“Hey, I’d rather be a smartass than a dumbass,” I shot back with a shrug.
While Johnson glared daggers at me, the other SUV from the convoy pulled into the space beside us. I recognized both of the agents that exited the vehicle from the cluster fuck that had been the media frenzy at the motel, but didn’t know either of their names.
The younger of the two agents didn’t look old enough to drive, let alone handle a weapon. He was tall and rail thin as if someone had grabbed him by the ankles and pulled, stretching him out like a rubber band. Baby-fine, brown hair fluttered in the breeze, causing him to run a hand over it in what looked like a gesture of habit in an attempt to flatten it down. A pair of thin framed glasses completed the look, and I couldn’t help imagining him hanging out in someone’s basement with a bag of dice and a prized miniature figurine playing Dungeons & Dragons. But for all his seeming gawkiness he moved with a sense of surety, his bright blue eyes alive with intelligence and awareness.
The other agent was as short as the first was tall, and was the first woman I had seen in a law enforcement capacity since Johnson and Holbrook had appeared on my doorstep. The tight ponytail that pulled her ash blonde hair back from her face made her look severe, but the faint lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes hinted at a tendency to laugh rather than frown.
“Come on guys, just settle down,” Holbrook said, sounding like a frustrated parent dealing with rowdy children. It was kind of him to try to ease the tense silence between Johnson and me, but it was also utterly na?ve and futile. There was no kissing and making up happening here.
“Don’t defend him. It’s not your fault he’s such a dick,” I said, my voice carrying surprisingly well in the parking garage.
Beside us, the two agents smothered their chuckles behind coughs and mutterings of “Looks like it’s going to snow again.” Meanwhile Johnson’s face was beginning to darken from red to maroon.
“I mean, you can’t be blamed for the fact that he seems to have had his sense of humor removed along with his brain.”
“What did you say?” Johnson demanded in a low snarl, turning the alarming shade of purple I was starting to classify as DEFCON 3.
“You heard me. You’re being an ass-clown,” I offered off-handedly, turning my back on him to grab Loki’s carrier from the backseat. A few paces away the other agents were continuing to try not to laugh, and failing miserably. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who thought Johnson was a world-class tool. Turning back to face him I added, “A douche nozzle. A twat waffle.”
And there it is, ladies and gentlemen. We have achieved DEFCON 2, I thought, watching his eyes bulge in his blotchy face, his mouth flapping open and closed like a fish.
For a slightly heavyset man, Johnson moved surprisingly fast. In the blink of an eye he was looming in front of me, his white-knuckled fists pressed to the doorframe on either side of my head. I recoiled as his ashtray breath swirled in my face, Loki’s crate clattering to the concrete at my feet, drawing a piercing yowl from my furry friend.
“Listen to me, you dumb wolf bitch. I’m the only thing standing between you that fucking lunatic. Keep pushing me and I’ll hog tie you and hand you over to Reed with a big god damned red bow stapled to your forehead,” Johnson hissed, spittle flying from his lips to splatter across my face.
Oh, that’s just gross.
Daring to take my eyes off Johnson for a fraction of a second, I saw the alarmed expressions of the other agents over his shoulder, their hands already reaching for their weapons.
“Take a step back Agent Johnson, nice and slow,” the younger agent said. His voice had a tight, worried edge to it, but the way he held his gun pointed at the ground in an unwavering grip, ready to raise it at a moment’s notice, let me know he was all business.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, I chanted internally, the wolf joining me in my panicked mantra. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed him that last little bit, I thought. But then again, I’d always been the type to poke a bear with a stick. Sometimes I just couldn’t help myself: I had to see what would happen if I jabbed it in the ass.
When my gaze shifted back to Johnson I barely recognized him. A murderous rage and manic gleam burning fever bright in his eyes made me draw a sharp breath.
“You think you’re such hot shit, don’t you? That you’re something special just because you didn’t have the good sense to die when that maniac split you open like a melon. Or is it because every cock within a hundred miles is drooling at the chance to get in your quim?” The savagery of his words made me flinch.
Whoa. What the hell?