Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 132962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
He studied the idiot in front of him as though under a microscope. The FBI projected a persona of cool, calm, and collected. He’d never seen them ever break that façade, and they always followed the rules. They weren’t given the free rein to work that his agency had. They all seriously had the same Mr. Smith wardrobe, which had to be tough to deal with. How could Washington DC men’s suit stores possibly carry that many dark suits, crisp white shirts, and blue ties? What happened when a shortage caused one of them to wear a red tie? He supposed mass hysteria would surely ensue.
Right then, Mitch formulated a plan. During the duration of this assignment, he’d make these men’s lives crazy. First Connors wouldn’t let him meet the family, and now he’d been detained, all because of how he looked. His scowl grew fiercer and his hands balled into fists as they were tucked tight in his crossed arms. He held the stare of the arrogant one who wasn’t giving an inch.
Minutes ticked by. He knew the routine. They didn’t believe a word he said, but he didn’t budge. He was getting under their skin. He could see the tick in the egotistic one’s jaw. Mitch had years of interrogation training. He was special teams in the Marshals Service. Cocky Smith’s tick didn’t bother Mitch one bit. It actually gave him away. Mitch was getting to him, so he took a step closer. As close as he could without touching the guy.
“Spray tan or tanning bed?” Mitch asked, keeping his stance. “Natural never gets that orange.” He guessed he hit close to the mark, because in the next moment, Mitch went sailing backward. The guy was on him. Not necessarily throwing punches, but the chest bumps meant business.
“Keep your fucking mouth shut,” Cocky Smith cautioned.
“Or what?” Mitch chest bumped him back. If need be, he could take this guy, no problem. The poor Smith kid at the door tried his best to separate the two. It wasn’t working.
“Or I’ll shut it for you.”
“Like to see you try, fake-n-bake.” Mitch let the pounding happen. He never put his hands on the guy, but did give as good as he got in attempts to block the blows. He was an expert at stopping a punch, and in the process, giving a swift elbow to the gut. Besides, he knew how this was going to play out, and he shouldn’t have egged the guy on, but as the other agents were pulling him off, they found his third weapon. The one they missed in the pat down. Stupid fucks could have been dead if he’d been a bad guy. So much for the FBI rules and procedures bullshit they were so fast to shove in his face.
“Let him go!” A booming voice broke up the scuffle. He recognized it as Director Carpenter’s. And when he realized neither Cocky Smith, nor any agent in front of him was going after his third weapon, his demeanor changed. He smirked and blew a kiss at the supercilious one that started the brawl as he shoved past the group.
“He’s Deputy Marshal Knox, here on my invitation and will be treated as a guest and colleague for the length of the time he’s here,” Director Carpenter instructed. Mitch didn’t get to see the director’s facial expression because he immediately went and stood directly behind the man and proceeded to shoot both middle fingers at all the Smith’s in front of him.
“Knock it off, Knox. I know exactly what you’re doing,” the director barked, never looking back at Mitch. “Everyone in this room, as a matter-of-fact everyone in this entire building, better get along. No bullshit.” His voice echoed in the otherwise silent room. Director Carpenter took a step back before he spun on his heel and headed straight out of the prison area.
“What about my weapons and badge?” Mitch asked, following after the director.
“You’ll get them later. I want a briefing on what you found. Connors called. I missed the call, so I didn’t get a chance to let anyone know you were arriving alone. They were just following protocol for anyone who would walk inside this building armed,” the director said, leading him through a maze of halls until they reached the back elevator he’d used yesterday. Mitch guessed they were in about the center of the building.
“I didn’t take the time to show you around yesterday. Administrative offices are on the fourth floor. You’ll have access to the entire building. My secretary—sorry, assistant—has your access cards and ID badge. We usually put more thought into what we wear around here than that.” He pointed to Kreed’s I don’t cuddle…but I’ll hold you tight while I fuck you T-shirt that he now wore. “You’ll have to find a suit coat to wear. It’s part of the dress code.”
The director walked straight to the elevator that just opened, bypassing all the people who stood waiting for its arrival. Apparently, they knew this one wasn’t for them. He stared at the group as no one else entered the elevator with the two of them and the doors slid shut.
“My boss, Director Young, is going to sit in on our briefing. Connors has about an hour before he reports in. We’ll see if he makes it in time for the meeting.” Mitch knew that Director Young was as high as it went in the FBI. Senator Greyson would surely be dialing him directly, wanting answers.
He just continued to follow as he left the elevator and weaved his way through the few cubicles at the front of the office. Like everywhere else in this building, the offices were sterile and cold. No matter how many people they passed, no one spoke a word or even bothered to look his way.
What the hell was everyone’s problem?
“These are my offices.” The director pointed to a bank of offices in the corner. An older woman, dressed in a severe, formal business suit sat out front, her only acknowledgement of their arrival was a lift of the eyes.