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“Hmm.” Clay made it sound like he was agreeing. “How about I call him, and we settle this now?”
“That won’t be necessary,” Agent Ferragamo assured Clay. “This was a routine inquiry. We have all the information we require at this time.” The doorknob rattled. “Thank you for your cooperation.”
“We’ll be in touch,” Agent Mickelson promised. “The director’s favor is a fickle thing.”
Not where I was concerned. No matter how hard I worked to get myself disowned, I failed every time. A more sentimental person might think he was desperate to hold on to the last family he had, but I knew him better than that. He was why my grip on softer emotions was slippery at best.
When the door closed and the elevator chimed in the hall, announcing the agents were gone, I stood.
“Well, that was interesting.” I joined Asa and Clay. “The vampire tattled on me.”
There was an unspoken rule among Black Hat agents.
Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it.
Common sense, really.
No one cared how agents vented their pent-up aggression, as long as it wasn’t on the clock, didn’t affect their case, and no one died. Unless, like Asa, a challenge was issued that stemmed from cultural mores. I was fuzzy on the details, since the no one died part was more of a guideline than a rule, but whatever.
To pick a fight then run to the director and cry about any resulting boo-boos was bad form.
The whole confrontation had struck me as bizarre at the time, and it kept getting weirder by the minute.
“I’m not saying it’s been boring the last ten years or so,” Clay began, “but you know how to shake things up, Dollface. It’s like a revolution was just waiting for you to return before it kicked off.”
Except the revolution had kicked off before I ever stepped back onto the field.
Had the Silver Stag wannabe not baited his trap so well, I wouldn’t be here, back in black.
And, for better or for worse, I never would have met Asa.
“Yeah, well.” I rubbed my arms. “Yo momma.”
“That’s the best you’ve got?” Clay scoffed. “I’m embarrassed for you.”
“You’re the one who taught me how to talk smack. Be embarrassed for yourself.”
“That was ten-plus years ago,” he defended. “Your insults are out of date.”
Asa’s phone rang, and he answered it in a language that chimed like bells in his resonate voice.
“We’re going downstairs to grab breakfast,” Clay announced, gripping my arm. “Continental style.”
Asa frowned, promised to keep an ear out for Colby, but was then drawn back into his conversation.
Only after we exited the elevator, three floors down from our suite, did Clay get to the point.
“The director wants an audience with you.” He headed to the pour your own waffle station. “Why else would he dispatch two random agents to harass you? You barely had your clearance to act on the naga sighting. There’s no way they saw a fresh case pop in the database and ran to help out of the goodness of their hearts. Black Hats don’t work that way.”
Most agents did their level best to avoid work, unless it directly related to their own caseload.
“He told them to provoke you but not lay hands on you,” he speculated. “That way, when you beat them senseless, they had cause to bring you in, but it went sideways when one of the guys fisted your hair.”
Better than anyone, Clay knew how the director thought, and his scenario made perfect sense. I couldn’t even gripe that the director hadn’t gone the direct route. He had called me. Repeatedly. Three times just today. I was the one ignoring him, forcing him to get creative in orchestrating our reunion.
“I came back.” I picked over the toppings. “Why can’t that be enough for him?”
“It will never be enough,” Clay warned. “You know he won’t rest until you’re under his thumb again.”
