Chasing Frost by Isabel Jolie

Six

Sadie

Chase heads down the hall toward the elevator bank, and a chorus of “night, man” and “see you later” floats down the hall.

I power down my laptop and pack up. This is my first undercover assignment, and I’m not exactly nailing it. Why on Earth is his laissez-faire attitude getting to me? This isn’t where I actually work. He is not another agent not taking me seriously.

UC is not my thing. Yes, I’ve gone through the training, but when I transferred to the New York office, it wasn’t supposed to be my role. But things change quickly, and this should be a short assignment. One of Dad’s motivational postcards comes to mind. Great things never come from comfort zones. I can do this.

Nothing in the reports so far shows anything suspicious. I’ve got to dig deeper, but what I really need to learn is who specifically knows some of these businesses are essentially laundering money. We have enough to indict a senator. I need to close this loop. Identify who is involved, and I’m out.

My pep talk streams all the way to Chelsea Piers Fitness, the gym that made our suspect’s eyes light up when he waxed poetic about it. I checked it out online, and the monthly fee is so high it should be fabulous. There are a few classes I’m looking forward to taking. And there’s a pool for laps.

The place is mammoth, so I’m a little concerned about the ease of observing him here. He said tonight he’s doing weights. After changing in the spa-like changing room, I follow the signs to locate the weight room. We have a gym at the FBI field office, but I can see myself keeping my membership here after this case is over. Besides, if Maitlin’s guilty, he’ll be doing ten to twenty, so it’s not like I’ll be bumping into the guy I helped prosecute.

When I enter the weight room, he’s talking to a beefcake by the chest press machines. Neither guy is lifting weights. They’re just standing there talking. I pull out a mat to observe from a distance as I stretch. It doesn’t take long to fully grasp how Maitlin spends hours at the gym.

He does reps on a machine, a guy comes over and talks, they both stand and talk for longer than he did reps, then he moves to the next machine. This could be where his real business takes place. I don’t recognize any of these men, but I do use my phone and covertly snap a few photos so the team can research them later.

I can only catch snippets of his conversations. It all seems rather benign. Sports, stocks. Sometimes he tosses in a question about how the kids are doing. He always seems to know the kids’ names. Standard light conversation.

He moves over to the cable machine. To watch him, it might look like this is nothing more than a social circuit, but those muscles say otherwise. His biceps bulge as he curls his biceps up and the block of iron plates lifts. No, those muscles say he’s the definition of a gym rat. He’s not beefy, like someone taking steroids, but I’d bet he’s consuming protein shakes regularly, and he’s spending most of his free time right here in this weight room.

As an FBI agent, I spend my fair share of time in the weight room, too. It’s a required part of the job, maintaining a basic level of fitness. I’ve seen plenty of men lifting weights. So, I can objectively say, Maitlin has a good program. He’s fit. He’s wearing a shirt, but the tight fit of his t-shirt hints at well-defined pecs and nicely shaped biceps, and I’d bet he’s sporting an attractive six pack. Not a bad male specimen. Too bad he’s most likely destined for prison bars. Chase peers around the shoulder of the guy he’s talking to, and I instinctively turn sideways.

“Sydney, is that you?”

“Yeah.” The observation game’s over. “I love your gym.”

“Right? So, you joined?”

“Well, I’m on the free trial. But, yes, I think I will.”

He taps his buddy on his chest. “Roger, this is my new colleague at BB&E, Sydney Frost. Sydney, this is Roger Baldwin. He’s a gym regular, too. He lives in Lower Manhattan. You’ll find people from all over come to this gym. It’s great.”

“Hi, Roger. What do you do?” I ask as his large hand engulfs mine.

“Ah, I work for Fidelity. Nice to meet ya.” He effectively dismisses me, turning back to Maitlin. “If you get a chance, stop by the box at the game this weekend.”

Roger Baldwin moves on to the next machine in his circuit, and Chase grins. He looks me up and down. “Lookin’ good, Frost.”

I’m wearing leggings and a tank. We’re in a gym. There’s nothing about my outfit that isn’t appropriate or warrants an open evaluation. I glare back at him, the exact way I’d shoot daggers at any guy in the academy giving me shit.

He catches on quickly, and his eyes return to my face lightning fast. Then he grabs a water bottle and chugs.

The guys at the FBI gym do show respect. He and I are still colleagues. I stand at attention, chest puffed out. The clank of iron on iron breaks my ire, and I remember my assignment. Get to know him.

He wipes his mouth with his palm, and his gaze falls to my shoes. “If you need spotting, let me know. I know most of the guys in here, too. Some of ’em are single. So, if you’re interested in anyone, lemme know. I might be able to do ya a favor,” he tells me with a harmless, boyish smile, and I soften. Maybe the whole him checking me out thing was all in my head. Maybe Aaron was right, and I am too sensitive.

“Thanks. But no, thanks. I’m not interested in finding a guy. But I might take you up on spotting. I’m mainly doing hand weights today, though. You come here every day?” I have a routine I follow, and I’ve been able to complete it and put in extra reps in the time I’ve been observing Maitlin.

“To the gym? Yeah, but not weights every day. I love the Python’s Tuesday evening spin class. I usually do laps Thursday. Weekends, I bounce around. But yeah, I’m here almost every day doing something. You can’t get better than this place.”

“I agree. It’s a good gym.” You’d think he owns the place the way pride shimmers off him.

“Good? It’s fan-fucking-tastic.” He grins.

I’m in tennis shoes, not heels, and he’s only about four inches taller than I am, but it’s the first time he’s had a clear height advantage. It’s also the first time I notice the amber flecks in his irises, and a few light gray strands mixing in with his dark hair. He’s gonna be one of those men who flaunts the salt and pepper look. Not that he wants to look distinguished, but want to or not, he will.

“Yeah. It’s way better than what I had in L.A. Thanks for recommending it.”

“No problem. I love making people feel at home in my hometown. Which, speaking of, you’re still coming with me Saturday night, right? To meet the gang?”

“Yes.” I’d love to ask him about Mrs. Bennett, but I can’t figure out how to word that question and not come off like a nosy bitch, or worse, an insecure female.

“Great. You’ll love my friends. Anna’ll pull you right under her wing. You’ll be settled here in no time.” The real me loves the idea of having girlfriends to hang out with on the weekend. But here I am, once again, devoting every minute of my weekend to work.

I go to leave, and Chase stops me. “No water?” he asks.

Before I can explain I usually drink from the water fountain, he walks away, toward the far wall and a gym bag. He lifts a Smart water bottle out of his bag and delivers it to me. “Drink it on the way home. It’s important to stay hydrated.”

It’s easy to see why everyone loves this guy. When he’s not playing the tool card, he comes across as genuine and outgoing. Like he’s everybody’s friend. Of course, I suppose there are quite a few mafia guys over the years who’ve had the same schtick.

Later that night, I pull out my phone and type in a few notes.

Maitlin - Chelsea Piers Gym. Seems to know all. Gym routine hours long. Locate Tad. Why leave suddenly? Clean his computer?