Confidential [ON HOLD]

9. Private

Benjamin cursed as he failed to open the door the fourth time. The key fell from his hand when his hand clenched and struck the wooden door in front of him. C.J had never seen Benjamin this angry and she had seen him angry to the point of violence plenty of times.

"Ben, it's getting late," Carson told him, taking a step forward with his hand out. "Hand it over."

Luckily, Benjamin didn't make a fuss about opening the door himself and gave over the keys to Carson. The motel room door's lock clicked as Carson pushed open the door, leaving it wide for them to enter.

Benjamin went in first, immediately searching the whole one bedroom space. There were two rooms divided in the square space. An old, dusty couch on one side and a single bed in the other room. As Benjamin turned to inspect the space behind the wall, Carson lowered his voice and turned to C.J.

"What do you think is going on in that head of his?" Carson asked her. "Andrew Harley is Colby Simpson's father—this is all going to fall back on us very quickly. Have you talked to him?"

C.J focused her gaze on her feet. "The last time I talked to him, you were there."

"You mean"—Carson knocked her foot with his, getting her to look back up to him—"five years ago? And on the phone? That's the last time you talked to him? Ceej, you said you'd talk to him."

The last time she had spoken to Blind Spot's Andrew Harley, was five years ago. She wouldn't even have spoken to him then, but a friend was in trouble and she was sure the Deputy Head could help. C.J hadn't seen the man since she graduated from high school. But Carson didn't need to know that.

"I'm sorry. But I never needed him and—"

"He's catching on, C.J," Carson said, his tone was relaxed but the point in it was clear. "Whatever you have to do, do it fast. Anderson's not the Director anymore, my parents are not senior FBI agents anymore and I quit months ago. You're alone behind enemy lines C.J. Get out as soon as you can."

C.J knew what he was saying. Carson had been repeating the same thing ever since he resigned from the FBI seven months ago. She couldn't say anything though because he was right. She would need Andrew Harley's help sooner or later.

"You can take the bed C.J," Benjamin told her as he came out of the room with two thin pillows. "Carson you take the couch and I think there's an extra mattress that I can use."

Carson's face furrowed. "Ben, you can take the—"

"Can we please skip the niceties?" he asked flatly.

Holding his hands back, Carson surrendered to the never-seen-before grump in Benjamin Braxton. C.J backed down too, silently hiking her bag higher on her shoulder and slipping into the tiny room with the single bed.

She heard Carson and Benjamin make small talk as she zipped open the small bag. The bag didn't have much, but C.J still couldn't find her extra phone.

By now, she was sure Richard Meyer probably had her calls traced and tracked. But he could have fun with that. She didn't use her registered phone number anyway. She used this phone to keep in touch with all her contacts that the FBI—and especially Meyer—didn't need to know about. It was easy. All she needed were a couple of used SIM cards and the cheapest phone on the cell phone market.

It was almost eleven-o-clock. That meant her contact's burner phone should be on right now. C.J called the number and let the line ring for fifteen seconds before she hung up. She recorded a simple voice mail telling the man on the other side of the line that, 'we'll have to meet soon.'

Throwing the phone back inside the bag, she zipped it close and placed on the floor. Outside there was quiet. She could hear no one talking. The boys were probably asleep.