Badger to the Bone (Honey Badger Chronicles #3) - Shelly Laurenston Page 0,47
and pulled out the report, handing it over to the man.
“Excellent. Thank you both so much.”
Then he walked out. Without another word. No explanation. No idea when she’d hear from Vargas again. She couldn’t even send him flowers because she didn’t know which hospital they’d put him in. Was he still in the Netherlands? Was he back in the States?
What the fuck was happening?
Once the door closed behind the man, David slumped in his chair.
“Wow, does that man make me uncomfortable.”
“Who the fuck was that?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“What do you mean, don’t worry about it? Vargas is one of my men.”
David folded his hands on his desk and calmly gazed at Amelia.
“What?” she finally asked when he just stared at her in that weird, placid way of his.
“Do you enjoy your life?”
“Excuse me?”
“Do you enjoy living and being happy? Then, if I were you, I’d forget about Vargas. If he contacts you, he contacts you. And if he doesn’t, keep your mouth shut and move on with your day.”
“David—”
“I’m not joking, Amelia. These are people you do not want to fuck with. Be happy you only had to give up your report.”
David turned away from her, focusing on his computer. “The remainder of your money will hit your account in the next hour, including a bonus. Divvy it up among your team as you see fit. And have a good day. I’ll let you know when we have a new job for you.”
She wanted to argue. She wanted to rip his nuts off. But how would that help her or Vargas?
So she stood and headed back to her hotel room. If nothing else, she had a copy of her report on her laptop and in her cloud account.
At least she thought she did.
By the time she got back to the hotel and went online, it was as if that report—and what had happened—had never existed.
* * *
“We need to go back to the beginning!” Streep announced, arms thrown wide, smile gorgeous. “To where this all started!”
“You mean Africa?” Mads asked flatly, and Max was barely able to stop her laugh. Streep hated being laughed at.
“No,” she snapped back at Mads. “Not Africa. To where Zé began.” She rested her hands on the table, leaned in a bit. “You’re from Mexico, right?”
Vargas’s eyes narrowed and Max wondered how often that was people’s first choice when discussing his heritage.
Max covered her mouth with her hand, and Nelle pressed her face against Max’s bare shoulder to stop her own laughter, which did not help the situation.
After a pause, Vargas said, “No. I’m not from Mexico. Are you?”
Streep frowned, confused. “No. My family is from the Philippines. But what does that have to do with anything?”
“Absolutely nothing,” Mads growled.
“What is with the tone?”
“Should we do a roundtable of everyone’s racial background? Maybe get some DNA tests done? Wouldn’t that be fun?”
The Streep-tears started immediately. Right after the trembling bottom lip.
“Why are you so mean to me?” Streep sobbed.
Tock pointed at the watch she had saved for since she was six years old, when she’d decided that her father didn’t understand the “concept of time” and what it meant to “manage my life.” A ten-thousand-dollar Swiss timepiece that was beyond precise. A watch that was in no way designed for the average person just looking to keep time.
Of course, Tock had informed them at their first team meeting as a junior high basketball team—when she only had a Timex watch with Minnie Mouse’s arms telling her the hours and minutes—that she managed her life in thirty-minute increments. If she got something done in ten minutes that meant she had another twenty to do whatever she wanted to do, but whatever she had booked had to be dealt with first. Whether it was homework, team practice, or wild boar hunting. When she booked practice, she expected all of them to honor the time commitment. And that expectation hadn’t changed in the last sixteen years.
“We have practice tonight in Manhattan. So what are we doing about Zé?” Tock demanded.
Streep stopped sobbing and glared at Tock. “Does my pain mean nothing to you?”
“I didn’t book time for your pain.”
“What do you suggest we do?” Nelle asked Tock.
“I’ll go to the Katzenhaus Library. The cats keep track of their people, and their library on Fifth digitally links to the library in Germany, which has even more extensive genealogical records.” She pulled