “Jeans.” He fingered the material, turning quiet. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. “Never thought I’d be so glad to see denim in my life.”
He regrouped and threw Jordan a wry look. “Who’d have thought the FBI could be so thoughtful?”
She came over and rested her head against her brother’s shoulder. Or one agent in particular, at least. “I think there’s more to some of these FBI guys than meets the eye.”
The door flew open and Grey Rhodes rushed in, looking harried despite his tailored sport coat and dark pants. He saw Kyle, exhaled in relief, and rested his hands on his knees like he might pass out from running. “You’re here.”
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?”
Of course, three people in the room knew the true answer to that question. But Jordan maintained her poker face, as did the U.S. attorney.
“Because it’s the fair thing to do, Mr. Rhodes. That’s the best answer I can give you,” Cameron said. “One thing, however—for appearances’ sake, I think it would be best if you spent tonight at the hospital. And I’d appreciate it if you would keep a low profile over the next couple weeks.”
“Not a problem. It’s not like I have an active social calendar these days,” Kyle said.
“Sit back and put your left leg on the table,” Agent Pallas told him. He unzipped the backpack and pulled out a black ankle monitor.
Kyle lifted the leg of his jumpsuit. “I don’t know what to say,” he said to Cameron. “Thank you, I guess. It’s good to see they’ve replaced Silas Briggs with someone who’s a little more reasonable.” He grinned. “Not to mention, someone with a much prettier face.”
Agent Pallas snapped the ankle monitor on, and Kyle yelled out in pain.
“Son of a bitch, you got some skin there!” he said to Pallas.
Cameron threw the FBI agent a look. “Jack.”
He shrugged. “It slipped.” He turned back to Kyle with a look that could wilt plants.
“Easy there, Wolverine,” Kyle grumbled. “Put the claws back in—I meant no disrespect.”
There was a knock at the door. Mr. Cranky the prison guard stuck his head in. “Hey—we’ve got a package for Sawyer.”
“You’re getting deliveries at the hospital already?” Jordan asked her brother.
Agent Pallas went to the door. He took the package from Mr. Cranky, which turned out to be a blue garment bag, and brought it into the room. He hung the bag on the back of the door, unzipped it, and did a quick check of the contents.
“Clothes? Did you arrange for that?” Cameron asked Jack.
He shook his head. “Must’ve been one of the other agents.” He stole a glance at Jordan, and she knew.
Nick.
Cameron clapped her hands together. “Well. I’m sure you two don’t want us hanging around any longer.” She pulled a card out of her jacket pocket and handed it to Kyle. “This is the contact information for your probation officer. He’ll be expecting you to call him tomorrow when you get home. Remember, we’ll be watching.” She joined Agent Pallas at the door, and paused before the two of them left. “And stay away from Twitter, Mr. Rhodes. For all our sakes.” With an efficient turn of her heel, she was gone.
“Are they serious?” Kyle asked Jordan. “I can just walk out of here tomorrow?”
She shrugged innocently. “Looks that way.” She pointed to the garment bag. “Let’s see what’s inside.”
Kyle got up from the hospital bed and walked over to the bag. He unzipped it and pulled out jeans and a gray long-sleeved shirt. “Jeans.” He fingered the material, turning quiet. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with emotion. “Never thought I’d be so glad to see denim in my life.”
He regrouped and threw Jordan a wry look. “Who’d have thought the FBI could be so thoughtful?”
She came over and rested her head against her brother’s shoulder. Or one agent in particular, at least. “I think there’s more to some of these FBI guys than meets the eye.”
The door flew open and Grey Rhodes rushed in, looking harried despite his tailored sport coat and dark pants. He saw Kyle, exhaled in relief, and rested his hands on his knees like he might pass out from running. “You’re here.”
