The ATF.
And the CIA.
Yeah, this was definitely CIA bullshit, and ironically, they weren’t allowed to be playing those games—but DC turned its head a lot.
Greyson knew because he played those games as a soldier.
“We just started looking into him. He has an export business. We just can’t prove he’s doing anything illegal, but my balls say he is. They get this twitch when something foul is going down.”
Greyson sometimes forgot who he was talking to.
“They make a cream for that.”
Gabe laughed.
“When this is over, how would you feel about…?” Gabe began.
And Greyson knew where this was heading.
“Absolutely not. I do not want to work out of this office. It’s a nightmare. No one knows how to file paperwork, and agents are dying. Pass. I’m not your man.”
Gabe was surprised.
“It’s Puerto Rico. It’s sun, sand, and right up your alley. You’d be a director.”
Still.
NO.
“Thank you for the offer, but I’m a fall kind of a guy. I like orange, pumpkin spice, and falling leaves. It’s on all of my dating bios.”
Gabe got the picture.
“I see. Well, in case you change your mind, I’ll offer it up one more time. You never know when the FBI is going to clean house at an office.”
Oof.
He hoped that wasn’t a threat, but it likely was.
Gabe was notorious.
“I appreciate it, but I likePhiladelphia. That’s where I need to be. I can feel that in my balls.”
He handed him the same line back.
“Tell Blackhawk and Cantrell to tread lightly. The last thing we need is a shitshow going down with a mob man in an office that’s not fully staffed or equipped.”
And with that, he hung up.
Well, shit.
Greyson had to give his friends a heads-up. Gabe was sniffing, and when he had the old snifferoo out, someone was about to get burned.
BIG.
TIME.
When Gabe hung up, he was laughing, and Elizabeth LaRue just shook her head.
