Free The Seven Year Itch by S D Skye

Lana’s Russian language skills, a ridiculous notion given Russians
serving under diplomatic cover must be proficient in English to be selected for
U.S. tours.
    Sabinski had once threatened to transfer Karat to Lana, but Plotnikov would hear
nothing of the sort. He adamantly refused, arguing he didn’t require a translator.
Then he threatened to cease cooperation with the FBI if J.J. didn’t remain his
handler. His refusal may have saved his life. Few agents would have lied to
protect him the way J.J. had.
    “What are you two doing here?” Tony asked. He and J.J. were
both surprised to see them in the office. They were scheduled to provide
assistance on a joint task force with Coast Guard Intelligence all day. A crap
assignment Sabinski had doled out in order to feign fairness. “Thought you were
on surveillance today.”
    “Yeah, we were on the water this morning with the Coast
Guard,” Chris responded. His awkward glance toward Lana spoke volumes. “But,
uhhhh, Lana here dropped her weapon in the river.”
    “Again?” J.J. and Tony remarked simultaneously. This was the
third weapon in three years. Every competent agent in the vicinity rolled their
eyes. For a brunette, Lana had blond tendencies.
    “It was raining. My hand slipped,” she said, in a lame effort
to defend herself, wearing her usual too-tight skirt and boobs seeping out of
her too-tight silk blouse. Every day in the office with Lana was akin to a
night at the Kitty Kat Club. She’d been ogled and gossiped about since she
first sashayed through the entrance, and she couldn’t care less. To her, sex
equaled power, and she brandished her feminine wiles more often than her 9-mm.
      “Oh yeah. Sabinski’s
looking for you,” Lana snapped, a slight hint of arrogance evident. Lana’s
self-righteous sneers usually meant trouble. J.J. had landed in the hot seat
once again. No surprise given her crap-filled afternoon.
    Lana smirked and sauntered off. J.J. rolled her eyes and
prepared for his wrath. She grunted and sucked her teeth.
      “McCall! Get in here.
Right now!” the portly one bellowed from his nearby sty.
    Tony pointed the finger-gun at his head and pretended to pull
the trigger against his temple. He offered it to J.J.
    “Please, don’t tempt me.”
    J.J. trudged toward Jack’s office, just a few feet away. She rapped
her knuckles against the frame. Jack peered up from a file sitting on his
wooden desk, suitably dark enough to hide coffee and Kit Kat stains. He pulled
off his glasses and grunted, “Yeah, close the door behind you and have a seat.”
    She sat in one of the two guest chairs across from him and
peered at the ordered obsessive compulsive chaos on his desk. Each item in its
place. Not neat, just in its place. She scanned the office as he finished
flipping through a case file, then glimpsed Plotnikov’s photo just before he
closed the jacket. A look of disgust seized her face.
    Jack slammed the folder shut.
    When the hell did he
get Plotnikov’s file? She’d just noticed it missing and his signature
wasn’t on the log. Tony had mentioned the comms plan was missing too. The reason
was now quite evident. Thankfully, he had a copy of doctored file. No
information inside would get Viktor killed.
    She struggled to hold his glance .
    Jack’s eyes narrowed. “You got an update on Karat ?”
    She ran her fingers through the strands of hair dangling over
her shoulder, grasped the back of her neck as she let out a long frustrated
breath.
    “I know what you’re gonna say, but understand that the Gs had
him…at least until the target made a cover stop and shook them. But Karat couldn’t make meet today anyway.
He had an escort.”
    “An escort? Who?” Jack asked as if he already had been told
the answer.
    “Dmitriyev.” She waited for a change in his facial
expression, a sign of shock or surprise. The sign never appeared. “Tony and I
will be leaving to check the signal shortly. Just in case.”
    He grabbed an individually