He’d been catching hell from the moment he set foot in the New Orleans office. The other agents treated him like a piece of shit that’d been dumped on their lawn. Whatever. He didn’t give a rat’s ass what anyone else thought of him personally. He wasn’t there to make friends; he was there to do his job. If they felt threatened by that, then screw them.
So instead of kissing their asses to ingratiate himself into their good-ol’-boys’ club or slinking off into a corner to lick his wounds, Kyle had fallen back on the arrogance and insolence that had served him so well before. He’d figured out a long time ago how to get under people’s skin and turn their own attitudes around on them, thanks in no small part to the decades-long pissing match he had going on with his father.
“You guys have a nice chat?” he taunted Peterman. “Or were you just dropping by to polish Skinner’s knob before demanding a new partner?”
“Fuck off, Dawson,” Peterman sneered. “I gotta get home to my kid. I don’t have time for your shit.”
Kyle leaned back on the hand-carved wooden bench that sat in the hallway outside his boss’s office, regarding what he figured was now his former partner, and feigned a concerned frown. “How will I go on? First Hughes and now you? I’m heartbroken, Peterman.”
Peterman’s already florid face turned an alarming shade of purple. When he opened his mouth to respond to Kyle’s sarcasm, Kyle held up his hand. “No, no. Please don’t give me the ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ speech. Let me spare you the effort. You’re right, Peterman—it is you. I accept that. And I forgive you.”
“Forgive—?” The vein in Peterman’s forehead began to pulse. “You’re an arrogant prick, you know that?”
“Dawson!”
Kyle hopped to his feet. “Sorry, gotta run. Boss wants to see me.” He shivered with mock excitement. “Can’t wait to see what he has to say. Our private chats are always so scintillating.”
Peterman snorted derisively then stormed away, shaking his head and mumbling something under his breath.
Ignoring the way his gut clenched in apprehension, Kyle cleared his throat and plastered on his most carefree grin before swaggering into his boss’s office. “You know, I don’t think Peterman knows what scintillating means,” he said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.
Assistant Director Skinner eyed Kyle with his bland, dispassionate gaze and asked on a sigh, “Beg pardon?”
“Scintillating,” Kyle explained. “That’s how I described our private chats. But it was totally lost on Peterman. Really, sir, I just can’t stay partners with someone who has such a limited vocabulary.”
“Well, good thing you won’t have to,” Skinner replied.
Kyle’s brows shot up. “Really?” he said, dropping into the chair across from Skinner’s desk. “Sweet! So, who’s up next? Please tell me my new partner’s a hot redhead named Scully.”
Skinner blinked.
Kyle gaped at him. “Seriously? You’re an assistant director at the FBI who’s named Skinner, and you’ve never seen an episode of The X-Files? Not ever?”
“No, Dawson,” Skinner retorted, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his stomach. “I’m happy to say I learned how to be an agent from shutting my piehole and listening to the more seasoned agents who knew what the hell they were doing, instead of acting like a self-important, smart-ass prick.”
“I thought I was an arrogant prick,” Kyle corrected. “You and Peterman really need to coordinate your insults better. It’s confusing.”
Skinner’s eyes flashed. “Arrogant, self-important—take your pick. You’ve been here less than a year, Dawson, and you’ve already pissed away two partners. No one wants to work with you because you’re reckless and dangerous and have no respect for authority or for the badge you carry.”
“That’s not true,” Kyle shot back, his indignation genuine. “I have a great deal of respect for the badge.”
The muscle in Skinner’s jaw twitched, but he maintained his composure. “I knew you’d be trouble the minute you walked in the door.”
Kyle’s internal shit-storm alarm started blaring loud and clear, so he took his cockiness down a notch, ready to play nice. “Sir—”
“Oh, I’ve heard all about your family, Dawson,” Skinner interrupted before Kyle could make good on his shift in attitude. “What’d you think? You could come down here, do whatever the hell you wanted just because your granddaddy’s got his name in the history books?”
When Kyle merely clenched his jaw, Skinner continued. “Heard all about your daddy too. About his renegade methods of dispensing justice, how he runs his county and expects all you boys to follow in his footsteps. Except you didn’t, did you? Well, let me tell you something, son. If you need to work out your daddy issues, you can head on back up north.”