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“If he doesn’t end up with one of my bullets between his eyes.”
“Always the lone wolf, aren’t you?” Logan chastised.
I shot him a nasty look before turning off my computer. “I have my reasons.”
“Last time I checked, you had a partner. I know you think you’re better than me, but Jesus, Max.”
“That’s not what I think, and you know it. I’m just… This case is bugging the shit out of me. Okay? This has nothing to do with your skills.”
“When are you going to tell me how you know Stone Keeler?” he asked, lifting a single eyebrow.
“Nothing to tell. I went to school with him a hell of a long time ago. I don’t know jack shit about him now.” Logan knew my tone. Back the fuck off.
He backed away, hissing under his breath. “Have it your way but that lone wolf shit is going to get you killed one day.”
I bristled hearing the truth, the tension between us something I hated.
“Don’t look now but the wicked witch of the West is headed in our direction,” Logan muttered a minute or two later.
Great, just what I needed. I grabbed my keys, anxious to get the visit over with so I could leave. I noticed she was already standing in the doorway with a pensive look on her face. Sheila Finley, the director of field operations, was tough as nails, considered on the fast track for the director of the ATF. Her assignment to the Denver field office hadn’t set well with her plans. And she absolutely hated me.
“Cordero. Parker. I need to see you both in my office before you head out for the night.” Sheila turned on her heel, keeping her head high as she headed back to her office.
Logan whistled. “She’s in a mood today. Bet she’s getting heat that we haven’t located the fugitive.”
“Yeah, well, we’ve done everything we could to track the bastard.” My anger roared to the surface.
He gripped my arm before walking by. “Just play it cool, my friend. I don’t know what’s going on with you lately, but this surly attitude of yours is going to get you canned one day.”
Surly attitude. He had no idea what the hell he was even talking about. While we were partners, had even shared a few six-packs of beer and several games of pool at the local dive, he could never be my friend. There was far too much danger surrounding maintaining a friendship of any kind.
He’d never survive the aftermath.
I waited for a few seconds before following behind him. I’d never been good at playing politics and as with any organization, there was the importance of numbers. While our field office had outperformed a huge percentage of others, Denver wasn’t considered a huge player in the game of numbers—at least as far as promotions went.
Sheila stood at her window, her arms crossed. “Close the door.”
Logan lifted his eyebrows and performed the task, both of us moving toward her desk. We knew better than to open our mouths before she began the conversation.
“The Brody Miller case is out of your hands,” she said casually.
“Wait a minute,” Logan started. “We’re making headway.”
“Don’t bother. It’s in the hands of the Feds now. He was seen late last night in Montana,” she answered, still not bothering to turn in our direction.
“Then what case are we being assigned?” I asked, almost grateful the case had been ripped from our hands.
Sheila finally turned, locking eyes with me and I could tell she was attempting to garner a read of my mood. What was she looking for? She leaned over her desk, placing her fisted hands on the surface. “Parker, you’ve been assigned to work on an evolving case with several of the local bars. Seems like they’re running some pretty terrifying things through them. I’ve sent all the information to you. You start right away and you’re going undercover.”
This was unusual.
“You’re splitting us up?” he asked, darting a glance in my direction.
She exhaled, half chuckling. “It would seem that Agent Cordero has been asked for specifically to work with the Denver Police Department on a particularly gruesome case they have.”
“Why would they ask for Max?” Logan asked.
I shifted from one foot to the other, remaining silent.
