Chapter Twelve: Too Free to Hold

"Do you realize that this could lead to career suicide?" Rafi asked as they stood on the sidewalk with cups of coffee.

"Do you think that I really care?"

The ex-convict ran a slightly dirty hand through his hair. "It should. You have a cushy job with lots of money. I saw the keys sitting on your coffee table. Not many people in New York own cars, even fewer own Porches. I should know since I work at a body shop. So tell me, why would a guy who has everything want to give it up for my brother? What, he win a case for you or something so you owe him a favor?"

Martin wanted to ask Rafi why he spoke of his brother like he wasn't anybody important, just another person to ignore when walked by on the sidewalk. "Because he deserves to be found. If you don't think I should be doing this then why are you helping me?"

"'Cause," shrugged Rafi. "I saw the photos in your apartment. You come from money but you have a job. You're one of those people that doesn't need to work every day but for some reason you do and the job that you do…finding missing people, getting shot at. Of all the jobs you could have taken…" He sipped his coffee. "And if anyone can find Danny it'll be you, what with all the training that you've had."

"And yet, I still can't do this on my own, that's what I need you for," Martin told him. "There are things that my job never allowed me to do but now…my leave of absence takes me out of my bosses care. I no longer have my gun or credentials but I see that as a good sign. I'm freer to move about and get things done, slip under the radar."

Something that Martin said made Rafi laugh. "Boy, you couldn't slip under the radar."

"Why not?" he frowned.

"Look at yourself," Rafi said with a gesture of his hand. "You're hair is neat. You're clothes are clean and trust me, that outfit still screams money. You don't have the manner or the…pizzazz to pull this off."

Martin looked down at his outfit. He'd left the apartment in a pair of blue jeans and a plain black t-shirt. He saw nothing wrong with the outfit he wore. Yes, his clothes were clean and they really didn't have any wear but…He ran a hand through his hair to mess it up a little more. If he had to he'd find some place to get a henna tattoo that said something like 'born to raise hell'. Anything that would help him slip into a world he usually investigated. Well, he wouldn't go so far as to kill someone. But then again, he didn't know just how far he would fall before he got Danny back. Hell, that precise moment he was standing on the sidewalk with an ex-convict and talking about doing things that the Federal Government never would let him do on the job. Things his father would kill him over. And he didn't care.

Shouldn't that have bothered him?

Was he really going to commit career suicide just to get back the lawyer that made him feel like the only person in the world? Everything that he had worked for in the last few years would have been a waste. And once kicked out of the FBI he'd probably have trouble getting a job as an officer of the law. Where would that leave him? Did he have any skills that he could fall back on? He guessed that he could always go into business with Danny, become like a private eye or something and help the lawyer with his cases. Not that Danny needed the help. He was a phenomenal lawyer, winning nearly every case that went to court and getting good settlements for those that didn't reach the court system. He smiled vaguely, his thoughts focused on the man he loved. He recalled a day when Danny came home from winning a big case and how excited he had been that day. One of the things he really loved about the lawyer was that as good as he was he continued to help the little people, letting them pay him what they could afford. Of course, that meant that he didn't always have a lot of money but who needed money? All they needed was each other. They'd gone to the park to play basketball, sat on the couch and watched television or just talked. For once in his life money wasn't the important thing.

He had to get Danny back. Even if it cost him his job.

"How do you think we should go about getting me the pizzazz?"

Rafi looked at him, then checked his watch. "Wait here. I'll go pick up a few things and we'll go from there."

--

Rafi hadn't even been gone ten minutes before a familiar black SUV with government plates pulled up alongside the curb. Martin thought about ducking into the nearest alley. Why would anyone he worked with be here, in his neighborhood? Did they have a lead? He watched as Sam climbed out from behind the steering wheel. He waited with baited breath to see who would climb out on the other side but the passenger door remained closed. That puzzled him even more. Jack had become a stickler about them sticking in pairs of two or three since the shooting. He wouldn't have sent Sam out by herself, especially since everyone in the office knew just how special Sam was to him. The only way she could be here without him or one of the others would be if they weren't aware that she was by herself. He thought that highly unlikely. Then again, it was Sam. She could be quite surprising at times. He thought he would watch to see what she was doing, be a quiet observer but it was apparent that she'd come looking for him.

She walked right toward him.

"Martin…"

"Go away, Sam," he said. He was worried that she would still be here when Rafi came back. The presence of a second agent might make the ex-con think that there was a set up or…

"I can't," she said. "Martin, something isn't right and you have to tell me what it is…"

"Please, Sam, just leave me alone. I'm not on the job and-"

"Jack is mad, Martin."

"Tell me something that I don't know."

She looked genuinely worried. "We subpoenaed Mr. Taylor's cell phone records…"

He felt the ground fall out from beneath him. "And…?" He managed to choke out.

"You're number comes up an awful lot," she said. "Including some rather recent, short calls. Jack is livid that you didn't share any of this with him. I thought I'd give you a heads up because he's on the war path. I've never seen him so upset. You do know that he's-"

Martin shook his head. "I can't deal with this right now. I'll explain everything. Can you please just leave?" He'd caught sight of Rafi.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't take you back to the office and leave you in Jack's office?"

He chewed over what to say to her as he watched the ex-con drawer closer. "Sam…please…"

"All I want is one reason, Martin. Just one reason."

"What the hell is going on here?" Rafi said, coming upon them. He looked at the black SUV and back at the blond agent who's hand was creeping toward her pistol. "You set me up or something, Fitzgerald?"

Martin shook his head. "No, I swear, Rafi, this isn't….oh god," he said as he fell back against the wall. Everything was spiraling out of control.

"Do you want to tell me what you're doing, Martin?" Sam asked. Her voice told him that she wasn't going to leave until she got an explanation that was satisfactory. But what could he possibly tell the two of them that would be convincing enough?