Gideon wanted to protest that—the kid had slept long and hard after they’d guided him up the stairs to his apartment, and that wasn’t usually a survivor’s skill.
Maybe he felt safe?
“He’s planning weapons training today,” Gideon said, “while he gets used to the setup.What have you got for me?”
Which meant that the subject of Joey Carlyle was tabled for the moment until they could see him in the field.They’d both seen his marks and reports—he was dead-on with short work, knives, pistols, crossbows (crossbows?Holy crap!), and the like, and could apparently track a snowflake in a blizzard.But he’d never been partnered up.Clint Harding was adamant about not letting his people go into the field alone, which was a tough sell for everybody here except Clint himself and Natalia Denison.Kylie was used to working in her ivory tower as overwatch, Gail had obviously been sent on independent missions (she made a lousy honey trap, she’d told Gideon during her interview, but a really great hotel maid who could search things) but seemed to enjoy working with a team, and Harm—as Clint had noted grimly on more than one occasion—was practically an empath.
Sure, Clint’s boyfriend could kick tactical ass, which was surprising given his slender form and sweet little face, but he wasreallygood at reading any partner’s emotional cues and then using that to advantage to track down a suspect.
If it hadn’t been for his barely suppressed tendency to psychoanalyze anybody he was in close quarters with, Gideon might have harbored a crush, but as it was, he was ready to wave the man a fond farewell.
And Crosby hadalwaysworked with a partner—the question now was could he ever trust one again.
Gideon had ridden with him a couple of times, and he wasn’t bad.For all he presented himself as a dumb flatfoot, he was intuitive and clear in his intentionsandhis communications, and as a pleasant surprise, he was pretty good at talking a suspect down from critical moments, only going for his weapon as a last resort.Natalia had reported the same things, and Clint was going to see how well he paired up with Gail.
Which meant that, depending on how things fell out, Gideon might be taking Carlyle on his first tactical or probative run.So wondering what they might have brewing was a good question.Gideon was going to want to be prepared.
“Turns out,” Clint said, going to his terminal and pressing a few buttons, “I’ve got something you may want to check out.Let Carlyle get settled in, and if we’re still quiet tomorrow, maybe start hunting down leads on this.Study it.I got a phone briefing, but I want your take.”He blew out a breath.“Blodgett’s going to regret missing this one.”
“Where’s it from?”Gideon asked, knowing the file had been sent to his computer.Yes, the iconic manila file folder still existed, but for a casual “Take a look at this, would you?”with somebody who still had clearance, a computer link worked too.
While not a leader—oh fuck no—Gideonhadworked in Behavior Analysis, just like Harman Blodgett, and for a little while, like Clint and Natalia, and he hadn’t lost his clearance rating when he transferred out.In fact that had been part of the condition of his transfer—one that Clint had asked for and Gideon hadn’t.
But it had come in handy these last six months, and apparently it would now.
Three and a half hours later, Gideon’s eyes felt like sandpaper, and the water flask that sat at his desk was bone dry.He kept trying to drink out of the aluminum bottle and grimacing when there was nothing in it, but so far nothing had inspired him to get up and move.
It wasn’t until he reached for his water bottle for the umpteenth time and sweet, sweet nectar of life poured into his mouth, making him sputter, that he realized Joey Carlyle had been sitting at his desk, silently watching him for God knew how long.
“Holy fuck,” Gideon said, wiping his mouth off with the sleeve of his white dress shirt.The dress code here was much more casual than the FBI—but it was still “Look good to impress civilians.”Gideon went with a sport coat, oxford shirt, jeans, and those wonderful soft-soled lace-up things that were being worn as office-friendly now but let him tear up the street when he was running someone down.
He’d shed his sport coat the moment he’d sat and opened the damned file.
“If I’d been hunting you, you’d be dinner,” Carlyle said, and Gideon glared into those disturbingly red-brown eyes.According to his file, Carlyle’s mother had been born on the First Nations reservation near Carlyle’s father’s home in Massachusetts.The two had never married, and Joey’s mother had passed away when he’d been an infant.His grandfather had raised him until he’d turned eight, and then his father had taken partial custody, sending him away to military school when he turned fourteen.
Sounded like a dick move to Gideon, who would bet the kid missed his grandfather, but he wasn’t about to ask.He wasn’t going to ask where Carlyle got his skills at tracking and absolute quiet either.It was enough that the kid was like a ghost.
“Not when I think I’m safe,” Gideon retorted now, not liking that the kid thought of their office as a hunting ground.
Joey gave a slow processing blink.“Understood,” he said.“Apologies.”
Well, okay, then.“No worries,” he responded.“And thank you for the water.It was considerate.”
“When do I get a coffee cup?”Joey asked, surprising Gideon.
“When we know who you are,” Gideon replied.It was funny—he’d always been good at languages.Spoke Spanish, Farsi, and French.He found that talking to Joey Carlyle was a little like learning a new language.One with few words and lots of intuitive leaps.
Another slow processing blink.“Will I like it?”
Gideon cocked his head.“I hope so.They’re not supposed to make you feel bad.They’re supposed to make you feel welcome.”
A blinding thing happened with white teeth against his faintly dusky skin.His eyes narrowed, the apples of his cheeks popped out—a dimple emerged.
Oh dear God, it was asmile.Gideon could actuallyfeelhis pulse shoot up.
“That Crosby kid doesn’t have one yet.”
“He got here a week before you did,” Gideon said, wrinkling his nose.
