Jacob stared at the red numbers on the digital clock, willing himself to fall back to sleep. In the past 42 hours he'd snatched maybe five cumulative hours of rest. Jacob shifted his position and counted backward from 100, but was no use. His mind was buzzing and apparently even his recent physical exertions hadn't been enough to quiet it.
Jacob carefully eased off the mattress so as not to wake the woman lying beside him. He pulled on his boxers and crossed the room to the computer desk. A quick glance at the monitor told Jacob he wasn't the only person in the apartment complex with trouble sleeping in. He watched Elizabeth Scott doing crunches in her living room, blissfully oblivious that her workout was being observed.
Eight years had passed since he'd last seen Liz, but her face remained so familiar to him. When he'd returned to Reddington all those years ago, he had disassociated himself with Elizabeth Scott. He never sought further information from Reddington. He never did so much as a Google search.
This wasn't to say, however, that he wasn't aware of the broad strokes of her life. He'd acquired the information accidentally, through a comments innocently dropped by Reddington. It wasn't Jacob's fault that he had had perfect recall of each and every one of those facts. It wasn't his fault that he knew she had graduated at the top of her class from the University of Baltimore or that she did her graduate work in Forensic Psychology at The University of Columbia. He couldn't be blamed for knowing that she started with the FBI's Mobile Psych Unit out of NYC in 2009, nor that she was currently on loan a DC Task Force hunting the Good Samaritan Killer.
Jacob had been surprised and a bit disappointed to learn Liz had pursued a career in Law Enforcement. The girl he'd met in Ohama had been volatile, wild, and a little ruthless. She was one of the last people on Earth he would have picked to choose a life dedicated to following and enforcing rules.
Perhaps it was the risky nature of her job that had drawn her to it. Elizabeth was hunting the most dangerous people in the country, or at least the most dangerous people the FBI knew about. Jacob was well acquainted with the rush of dancing on the edge of a knife, but he felt Elizabeth had picked the wrong blade to try it on. Liz wasn't suited to the side of the law she'd aligned herself with, at least not the seventeen-year old Liz he'd known. She may have cleaned up her act in the intervening years, but in Jacob's experience people couldn't change who they were.
"What are you doing?" Jacob glanced back over his shoulder at the gorgeous blonde in the bed. He hoped his chagrin at being caught studying Elizabeth Scott wasn't evident on his face. He gestured to the papers that were haphazardly spread across the computer desk.
"Working. That man is still out there." Before he and the contractor had begun their extracurricular activities, they had been on official business. Nineteen hours ago he'd received a call from Ms. Hartwell that her protectee, Elizabeth Scott had had an uninvited guest in her apartment.
At approximately 10 am, long after Scott and her boyfriend had left for work, a single man, dressed baseball cap, sunglasses, and a cable uniform had broken in and copied the contents of Scott's personal computer. The intruder had rifled through Scott's belongings and papers, taking photographs, then returning everything to the exact place he'd found it. Whoever the guy was, he was both thorough and efficient, making it in and out in less than fifteen minutes.
Every instinct Jacob had screamed the man was a professional, but working for whom, Jacob hadn't the slightest clue. He wasn't even sure what the man had been after and that bothered Jacob more than anything else. He didn't like not knowing things.
"You worried about Little Miss FBI? You don't think I'm capable of protecting her?" Jacob smirked at the woman's question. Reddington had an intense distaste for the St. Regis program, despite sharing some kind of history with the school's founder. For years he'd avoided contracting any operatives associated with the school, despite the fact they had an unbelievably high success rate. When Reddington had decided Elizabeth Scott had needed protection however, he'd violated his self-imposed boycott. Shubbie Hartwell, as this woman was known to Jacob, was supposedly the best of the best.
"I would never dream of implying you weren't good at your job, Ms. Hartwell. Mr. Reddington is very satisfied with your performance thus far." That may have been overstating things. Reddington would have been considerably happier if Hartwell had been able to apprehend the intruder, but she'd been parked in a car thirty minutes away at the time of the break-in, following her primary directive of keeping eyes on Scott. Still, even an agitated Raymond Reddington had to be reasonable enough to recognise the woman couldn't be in two places at once.
"How about you, Mr. Phelps? Are you "very satisfied" with my performance?" The seductive purr in the operative's voice convinced Jacob to turn around and give her his full attention. Wavy ash blonde hair, large chocolate eyes, lush pink lips, and curves in all the right places. She was fantasy made flesh, which a distant part of his mind recognised was the point. It was part of St. Regis' graduates claim to fame: they were seductive, brilliant, and lacking in human empathy. The latter made have bothered some, but Jacob wasn't among them.
"I think you know the answer to that." Jacob wasn't so vain as to think Hartwell was solely interested in him for his own good looks, but he didn't mind. People used other people. It was the way of the world. If you were lucky, like Jacob had been, you'd stumble across a few exceptions, but for the most part people looked after themselves. He didn't resent Hartwell for attempting to sink her hooks into him, but if she thought whatever fun they had together was enough to impact his decisions or loyalty in any real way, she would be disappointed.
"Then why are you all the way over there rather than back here in this bed?" Tempted though he was, he had to decline.
"Because my boss is expecting an update in less than six hours." Jacob reluctantly tore his eyes away from the naked woman, and turned his attention back the evidence she'd prepared for him. Playtime was at an end for the evening. Now was the time to focus on the task at hand.
"You know this might not have anything to do with Reddington. The target does hunt serial killers for a living." Hartwell joined him at the desk wearing a black silk robe. Her tone had become harder, more professional, reminding Jacob of how quickly she was capable of shifting gears.
"Reddington has someone running down that particular possibility as we speak, but he expects me to focus on the theory that it very much is about him." The good news was that whatever the man was looking for, he clearly didn't find it. Hartwell had arrived too late to catch the intruder, but after reviewing the surveillance footage, she'd conducted her own investigation into the laptop's contents and come up with nothing. Scott's personal computer didn't have much on it except some personal photos, taxes forms, her music library, and a downloaded flyer from a dog adoption center. Certainly nothing that would be of interest to Reddington's enemies.
"What is his obsession with this woman anyway? Why go through the expense of having her protected?" Jacob wasn't fooled or amused by Hartwell's off-hand tone. Was this the question she'd been working toward during those passion filling wee hours of the morning?
"That's none of your damn business." Hartwell raised an eyebrow at the frost in his voice.
"It was an innocent question."
"You are many things, Ms. Hartwell, but innocent is not among them." She had been deliberately fishing for confidential information. The question was if she had been merely hoping to squirrell the information away for future use, or if she's been acting at the behest of someone else.
"You wouldn't like me half so much if I was." Hartwell deliberately ran a hand up then down his chest. Jacob intercepted her before she reached her final destination.
"Maybe not, but tread carefully." Hartwell was intriguing, it was true, but if she imagined that he wouldn't end her the second she turned on Reddington, she was mistaken. Hartwell's smile widened as she received his fairly blatant warning. She stepped backward, raising her hands in a mock gesture of surrender.
"Relax, I would never dream of betraying your boss." The operative sank down into the desk chair and crossed her legs, deliberately hiking the fabric of her robe up a few more inches. She really did seem to enjoy playing with him.
"Because you're so trustworthy?" The noise Hartwell would have a chuckle, if she hadn't stifled it the instant it came out of her mouth. God forbid an agent of the Major actually release a laugh into the universe. The walls of St. Regis would surely crumble.
"Because the potential reward is lesser than the potential risk. Reddington's reputation precedes him...as does yours." That was gratifying to hear, though that might have been the entire reason she'd said it. It never paid to underestimate a potential enemy.
"Good, then we won't have a problem. I'd hate for things between us to become...contentious." Hartwell shrugged philosophically, her lack of concern seemingly at odds with her prior statement.
"I don't know, I think war with you might be interesting...but for as long my contract is in effect neither of us will be finding out." That at least was consistent with St. Regis reputation. Once they were under contract, they stayed bought.
Jacob allowed himself to relax a little and return his focus to the surveillance man was going to be a nightmare to track. The angle of the camera, combined with the baseball cap meant they hadn't gotten one clear of the guy's face. Naturally the building had no exterior cameras, so Jacob didn't even know if the target of his search had walked to Liz's building, taken the metro, used a cab service, or driven there in his own damn car.
Given unlimited time, Jacob could probably work out a way find the intruder, but one of Reddington's many lessons over the years was the wisdom of delegating. Certain people had certain skills and a smart man knew when and how to utilize them. As it fate would have it the most talented tracker in the business worked in the DC area. Unfortunately he was also the most obnoxious tracker in the business. Jacob sighed and his eyes drifted over to the computer's split screen. Elizabeth Scott had left the living room and moved into the kitchen. He bent closer, unsure what he was seeing.
"Is she trying to cook a frozen waffle in a frying pan?" He glanced over at Hartwell for confirmation and the woman rolled her eyes.
"It would not surprise me. She's already set off the smoke alarm twice this month. Scott's probably more a threat to herself than whoever the mystery man is. I wouldn't be surprised if she lit the whole building on fire. You would think the stupid woman would learn her limitations." Jacob bristled at the slight to Liz's intelligence. Elizabeth Scott wasn't stupid, she was stubborn. She refused to quit in the face of adversity...or in this case the utter lack of culinary skills. He couldn't help but find that endearing. The old thread of sentiment tugged at his heartstrings, reminding him why he needed to conclude this business as quickly as possible.
Jacob began tapping on the computer keys, minimizing the surveillance feeds, and pulling up the internet browser. Hartwell frowned and stood, looking over his shoulder.
"What are you doing?"
"Looking up the hours of operation for a local DMV." And after the address of the nearest liquor store. If he was going to speak to Glen "Jelly Bean" Carter he was going to need a drink.
