“How can you say that? It has everything to do with her. She needs to know.”
“No. She doesn’t. And you’d better not tell her. You need to stop thinking with your pecker and focus on the job.”
Cracking my eyes open just enough to make out their silhouettes, I watched Holbrook blush all the way to the tips of his ears, his eyes narrowing in anger as he glared at his partner.
“You’re out of line, Harry.”
“But I’m not wrong, am I?” Johnson asked, his voice colored by the warmth of a smug smile. There was real ugliness in his inflection, something dark and foul beneath his words that made me shudder. “You think we don’t all know where you were last night?”
Silence was the only answer Johnson received from the passenger seat, and it spoke loudly of Holbrook’s guilt. Looking away from his partner, Holbrook stared out the window, his embarrassed reflection igniting indignant anger that burned hot in my chest.
How dare that tool cut his partner down that way, and what the hell were they keeping from me?
***
It had been years since I’d ventured into Denver. The towering edifices of the city were a foreign world of glass and steel. I was more at home in the wilderness, surrounded by the scent of trees and earth, rather than immersed in the cacophony of honking horns and choking car exhaust. I huddled in the back seat of the SUV, shielded behind the anonymity of dark tinted glass, though the nervous flutter in the pit of my stomach had me sure that someone would recognize me at any minute.
Soon enough, we arrived at the FBI headquarters and Johnson pulled around the side of the building to enter the parking garage. The entrance was barred by a large rolling gate topped with razor wire. A small guard house sat off to the side where the gate met the solid concrete wall of the garage, and as we rolled to a stop a pair of uniformed guards stepped out, squinting against the bright sunshine.
The first of the guards, a giant of a man with arms bigger around than my thighs and a no-nonsense buzz cut, approached Johnson’s window, a hand resting on the butt of the gun at his hip. The other guard, who had a similarly imposing stature, walked a slow circle around the SUV, passing a mirror on a long pole under the car.
Rolling down his window, Johnson was already reaching for his badge when the guard greeted the two agents sitting up front. “Afternoon, Agents. Do you have anything to declare?”
“Just a grumpy werewolf who needs to pee,” I piped up, drawing irritated looks from everyone.
Wow, the FBI seriously needs to invest in some humor training. How to Take a Joke 101.
Receiving the all clear from the other guard, the first guard reached inside the guard house to hit the button for the gate. With a loud grinding sound, the gate lurched into motion and slowly drew back to allow us entry. The guards waved us through, their eyes seeming to bore into me even through the tinted glass. Glancing back over my shoulder, I watched as the gate rolled shut behind us and the guards resumed their positions as the next car in line underwent the same investigation.
There were a couple of agents in dark suits and sunglasses entering a door that presumably lead into the building when we pulled in. They looked like a couple of Men in Black rejects, and I couldn’t help snorting in laughter at the sight of them. Johnson shot me another baleful glare for my mirth, and Holbrook just arched a questioning brow at me.
“So, do I need to check my sense of humor at the door or something?” I asked as I unbuckled my seat belt. “Because I’m detecting a major lack of levity around here.”
“Sorry to break it to you, Cray, but we’re not here to entertain you,” Johnson grumbled, turning off the ignition and reaching for the door handle.
“I don’t see why that means you can’t crack a smile once in a while. Are you afraid your face will break or something?”
Pushing open my door I stepped down out of the SUV, shivering at the cold wind blowing through the garage. I was so over winter.
Roll on summer!
“You’re in protective custody, in case you had forgotten,” Johnson said as he came around to my side of the car, his usual scowl set firmly in place. Maybe his face really would crack if he dared to smile.
“Oh yes, and what a bang up job you’re doing, what with deer carcasses, dead bodies, and Samson still on the loose,” I said, settling my hands on my hips.
I watched as Johnson’s face darkened, his eyes narrowing to beady pinpoints. I had the sudden impression of an irritated pig, but figured I should probably keep that particular insight to myself.
And people say I don’t have any restraint. Bah!
“You think you’re so clever don’t you? You’re nothing but a stuck up smartass.”