Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
From the sleazy look Agent Thompson gives Macy when she snatches a box he’s carrying out of his arms, his reasoning smacks into me hard and fast. He thought forcing her out of the only bed in the apartment would force her to share his.
Not on my watch, fuckface.
“Nice to see you again, too, freckles.” Agent Thompson rolls his teeth over his lower lip as his hooded gaze fixates on Macy’s breasts.
“Don’t call me that.” Macy’s snarled words sizzle off Thompson’s cheek when she sidesteps him to remove another file box from an agent I’ve yet to meet. “It is Agent Machini or nothing.”
“I wouldn’t,” I warn when Thompson’s face reveals he is as corrupt as his IA file portrays.
Thompson cowers when he finally notices me. He couldn’t take his eyes off Macy’s ass for even a second to acknowledge my presence. “Grayson—”
“Special Supervisory Agent Rogers,” I correct. “You can call me Agent Rogers if the title is too long for you to articulate.” I scan my eyes across the empty bulletin boards that were brimming with documents only twenty-four hours ago. “Who authorized the retrieval of these files?”
“Why do I need authorization?” Thompson’s tone is calm and measured. “They’re my files too.”
“You haven’t worked on them in months,” Macy replies before I can.
Thompson’s shit-eating grin fades, replaced with a look of cold calculation. “Because you accused without considering the consequences of your actions. Again. So that left you out in the cold, Agent Machini.” He mocks her title as if she hasn’t netted a dozen more collars than he has in the prior twelve months alone.
I step forward, my narrowed eyes locked on Thompson when Macy gives credit to the assumption that he’s a douche. “It isn’t an accusation when it’s true.” The tension is thick and suffocating, worsening when she adds, “No means no, Thompson. If you’ve already forgotten that, I’m more than happy to teach you another lesson.”
My hands clench in barely restrained anger when Thompson sneers, “You think you’re so righteous. Always playing the victim. They may have believed your sob story about Agent Moses, but it won’t work with me. You have no proof—”
Macy beats me at silencing him. She slaps him the way she did her mother—with a closed fist. She doesn’t stop at one hit this time, though. She continues pounding into him until I have no choice but to intervene. I don’t give a shit about Agent Thompson’s bloody teeth or his already swelling eye. I hate that Macy’s knuckles are as red as her cheeks, and she’s about to cry. Those points are the sole reason I step in.
Thompson’s eyes flash with anger when I drag a red-faced Macy away from him, and his words seethe through an already fat and split lip. “I’ll have your badge for this.”
I meet his gaze, unflinching. “Try… and the only time you will ever step foot inside headquarters again will be when you’re indicted for harassment.”
There’s no dishonesty in my tone. No leniency. I will strip him of more than his badge, and my retribution will begin with a one-on-one meeting with the woman who slid the gold band on his left hand, unknowingly marrying a wannabe, or perhaps even already, abuser.
When Thompson sees the truth in my eyes, he marches for the exit. The unnamed agent shadows his exit after a mumbled defense that he was only asked to help gather bureau-owned files.
Macy sags into my embrace when the door slams shut. I assume she’s exhausted from the fight she put up, but I learn otherwise when her tone lowers more with every empty inch her eyes scan. “He took everything. It’s all gone.” I let her down, and when she spins to face me, the regret in her eyes hits me full force. “How will we ever find them now?”
“I’m not worried about what he has. I am more worried about your hand hitting a chunk of silicone twice in twelve hours.” I guide her into the kitchen, where the space is less confined now that the mountains of files are gone. “We should ice it.”
“My hand is fine.” She pulls away from me and heads for the main entrance. “We need to stop him before he leaves with our files. Regathering them will take months.”
Her “we” and “our” statements aren’t shocking.
We work as a team because we are a team.
I slice her long strides to the door in half when I say, “He took the files I wanted him to take.”
I wait for her eyes to meet mine before announcing that I used her guest speaker confirmation at the gala as bait to lure the person working against her out of hiding.
“It didn’t take a genius to realize the men you’re investigating received every report you filed over the past six months. The signs were as obvious as a flashing neon light, and I’m guessing the sole reason you no longer lodge accurate reports?” I thank her for her honesty with a smile when she wordlessly agrees with me before I turn to face the television. “Did you get anything useful, punk?”