Free Fast and Loose by Fern Michaels

tie my goddamned hands by telling me everything is goddamn need to know. Well?”
    â€œWhat the hell are you talking about, Dix?”
    â€œThat guy Needlemeyer. What? You think I’m not on top of things?”
    â€œLook, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about in regard to that guy. Other than the time I introduced you to him, I’ve met him once officially. I’ve actually seen him twice, once in front of the casino and once by the elevator. Again, other than introducing you, I’ve spoken to the man only once since I took over Babylon. He’s off-limits is what I was told. I never questioned Annie’s orders. The guy is rich, like you said, owns two penthouses, and is a recluse. That is the sum total of what I know about him. Now, let me get this straight. You saw him, obviously talked to him, and he told you to take Aleve for your headache, and you see . . . what? A conspiracy with my friends arriving, along with the director of the FBI?”
    Kelly chomped down on his lower lip. “When you say it like that, it does sound weird, but there’s something there. I just know it.”
    â€œWell, when you figure it out, call me first. Gotta go. Time is money. Take care of my friends, Dix. I owe you for this.”
    â€œYeah, right,” Kelly mumbled under his breath. Even a rookie CIA agent would have picked up on this, he thought to himself as he looked around. He knew that Bert was jerking his chain, but there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. At least for now. For the time being, he had to put a smile on his face and be a welcoming committee of one for his boss’s friends.
    Kelly felt a frown building on his brow as he played and replayed Bert’s end of the conversation concerning the penthouse owner’s appearance in the Tiki Bar. He’d sounded genuinely perplexed that he, Kelly, was reading something into the man’s appearance that wasn’t there to begin with. “Yeah, well, we’ll just see about that,” Kelly muttered under his breath. He took a deep breath when he saw a crowd of people who appeared to be all together enter the casino.
    Bert’s friends. With a quick glance, Kelly decided they looked normal enough, with the exception of Jackson Sparrow, the only person he recognized. In fact, the group looked just like the majority of the people in the casino. Sparrow, though, was doing what he would have been doing if he were walking in his shoes, practicing his tradecraft: his eyes were everywhere, as if he was looking for something not quite right, off in some sense, something that didn’t quite compute to his trained eye. Just the way Kelly had done when he’d met the rich recluse in the Tiki Bar.
    Kelly extended his hand, identified himself to a tall man with a British accent; that was followed by an introduction to an equally tall man with a deep Scottish brogue. When the introductions were complete, he homed in on the director of the FBI and spoke just a tad too snidely, knowing full well that Bert was going to hand him his head on a platter when he found out. But he really didn’t care—the moment was here, and he seized it.
    â€œAh, yes, Mr. Director, you’re the man who let Hank Jellicoe get away. At the time, I was the senior field agent working for the CIA. We worked on that case for two solid years, and if I recall correctly, the Vigilantes duct taped him to the front door of the Hoover Building, and some ten-year-old kid on a skateboard cut him loose. And then you guys gave out that story that he was in a federal prison, safe and sound. No hard feelings, though. All in the spirit of agency cooperation and transparency. Two years’ work shot to hell on our part, and some ten-year-old kid blows it for you. I’m just saying. . .”
    Sparrow sucked on his tongue, wanting to put his fist through Kelly’s face, but he fought the urge and pasted a smile on his face.