“That,” he unexpectedly says in tandem with me rising back to my feet.“I prefer you call me that.”
“Counselor?”
“Or Attorney At Law or Master or Garcia or pretty much any snarky title that finds its way past your pouty lips.”
“They’re not pouty.They’re perfect.”
“They can be both.”
An amused nose scrunch thoughtlessly occurs.“Why?Why do you prefer those?”
“Porque viene de ti.” He leans around me to remove the bent metal from the hole.“And I only want names that mean something – whether you’re expressing distaste or dissatisfaction or dirty fantasies – to come from you.”The offering of the material is made post him ending the conversation.“You wanna put this away or give me that honor?”
Mirth floats around my stare as I snatch the tool, deliver a re-bend, and secure it back inside my bikini top.Next, I crack the door open just enough to see if we’re actively being guarded or if they expected the joke of lock to do the job it took minimal effort to make it stop doing.
Not seeing a figure or outline of one convinces me to cautiously grant us more access to the upper level.
Sliding along the outer wall beside the area we’re leaving is effortlessly done by me; however, the man – that I assumed would be a better escape accomplice than he is – brazenly prepares to step into plain view until I –once more– extend an arm to stop it.
“Against the wall!” I hiss in a reprimanding fashion.
Despite immediately completing the action he asks, “Why?!”
“We don’t know who is where or how many there are.”Instantly my eyes dart upward to the deck area above us where a pair of boots are peeking through the railing.Pointing my index in that direction, I continue to whisper, “Two on the upper level, means at least two on this level too.”
“I only see one pair of feet.”
“If there’s one on this side…that means there’s one on the opposite side.”
“You don’t know that.You shouldn’t just assume-”
“I’m sorry, which one of us has been kidnapped before?”
“That’s terrible evidence for your conclusion considering not all kidnappers operate the same.”
“Fine.” Sneering can’t be helped.“Law enforcement as well as military – and paramilitary – are trained to send their operators out inpairs.Most mercs have background in one or both of those departments; therefore, it’s natural for them to patrol in familiar patterns when out in the field.”
Rather than give me a victory, he challenges, “And what gives you the impression we’re dealing with paramilitary – or in that aspect – versus pirates or low-level foot soldiers or junkies just looking to make some extra cash?”
“Their footwear.”
“What?!”
“Footwear tells you a lot about a person before they ever will.”
“Is that so, Shirley Holmes?”
“Yours says you drink too much tequila and can’t run a full mile.”
“I can run a full mile!” Garcia sharply bites back.
“His says mercenary, military issued, meaning my previous conclusions are most likely correct, and that we need to get moving before one of those patrollingthis levelreach our prison – that we are not in, need I remind you – again.”
This time he nods and ushers a hand for me to lead the way.
Which is nice.
Which I appreciate.
