The Libra Affair (3 page)

She didn't answer.

He rang the bell next, twice, three times, and waited. With the sound of traffic in the background, he heard no movement inside the apartment. Looking over his shoulder, he searched the parking lot. Her car wasn't there.

He cupped his hands against the window and peered through a break at the edge of the blinds.

What?!

No one was inside. Moreover, it was completely empty. Devoid of anything.

He drew back and looked up at the apartment number at the top of the door. 1208. Jordan's unit — second floor, end unit.

But if anyone walked up to him now and asked where in the world he was standing, he'd be tempted to say the surface of Mars.

He'd never expected this, ever. How could everything inside Jordan's apartment be gone? She didn't have a lot of chick crap spread in every direction, but she had stuff … furniture, a few pictures on the walls. Then again, it wasn't as if he'd taken a line item inventory of her place. They never spent much time there. After working their day jobs, his at NASA as a scientist, hers at the drycleaners, they spent their evenings at his bar — the one his grandfather had left him — or his condo, but that made sense. His place was closer to the bar so why drive the distance to her place. There was also the unspoken fact that she didn't live in the best of neighborhoods. So where was she? Now, more than ever, he was determined to find her.

Ben hurried back to his vehicle. Like a madman, he jumped into the driver's seat and took off, burning up pavement, flying over potholes, and crossing over more than a few yellow lines along the way.

Bringing his vehicle to a brisk stop in the parking lot of the cleaners, Ben sprang out of the car and burst through the front door of the shop, sending the bell attached to the handle flying completely across the room. He barreled toward the counter where Jolie stood with a gaping mouth.

“Jolie.” Ben tried to calm himself. “Where's Jordan? Where did she go?”

“I don't know,” she answered, practically shaking.

“What happened?”

Jolie peeped out a response. “She just left.”

“What do you mean she just left?” Ben inhaled sharply. His heart pounded like a fist against his chest wall, screaming
why?

“Left.” Jolie cowered. “She didn't say anything, Ben. She just walked out.”

He drew in a deep breath. It wasn't Jolie's fault that Jordan had disappeared. He knew that. He also knew the numbness he felt earlier this morning had now morphed into anger.

Everything that was happening pointed to the conclusion that Jordan had planned all of this. He understood the part about walking out on her job. People walk out on crap jobs every day when they reach their limit. What he couldn't understand was why she picked up and checked out of her apartment without telling someone.

Ben relaxed his white-knuckled hands gripping the countertop. “Did you see where she went?” he asked Jolie.

“No.”

“Listen, Jolie,” he said, “do me a favor, will you?”

“Sure.”

“Call me if you hear from Jordan. Can you do that?”

“She'll probably want her paycheck Friday. That's what I'm guessing.”

“If you see Jordan or talk to her just find out where she's at and tell her to call me. Tell her it's real important. All right?”

Jolie nodded.

“And then call me as soon as you can.”

“You got it.”

Ben turned to leave but before he was out the door, Jolie said, “You two didn't break up, did you?”

Ben opened the door and left.

• • •

Over the last year, Jordan had been able to revert to her natural hair color — dark auburn. It was fun. She liked it. She felt attractive. Sexy. And it drove Ben wild. But all that was over now, it was time for change. She could keep the length, but she had to go black to blend in with the locals.

She walked to the back of the gym locker room, stepped inside one of the showers, and unscrewed the cap to the bottle of hair color. And after the transition was complete — hair colored, washed, and dried — Jordan Jakes said goodbye to herself and hello to her new alias, Ava Ankasa. The sound of it flowed naturally. She liked the name. It was Persian and meant “beautiful ornament.” There was a certain satire in thinking of herself as a beautiful ornament. The only beautiful ornaments she knew of existed back in England.

It'd been over a year since she had visited. Last November, her grandmother had insisted she come for Christmas, but Jordan knew it was impossible. Ben was taking her up east to Maine. It was his little surprise: a cabin, some cross-country skiing, and time alone. But as much as she had loved spending that time with Ben, she'd still missed going to England. It was the first Christmas there that she'd missed.

Jordan felt her eyes water. Then told herself, “Don't,” and forced the subject from her mind. Emotional distractions were not part of this job.

• • •

Back inside his vehicle, Ben looked inside the console for his cell phone. He checked the seat next to him, the floor, between the seats, and then realized he must have left it on his desk back at the lab. Since his corner bar was closer, he decided to go there to make his call instead of driving back to the lab.

Once inside his office, he entered his password and plugged in Google latitude. At this point, it was a matter of pride. He'd find Jordan because he deserved a better explanation to all of this, not some line telling him, “I can't do this anymore.” She owed him that much, and he was determined to have an answer.

D.C. was a big city. Huge. He only uploaded the app on her phone in case she needed help and he needed to find her. He couldn't help himself, he was overprotective and didn't want to admit to it. He never thought he'd use the app, but the time had come. If she was still carrying the same cell phone, he could zero in on her location without her ever knowing it.

Bingo.

Jordan was at the gym. So she was still in town! Probably just changed apartments, nothing more. It made sense for her to be at the gym — she loved to work out and had the body to prove it. If he got fired, that'd be the first place he'd go to work off some steam. Without wasting another second, Ben left the bar and found himself driving to the gym.

“She cancelled her membership?” Ben repeated what the young woman staffing the front desk told him. “Are you sure?”

She gave him a cheeky smile. “I'm not supposed to — ”

He interrupted her before she went on any further. He wasn't about to stand there and listen to what some bimbo had to say about rules. “When did she cancel it?”

“I think that's supposed to be confidential. But I — ”

“Is she still here?”

“I'm really not supposed — ”

He spied the computer sitting behind the counter. “Hey, listen,” he said, softening his tone, “would you mind if I looked up a number on your computer? The other girl who used to work the front desk never minded. It won't take a second.”

“I'm not supposed to — ”

He angled his head and smiled at the young woman who seemed to be at a loss for words, other than to say, “I'm not supposed to.” If there was one thing Ben was good at, it was selling a drink with a simple smile and some charm. If he could do that, he could certainly use a cute wink to land the use of a computer.

“Well … ” She looked down the hallway. “If you make it quick before my boss finishes teaching her class. I really don't know if it's allowed.”

“Sure it is.” He held up his hand and gave her the all-American Boy Scout salute. “And look, if it'll make you feel any better, I'll be in and out like lightning.”

It didn't take long for him to plug into the Google latitude site and track Jordan's whereabouts again.
Badda-boom
. Her cell phone signal said she was still at the gym.

After closing the page, he turned to the young woman, smiled, and said, “Thanks, you're a gem.” Then he headed toward the hallway that led to the exercise studios at back of the facility. Not seeing Jordan through the glass windows, he checked the break room next. She wasn't there. Then he headed toward the locker rooms. She wasn't anywhere else to be seen; she had to be in the locker room. It was the only logical place.

Ben parked himself at the drinking fountains across from the locker room doors and waited. About ten trillion neurons fired through his brain, repeating the question foremost on his mind.
Why, Jordan? Why?

Ben felt a sudden surge in his blood pressure, his palms began to sweat, he was near shaking, and he had the urge to run. He had run many times before, but he wasn't running this time. He was there and even if he ended up making a fool of himself, so be it. At least he could say for once in his life, he tried.

As soon as the first woman came through the locker room door, Ben advanced on her. “Excuse me, can you do me a favor?”

“I'll try,” the woman replied.

“Would you mind telling a lady inside the locker room, Jordan Jakes is her name, that someone needs her at the front desk?”

“I'm sorry,” she looked puzzled, “but there's no one else in the locker room.”

“No one?”

“No, I'm sorry.”

“You're sure?”

“I'm quite sure.” She frowned and stepped back.

Ben's shoulders dropped.

Then she said, “It's not the busiest time of day. Maybe she's already come and gone. Did you check the log-in book at the front desk?”

He took a quick look down the hallway. “Thanks,” he said as he regrouped. “I appreciate your help.” And with nothing else to do he turned toward the water fountains. He took in a long drink, keeping an eye on the woman, and as soon as she rounded the corner toward the front, he found himself pushing open the door to the women's locker room.

He took a quick survey of the room. It appeared empty.

“Hello?” he called out just in case. When no one answered, he jogged past the vanity area, the commodes — looking underneath the stalls — and ran into the back rooms. With no water running, he checked the shower area first and then jogged to the changing area where he tried opening every locker without a lock. The woman was right; no one was in the locker room except one very out-of-place man.

Overcome with awkwardness, he decided it was time to get out of there.

On his way out, Ben made another sweep of the exercise studios, the weight room, and lounge. There was no sign of Jordan.

It didn't make sense. How could she not be there? Unless she forgot her phone or for some reason ditched it there.

As he started toward the front door, he spied a cell phone sitting on the counter against the wall. It was Jordan's. He knew it. He smiled at the eager blonde at the front desk. Straight teeth, square jaw, six-four, and a mop of Scotch locks usually did the trick to get him what he wanted.

“The drink machine ate my quarters,” he said to her, still smiling.

“Did it?” she replied, posturing back at him flirtatiously. She opened the money drawer and dug out six quarters. “Better luck next time.” She held the quarters in the palm of her hand so that he'd have to slide his hand over hers to take them.

Instead, he said, “Any chance you could have a look at the machine? I think it's jammed.” He knew he sounded lame, but he needed to get her away from the desk.

“You
are
needy, aren't you?” She headed around the counter, shaking the quarters in her hand. “Come on then.”

With an elbow, he knocked a stack of brochures from the counter to the floor. “Ah, jeez,” he remarked, acting embarrassed. “I'm sorry.” He popped a hand across his forehead.

The girl's eyes widened.

“I'll just pick these up,” he said.

“Here, let me help you.” She started toward him.

“No, no. I've got it.” He quickly dropped to the floor, posturing as though he didn't want her to see him embarrassed.

“Sure?” she asked.

“Yeah. Be right there.” He watched out of the corner of his eye as she reluctantly walked toward the break room at the back of the facility. When she was out of sight, he zipped behind the counter and slipped Jordan's cell phone inside his pocket. Then he rushed toward the front door, not looking back. He shoved open the front door, and before it closed, he heard the woman calling after him.

“Hey? Wait. Where are you going?”

Ben kept moving.

“Jordan,” a man spoke to her as he laid a heavy hand on her arm. “How you been?”

“What do you want, Knox?” She jerked her arm free. Once Brian Knox caught sight of her inside the terminal at Dulles International Airport, she knew there was little she could do to avoid him. The man was a drip, a pain in the derrière, and nothing more than a waste of government resources.

“You going somewhere?” he pried.

“What's it to you?”

“Just curious.”

“Oh, please,” she snipped.

But he was persistent and said, “Let's get a drink.” Then he smiled, revealing the whites of his perfectly aligned teeth. “It's been awhile.”

“Rain check.”

“Rain's not in the forecast.” He touched her again, only this time he squeezed the flesh of her arm; he didn't want to take no for an answer.

Annoyed, she reclaimed her arm. Another day, she would have double-socked both of his eyeballs for having touched her, but there wasn't time for a wrestling match. She had one objective and she wasn't about to let this idiot get in her way.

“Careful,” he said.

“Yes, one can't be too careful.” Jordan stared at him; he got the point.

“I heard you left the Agency?”

Jordan knew he had no way of knowing she had gone underground for the CIA. That she now worked covert ops. That she was a double agent. He wasn't supposed to know and given the choice, she wouldn't have wanted him to know. If there was anyone who could blow her cover without even trying, it was Knox.