“I vote business,” Raider said, as cheerfully as he could with the accent.
“I vote bullet, and then we can go bowling,” Jonny P countered from behind him, pressing the cold metal of a gun to Raider’s temple.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Brigid helped the dog balance in white three-inch Payless heels on his front legs and two-inch floral Manolo Blahniks on his back legs. She’d bought the designer shoes after her first two paychecks from the HDD. The rest of her closet held tennis shoes and boots, which were much more in her comfort zone. “You look so much taller, Roscoe.”
His head lifted even higher, and his furry body twitched with delight.
She petted him between the ears, sitting against her bed. “Though you’re plenty tall already. I just don’t see why you worry about your height.” As she understood the story, there was a slightly taller dog on the mission in Afghanistan, and then a bombing had injured many soldiers, including both canines. Before that occurrence, Roscoe hadn’t tried to be taller than he was. “When did the drinking problem start?” she asked.
He panted, his tongue out, the closest thing possible to a doggie smile on his face. He licked her chin, and she chuckled.
A knock sounded on the outside door, and she jumped up. Was Raider back? Had they decided to go another route? Her heart thundering, she ran through the apartment and yanked open the door.
“Oh, crap,” she muttered, her shoulders falling. She’d forgotten. In having fun with the dog, in being part of the op, she’d actually forgotten her tormentors for a moment.
“It’s nice to see you, too,” Agent Tom Rutherford said smoothly, walking past her and into the apartment. As usual, the HDD handler wore a designer navy-blue suit, power tie, and polished loafers. His blond hair was cut short in a wave, and his blue eyes were shrewd and ambitious.
Agent Fields waited in the hallway. “May we come in, Brigid?” His tone was much more polite, albeit weary.
She stepped aside and gestured him in. Her stomach cramped. “Like I have a choice.”
The older agent gave her a sympathetic glance, his faded brown eyes kind. In contrast to his partner, his brown suit was from the eighties, as were his striped tie and scuffed shoes. He moved like he’d been shot a few times and was just waiting for retirement to kick in so he could be done with all of this nonsense.
She shut the door, her mind reeling.
Roscoe clopped out of the bedroom, eyed the men, and then jumped out of the heels to run to Brigid. The powerful dog planted himself in front of her and barked. Twice.
Well, wasn’t that nice. “I think he’d eat you both for dinner if I asked him,” she said, her spirits lifting.
Fields stared at the four shoes on the floor. “Was he wearing heels?”
Brigid patted the vibrating dog. “I wanted to see what they looked like from a distance.” Roscoe’s height issues were nobody’s business but the team’s. “Decided the floral ones were the best for the dress I’m planning on wearing to your retirement, Rutherford.”
The younger agent snorted. He was probably decades from retirement, but no way was that guy staying an agent. Probably had political aspirations. He even looked like the new, young, hip politician that had just been elected from New York.
He moved for the sofa to take a seat. “You haven’t reported in during the last week. That’s a violation of your plea agreement,AgentBanaghan. Surely you don’t want to see Guantanamo from the inside.”
The threat was getting old. Brigid had done enough good for the HDD that she was getting some juice, but she couldn’t yet challenge Rutherford. She’d get there soon, and if she told Angus Force the truth, he might help her with the higher-ups. Or, he’d be so pissed she’d been sent to spy on him that he’d kick her butt out of the unit. The idea sank a heavy stone into her gut.
What would Raider say? She bit back a shudder. He was all about truth and loyalty to the unit, so he probably had even stronger feelings when it came to lovers. She shook off her unease. That was a concern for another day. “Maybe I don’t have anything to report,” she said, remaining by the door.
Agent Fields leaned against the counter, his suit hanging on him as if he’d lost weight recently. But his hangdog expression remained the same as the first time he’d interviewed her. “We know that Tanaka, Force, and Wolfe have flown to Boston, for some reason. What we don’t know is why.”
Rutherford picked dog hair off his slacks. “Angus Force is working the Irish mob case, which is fine, but we need to make sure he doesn’t screw up three other cases we’re working against the Coonan associates.”
Brigid crossed her arms, trying to look tough. These guys and their power made her knees wobbly. The pictures they’d shown her of the detainee station before she’d signed her plea agreement still gave her nightmares sometimes. “You didn’t think Angus would get this far with the case?” It was incredible. The HDD truly thought Angus was a washed-out alcoholic. How wrong they were. Well, about the washed-out part, anyway. “The case hasn’t changed any. Angus has a source that says Coonan is trafficking in women and children, and we’re trying to stop that. To stop him.”
Rutherford’s nostrils flared. “Angus’s sources are crap. He listens to fortune tellers and hot chicks with Ouija boards.” He stood, and dog hair clung to his pants. “The guy had a complete breakdown after the Lassiter case and ended up in a psych ward. Bet you didn’t know that.”
No, she hadn’t. Which meant that information had been buried by some pretty good techs, because she’d done a background check. Not a deep one, obviously. “Lassiter killed Angus’s sister. Of course he had problems.” But a psych ward? Did the other team members know that for a fact?
Fields sighed. “Yeah, and he escaped the place and disappeared into the woods with that crazy dog guarding you.”
Brigid mulled over the information. “Yet the HDD gave him a unit when he asked.” There could only be one reason for that fact. “Is Lassiter alive?”
“Of course not,” Rutherford snapped. “But Lassiter had worked for the HDD and was a huge embarrassment to us, so we need the case closed. We can’t have the FBI agent who caught him going around spouting nonsense or looking like a lunatic. Either Force will have another breakdown and end the unit, or he’ll finally accept that Lassiter is dead. Either way, don’t get too comfortable.”
