Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 109640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
“Damn, you’re going to try to run her off? That’s a dick move. What’s wrong with her besides her being young and bilingual? Especially when neither are real problems. Actually, both can be assets. The whole father thing maybe not so much. For you, anyway.”
“She’s only been an agent for a year.”
“Okay? That doesn’t mean she can’t do the job. Still not hearing the issue,” Fletch said.
“They’re all issues!” Crew yelled into the phone, then grimaced, hoping no one heard his outburst.
“The only real issue I hear is with you.”
Crew sighed. “And I first met her when she was only ten.”
“I assume that means you know her father personally.”
“I worked a case with him eighteen years ago when she was a little kid.”
“Yeah, only being ten means she was a little kid. What am I missing?”
“She’s no longer a little kid.”
“Yeah, you said she’s twenty-eight now, so…”
Crew dropped his head back and gritted his teeth. He shouldn’t have admitted that last part. Especially when he heard Fletch yell, “Oh fuck!” then laugh his ass off.
“Let me know when you’re done,” he said dryly.
Fletch’s voice came muffled through the phone. “No, he didn’t tell me a joke, baby. Crew’s just a fucking idiot. That’s why I’m laughing.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Crew muttered. “Are you interested in renting out your place or not?”
“I guess—”
“What do you want for it?”
“I don’t—”
“Five hundred?”
“A week?” Fletch asked.
“A month,” Crew answered.
“A month? That’s highway robbery.”
“All right. I’ll ask her if she’s interested and let you know.”
“I didn’t agree to five—”
Crew hit the End button on his phone and hung up.
A text came through as he was heading upstairs and when he got to the top landing, he glanced at it. It was a picture of Fletch’s hand flipping him the bird.
With a grin and a shake of his head, he punched in the code and stepped inside group one’s headquarters.
He frowned when he saw Torres standing close behind Cabrera with one hand on the back of her chair as he leaned over her shoulder, speaking Spanish as they looked at the computer screen.
“How’s the wife, Torres?”
Torres glanced over at him. “Spicy as always.”
“Is that report you’re reading in Spanish?”
Torres gave him a toothy grin and straightened. “I didn’t know that was an option.”
Crew’s nostrils flared. Of course it had to be because he picked up the scent of coffee and not because of his annoyance. He spun on his boot heel and headed over to the coffeemaker, finding a half of a carafe on the warmer. He poured himself a cup and, on his way back to Cabrera, he stopped dead and stared at the conference table.
A box of donuts sat in the center.
“Who brought these?” He flipped open the top, searched what remained, found a glazed donut and clamped it between his teeth.
“She did,” Torres said, tipping his head toward their newest task force member. Still wearing a shit-eating grin, the plant manager headed over to the desk used for transcribing wiretaps.
Cabrera glanced over her shoulder, trouble with a capital T filling her dark eyes. “Morning, sir.”
His step stuttered and he caught the donut before he almost spewed it out. “Crew is fine.”
She turned in her seat to face him. That was when he noticed she wore another suit today.
“You don’t have to dress up. We’re pretty casual around here.”
“Sounds good, boss.”
His jaws snapped shut on the donut causing a chunk of it to land at his feet.
“You never gave me the code. Someone had to let me in.”
“Yep,” he said around a mouthful of glazed donut.
“I let her in this morning and gave her the code, sir,” came from Warren Reynolds, a corporal with the state police. This morning he was assigned to work with Torres and listen to “dirty talk.”
“Hear anything interesting this morning?” Crew asked him.
“Fuck no. Too early for them to be up and about. I’m going over some of last night’s chatter.”
“And?”
“Not much,” Reynolds answered.
“Got something for you,” Torres called out. “Was listening in on Wolf’s conversation last night with Viper. He brought up that Ghost has been riding his ass about patching over.”
Ghost was Fletch’s undercover road name. “Yeah? Are they considering it?”
“Wolf didn’t sound so thrilled about it. Viper showed a bit of interest, but they ended up dropping that line of conversation to talk about… and I quote… bitches and cunts. Sorry, Cabrera.”
She flung a hand over her shoulder. “No offense taken since I assume you don’t call women that yourself.”
“Hell no. My wife would slice my nuts off and shove them down the garbage disposal. She’d flip the start switch so fast, she’d break her damn hand.”
Crew’s stomach churned at that visual. “Jesus fuck, Torres, it’s too early for that shit. At least let me finish my first cup of coffee.”
He shrugged. “Ain’t a lie, though.”
“Okay, that might mean that Beavis and Butthead are at least considering it,” Crew concluded. “Hopefully.”