A MODEL AGENT

A Profiler Story

Continues on from Mistaken Identity, (but it's not really a follow on) so please read that first.

NB I know nothing about modeling, or drugs, nor is this meant to be taken too seriously so please be kind)

All standard disclaimers apply.

Three weeks after their return from Miami, the team was celebrating a momentary lapse in their workload, when Bailey called a meeting in the Control Center, and dropped his bombshell, then sat back and waited for the fall out.

John stared around the big table at his co-workers, then back at Bailey, his face blank with shock.

"You want me to do WHAT?" he asked, in total disbelief.

"Narcotics have requested our help. Because of our precarious position with financing at the moment, I have agreed to help them out. We will get big brownie points for the VCTF if we do this, and get a result for them."

The look of horror on John's face didn't abate one bit.

"But why ME?' he asked in a panicking and pathetic voice. "Surely they have got someone else they can use? I couldn't possibly do that sort of thing."

Rachel glanced across the table, and exchanged a look with Grace, then quickly looked back down at the table, so as to hide her smile.

"Their CO, Susan Jamison, requested you. She asked for you by name. The top brass complied. I assumed you knew her."

"I've never met her … oh once maybe, at the Christmas Dinner last year, the one You couldn't go to and made Me go in your place. I had to sit next to her." The whine in John's voice increased.

"And no doubt, really impressed her with your charm," said Rachel, earning herself a hot and angry glare.

"I am so glad you are finding this amusing," John snarled at her, and she smiled sweetly back at him.

Bailey now had to try and control his smile, at the peevishness in John's voice.

"Well as we have just finished the McCarthy murder investigation and Rachel and I can handle the Venning case, I can spare you for a couple of days, so Susan is coming down in about 5 minutes, to discuss their case with us. Have you finished complaining?"

George sniggered, and Grace put her hand over her mouth, to stop laughing out loud.

John crossed his arms over his chest, and glared at them. He was about to say something else, when someone appeared at the top of the control center steps, and Bailey jumped to his feet, holding out a hand in welcome.

"Susan, so glad to see you again," he said. "Come and meet the team."

Rachel watched with interest as Bailey introduced the older woman, smiling and offering her hand when it was her turn. She had heard stories about how this woman had reached the top job in the Narcotics division of the FBI, and been impressed by them.

She cast another glance at John, who was still sitting with his arms crossed, pouting, and smothered her smile.

"Well," said Bailey, when everyone had been introduced. "Take a seat and tell us what is it exactly you need from us?"

"Well we have been trying to break up a drug ring for some time," began Susan, looking around at the VCTF team. "And we have had our eye on somebody for ages – his name is Murray Novak. He is extremely wealthy, old money, and we believe he is using his patronage with a modeling agency to force some of the models to distribute for him, and he has ties to organized crime. So we want to put one of our guys in to keep an eye on him. Our guy will go in as a photographer, and of course, we need the model, which is where I hope you will be able to help. Novak has a lot to do with this very well known modeling agency, who is currently looking for male models; and Novak is hosting a special 'shoot' this weekend, and is looking at picking some unknowns, to elevate to stardom. We want to put someone into the shoot, so they can get in and out of his mansion without arousing too much suspicion."

John ground his teeth, and Susan looked over at him, smiling widely.

"I think you would be great," she said, taking in his blue, blue eyes, and smoldering expression. "The man we had originally planned to do this, came down with chicken pox last week. So I was stuck for a while, this being our best chance to get someone close to this guy, when someone suggested I try the VCTF, and you. I remembered sitting next to you at some FBI function or other, and thought I'd ring Bailey and see what happened."

"I can't do it," said John, trying to control the panic in his voice, talking for the first time since Susan arrived. "I wouldn't know what to do, and anyway, I'm far too old for that. It would be way too embarrassing."

Susan looked over at Bailey, who raised both eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't think you know very much about the modeling world," she said to John. "Men your age are in constant demand. You could be a brother, boyfriend, husband or father. It's only the women who have to be anorexic teenagers, and it's only a picture shoot anyway, I promise you there is no pain involved. We really need to get our guy in there as your photographer, so he can try and get close to this man, without suspicion. Once he's established, well no one will be expecting you to be picked as one of the finalists. You'll just be sent on your way, like most of the others will be."

"Besides, it will be a laugh, John," said Grace. "You get to hang out with all the pretty people for a couple of days for a few lousy photos. Where's the harm."

John looked down at his crossed arms, and heaved a pained sigh. "What will I have to do?' he asked in sulky resignation.

"Smile prettily at the camera," said Rachel, and George laughed again. Bailey frowned at them, and leaned forward.

"How many days will you need John for?" he asked Susan, who was still staring at John in a steady manner. She turned back to Bailey and smiled at him.

"Two days only, they will keep the 3 most promising longer, but we aren't expecting that - if I can get you to come with me now John, I'll introduce you to Phillip, who is the photographer, and one of my best agents, and we will set up getting you a stylist, and a wardrobe, etc, then tomorrow we will head up to Eagle Crest, which is the name of his mansion where the shoot is being held. I know this is short notice, but I am quite desperate at the moment. I really have to thank you for this Bailey."

John's face had become more and more sullen as the words 'stylist' and 'wardrobe' had been mentioned, while Rachel and George both worked hard to control their smirks.

Susan looked around the room, and nodded at the team, then walked up the stairs, with John trailing reluctantly behind her, looking for all the world like a little boy about to be called into the Principle's office, and shooting venomous glares back in their direction.

"I'll need you to come back here this afternoon and finish up some paperwork John," Bailey called after him, and was rewarded by a scowl as John followed Susan to the elevator.

When he was out of sight, Rachel and George burst into laughter, and Bailey tried to look disapproving, but failed miserably.

"You are both awful," said Grace. "Poor John, he's so not happy about this."

"Yes," agreed Rachel. "John, doing a photo shoot! How priceless! George, you will have to get hold of the photos, we can use them to blackmail him for ages and ages!"

George nodded. "Oh, I intend to," he said, and even Bailey was grinning.

"You don't think that John will photograph well?" asked Grace, her head on one side. "I mean, as much as we like to tease him, he is a very good looking guy."

"Oh please," said Rachel; then looked around at her co-workers. "What?"

She sniffed a little. "Whatever turns you on, I suppose," she said dismissively. "He certainly doesn't do anything for me!" and she got up and walked up the stairs towards her office with her nose in the air.

George and Grace exchanged glances. "I think she protests too much," said George lightly, and Grace nodded. Bailey picked up a file that was sitting on the table in front of him, and shrugged his shoulders.

"Let's see if you can find out any back ground on Charles Venning, George," he said and headed up the stairs after Rachel.

It was much later in the afternoon, when the remains of the team gathered in the control room for an information sharing session, on their latest case.

John appeared at the top of the stairs, and Rachel stopped in mid sentence and they all watched him walk into the room.

He sat down, propped his elbows on the table, and dropped his head into his hands, in an attitude of abject misery.

George stopped keying, and Grace, who was sitting next to him, reached out and touched his hand.

"What's wrong John?" she asked, with as much sympathy as she could get in her voice, without laughing.

He heaved a sigh; then turned to Bailey.

"I have gone above and beyond the call of duty," he said, a spark of anger igniting in his blue eyes. "Do you know what they did to me today?" he added in outraged tones. "I deserve, no I demand a raise."

Bailey schooled his expression into one of polite interest. "What did they do?" he asked.

"They made me take off most of my clothes, for a start," John said in a voice so offended and incredulous, that both Grace and Rachel had to conceal their smiles.

"Then, they discovered that I have a bullet scar on my shoulder that will show in photographs, so they called in a make-up expert – yes, that's right, Make-Up - to see if they could cover it up. But by no means, was that the worst thing."

"Oh," said George, actually closing his laptop, to devote more attention to John's tale.

"Apparently, real men don't have hair on their chests," said John bitterly. "They made me have it waxed. I will never again complain about the pain from a simple bullet wound."

Both Grace and Rachel burst out laughing, but Grace quickly recovered to put her hand out to John in sympathy.

"Oh sweetie," she said. "We know only too well, what you must have gone through."

"I tried not to scream too much, I tried to take it like a man," said John. "But someone mentioned having one's photograph taken was not painful. I am here to state that is not true!"

Bailey and George were also laughing now, at John's woebegone expression.

"Then," he continued, in the voice of a man driven to the edge, "They had to decide what I would be wearing. And guess what they decided for the first picture - a pair of jeans and cowboy boots is what I will be wearing. That's it – just a pair of jeans and cowboy boots! Not any jeans, either, but jeans that are at least three sizes too small for me to wear without doing serious damage to myself! And I had to really argue for the jeans – they wanted me to take them off." And he heaved a huge sigh. "And wear a G-string! I was walking out of the door, when they gave in and said I could have the jeans."

"It's only going to be a couple of days," said George, smirking. "You can do it."

"It's only been a couple of hours so far, and I don't think I can," said John gloomily. "Already I've had all the hairs on my chest ripped out by the roots, been asked to take all of my clothes off in public, and had some man – a man I'm telling you, fondling almost every part of my anatomy, and deciding what my skin tones are, whether I should wear lip gloss for the photos, and what color underwear I'll be wearing. All the time surrounded by a lot of women who think I should do things like exfoliate, which sounds disgusting and I refuse to do! I have never been so humiliated in my life, listening to these people discuss angles and lighting and which side of my body is better. I really think I have gone above and way, way, way beyond the call of duty."

The team were all laughing at John's tale of woe, by the time he finished, and finally he reluctantly grinned, some of the misery leaving his face.

"Sounds awful," said Bailey, truly shocked. "I didn't realize all this would be happening. Still, too late to back out now, and surely the most painful part is over."

"I really hope so," said John. "If I had known about the waxing thing, I would have shot myself in the foot to avoid it. It really, really hurt!"

George screwed up his face. "Ouch," he said, "I bet it did. Still, I bet you look real pretty and smooth now, and no more scars till at least you have a shower." and every one laughed again.

John wandered off to his desk, to finish up the paperwork that Bailey wanted, moodily staring at his computer screen and wondering how he was going to cope with the next couple of days.

After a little while Rachel came up, and perched on the corner of his desk, and he stopped what he was doing and looked up at her enquiringly.

"Tell you what," she said, "Come over to my place and we can have a few drinks tonight. I'll cook my famous Mexican chicken."

"O.K.," he replied, and for the first time that day actually smiled. "Sounds good, I'll bring the wine."

Rachel stood up and walked away, then turned back as she reached the corner. "And if you are very good," she said, fluttering her eye lashes at him in a parody of flirtation, "I'll rub some soothing lotion all over your poor, painful but now strangely naked chest."

John laughed this time and raised his eyebrows.

"It's a deal," he said, "But then only if I can do the same for you."

"Promise?" she asked, in a wonderful imitation of a sultry temptress. "Don't be late."

They had started meeting together once or twice a week for a drink after work several months before, after John's girlfriend had been killed, and it was now an established ritual that Rachel would cook a meal for John or he would buy a take out meal for both of them on these nights.

They still enjoyed sniping at each other at work, and seemed to compete to see who could be the most annoying when they were with the rest of the team, but in private they had settled into a companionable friendship, which for some reason, they both hid from the rest of the VCTF, neither of them wanting to be reminded of the accusations Rachel had faced about sexual harassment, which had caused them both extreme embarrassment.

For some reason, neither of them was willing to disturb the fragile balance of their friendship by exposing it to the eyes of anyone else at the moment. And neither of them would admit, that they would like to take it further, both of them thinking that the other might back away at a sudden move.

Rachel left for her apartment, and 10 minutes later John draped himself in Bailey's doorway, to say goodnight to him.

"Have fun on assignment for the next few days," said Bailey, who was sitting back in his chair, a cigar between his fingers, and a shot of whiskey in his glass.

"Yeah, thanks," said John, sarcastically. "Can't wait."

"Well keep in touch, twice a day by phone. Any problems and get out of there. You know the drill."

John nodded. "Phil, the photographer seems like he knows what he's doing. And he's the one that will be snooping around. But I'll touch base twice a day, and see you on Thursday, or hopefully before, if they decide I am hopeless and dismiss me the first day.

Actually, that's probably what's going to happen." And he walked toward the elevator,

feeling a little happier.