She needed to get through to him. “You’re crazy.”
“Wrong. I’m bait.”
Chapter Twelve
The smell of dust combined with the scents of pepperoni and whiskey made the bullpen area of the office smell like home. Wolfe kicked back and flipped through the manila file folders of the cases assigned to him as Dana worked away in Brigid’s computer room, conducting basic research.
The ability to manipulate people wasn’t one of his talents, unlike going through doors or dodging bullets. However, he’d do what he had to do, and by the end of the workday, he’d have Dana agreeing to stay at his cottage and take care of Kat, even if he had to go hunting Rock. Yeah, he was using the kitten as a pawn, but the house, located at the end of a cul-de-sac with a very armed and capable Malcolm West as a neighbor, was safe.
He’d learned early on that getting Dana to think something was her idea was the best way to gain her cooperation. Stubborn woman.
Force had shut the door to his office as he worked, and Roscoe snored quietly at Wolfe’s feet, no doubt sporting a doggie hangover from the booze. Malcolm worked through files silently at his desk, occasionally sipping the latte Wolfe had brought for him. He looked up. “I made inquiries about the heroin pipeline around six months ago, but it’s going to take time.”
“Thanks,” Wolfe said. That kind of inquiry always took time, and Gary Rockcliff had probably covered his tracks well. Wolfe settled back, relaxing as much as he could. Office work wasn’t his thing, but this was kind of nice. Peaceful, even, with Nari typing a mile a minute in her office, Kat sleeping on her desk, and the door open. The shrink must have some serious work to catch up on, since she’d barely scolded Roscoe for his foraging through her office the previous night.
The typing stopped. “Guys?” she called out. “I’m printing out the reports from the last op. Would you look them over and make sure I added everything I need and didn’t add anything that might hurt us with our HDD handlers? They’re not happy with us, and I need a couple extra sets of eyes on this.”
“Sure,” Mal said, not looking up.
“Yep,” Wolfe said. Unlike the other members of the unit, he didn’t mind being the outcasts of the Homeland Defense Department who had handlers to try and keep them in line. So far, Angus Force still had enough juice with the HDD to keep the team alive, but if he didn’t climb out of the bottle soon, that would end. Wolfe needed to find Rock before that happened. “Why do you have to send reports to the HDD, anyway?”
The printer clunked to life in the corner. “It’s the only way we keep our funding,” she called, starting to type once again.
“What funding?” Mal asked before Wolfe could.
Wolfe grinned and took another deep gulp of his latte. “Do you have anything interesting in your pile of busywork?”
Mal pushed a folder toward Wolfe. “Not really. Securities fraud, computer hacking, and possible political extortion. You?”
Wolfe shook his head. “Not even remotely. A couple of money laundering possibilities and a blond bank robber who has somehow kept her face from being recorded.”
“Blond, female bank robber?” Mal’s eyebrows rose.
Wolfe nodded. “Yep. Hits only safety deposit boxes, and it turns out a lot of them are owned by some pretty shady criminals.”
“Let her rob them, then.” Mal opened one of his files and then rubbed his left eye. “This is just busywork because the HDD is pissed. Without Brigid here this week, we don’t even have a hacker for the computer cases.”
The crank of the elevator reverberated through the room.
“Is Pippa coming by?” Wolfe asked, sitting up.
“Nope.” Malcolm straightened and drew out his desk drawer.
Wolfe did the same, resting his hand on his Glock.
The door opened, and a man stepped out. Wolfe categorized him instantly. About six-foot-three, graceful movements, intelligent brown eyes behind modern rimmed glasses. A six-o’clock shadow covered his jaw and went perfectly with his mussed dark blond hair. The satchel slung over his shoulder was half open and revealed several textbooks. “Hello.” The accent was British.
Wolfe kept his hand on the gun. The newcomer might look like a college professor, but he’d unobtrusively scouted the entire room, noted the lack of exits, and settled his stance in a way that looked casual but was far from it. “Can we help you?” Yeah, his tone wasn’t all that helpful.
Force’s door opened. “Professor. I wondered when you’d finally arrive.”
A slow smile tugged at the professor’s full lips as he focused beyond the hub of desks. “Angus, my friend. You look like shite.”
“You look like you’re undercover at a college,” Force returned, his eyes bloodshot but his smile genuine. “Chasing coeds these days, are you?”
“Hardly. Just teaching them,” the professor returned easily.
Malcolm cleared his throat.
