In A Fix - Mary Calmes Page 0,24
sure, after the adrenaline crash.
We arrived at the field office in one piece, miraculously, no further brawls breaking out in the car, and Dallas rounded on me when I followed him through the door. I pulled my Glock and passed it to him before bending over to take the Microtech Ultratech UTX-70 OTF knife—fancy name for a switchblade—out of my boot. I knew the drill; he didn’t have to tell me.
“Holy shit,” Digby choked out as I straightened up. His nose wasn’t bleeding anymore, but he was going to have a beauty of a black eye.
“I knew it,” Dallas said, his voice silky, appreciative, grinning at me, testing the knife, seeing and feeling how fast and smooth the action of the blade was. “No doubt in my mind, from that takedown at the bar, that you could’ve killed him, easy.”
“In hindsight, I probably should have,” I informed him, glancing at Digby and then back at the FBI agent. “But there were too many people around.” I smiled to let him know I was kidding, of course. Mostly.
His return grin was sexy as hell.
“And I was a cop,” I continued, “as you probably know from the background check you ran on me.”
He nodded. “Why only six years on the job?”
“It was enough.”
“Really? You’ve got an awfully fancy degree from Berkley to use it to be a cop. You never aspired to something more?”
I shrugged. “I’m a low achiever.”
“Yeah, I seriously doubt that,” he said, chuckling, and then turned to lead us all down a long hall.
We were separated then. Digby was taken to one room while Brig and I were taken to another. I took a seat while Brig paced.
“How can you just sit there?” he asked, fidgeting, fists at his sides one second, arms crossed over his chest the next, only to brace himself against the wall a moment after that.
“What you’re doing right now will wear you out,” I assured him, putting my feet up. “You should stand to stretch your legs only when you need to, but otherwise, conserve your energy. We’re going to be here for a while.”
“I have a whole team of lawyers that I assure you my brother already called,” he assured me, indignant and proud, vehemently wanting to set me straight. “I’ll be out of here shortly.”
I shook my head.
“You doubt me?” He was aghast, his anger ramping up.
“This is the FBI,” I soothed him, keeping my voice level. “They can do whatever they want in the investigation of a crime.” He was going to argue, but I lifted my hand to stop him. “Something is going on with your sister, and they think you’re involved,” I explained, pulling out the chair beside me. “Until they know what’s going on, you’re stuck here.”
“But I have no idea what Lane has done.”
I nodded. “I know that, but they don’t. So until they question you and are convinced you aren’t involved in whatever she’s up to, you’re stuck here.”
“And what about you?”
“I’m here to protect you, but if they want me out of here, I have no choice but to go. Hopefully they will allow me to remain with you, but we’ll see what happens.” I smiled at him, trying to come off as reassuring. “Either way, I won’t leave. I’ll be outside in the lobby if they don’t let me sit in here with you.”
“Yes. Good,” he choked out, taking a breath.
“Come sit down.”
He sank into the chair beside me, close, so his knee bumped my thigh under the table, and then folded his arms and laid his head down on them.
I was surprised that Dallas hadn’t taken our phones from us, until I realized that there was absolutely no reception at all in the building. Their scrambler, I was certain, was military grade.
We’d been sitting in the interrogation room going on an hour now, and I was sure this was some sort of torture method to make Brig want to spill his guts when they came to speak to him.
“Eric’s going to murder me for this,” Brig whispered.
It was an odd thing to say; their plan may have been working.
“He texts me every couple of hours when we’re in different cities, and I reply with something like, not dead, in one piece, talk to you soon—whatever.”
“Every couple of hours?”
He rolled his head on his arms to look at me. “I know it sounds strange; it’s what everyone thinks—look at Digby—but Eric and I live together. I mean, I don’t actually need a bodyguard at