That was a good question.
One neither had the answer for either.
* * * Blackhawk & Cantrell * * *
The J Edgar Hoover Building
Friday
Late Morning
Well, this was a predicament.
As Gene Cantrell stared down the barrel of the Glock, the woman on the other end was watching him.
Oh, and her finger was on the trigger.
There was no mistaking the fact that she appeared to be willing to shoot first and ask questions later.
“Your move, sunshine,” she said to him, hoping Gene didn’t make her get mean. You couldn’t just kick in a door at the Hoover Building and not have a problem.
This had better be damn good.
“What the fuck?” Gabe asked, standing behind his desk.
He’d been having a meeting with Elizabeth, talking about her next case, and his office door had flown in, slamming against the wall.
Elizabeth had been up so fast, drawing her gun, that Gabe was caught off guard again.
Gene stared past the woman, pointing a gun at him, and focused on Gabe.
He was the issue here.
NOT.
HIM.
“You’re an asshole! Why the holy fuck would you let my partner quit? Why would you try to do this? Are you that big of a douchebag?” Gene asked.
The minute she heard him, Elizabeth lowered her gun and put it back in the holster.
Someone was pissed, and Gabe had, apparently, done something questionable.
When would he learn?
Seriously.
Well, this kind of bullshittery was the most normal thing at this god-forsaken shithole.
Gabe sputtered.
“Are you out of your mind?”
Gene headed his way as Elizabeth moved toward the door to get the secretary to go back to her desk.
Oh, and to call off security.
She waved them off, signaling she had it in control.
