Mace dragged me straight to Lee’s office and pulled me in.
Tom Savage, Malcolm Nightingale and Monty were all at Lee’s desk. There was a mess of papers on it, papers that looked like maps and floor plans.
Their heads came up and they stared at me.
Then Tom broke away from the rest and came at me muttering, “Christ Jesus.”
Before I knew it, he had me in his arms.
“Christ. Jesus. Jesus Christ,” he whispered over my head.
So lightning wouldn’t strike him for taking the Lord’s name in vain (repeatedly), I said into his chest, “I’m okay. It was my father. He had one of his men kidnap me. He didn’t hurt me. My father just wanted to talk.”
Tom leaned back and looked at me. “We know it was Jerry. Daisy recognized him. We just didn’t know what your father had planned.”
I saw the relief written all over his face and, even though it was unhappy circumstances that gave him that look, for some reason somewhere deep it made me happy. So happy, I slid my arms around his waist, pressed my cheek against his chest and hugged him.
I don’t remember hugging anyone like that of my own accord (and not in the middle of a major flip out) since my Mom was killed.
“I’m okay,” I repeated.
He hugged me back. “Thinkin’ about givin’ up Mexican food, girl. At least until we know you’re safe. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
I pulled away and looked up at him.
“That’s sayin’ a lot, Tom likes his Mexican food,” Monty called from his spot by the desk.
“I wouldn’t want you to give up something you liked,” I told Tom.
He smiled at me as Malcolm asked Mace, “Someone call Hector?”
“Shirleen,” Mace replied.
“The girls?” Tom asked.
“Shirleen,” Mace repeated.
“Prepare for a Rock Chick invasion,” Monty muttered.
I looked at Monty then at Mace finally at Malcolm and Tom.
“I’m sorry to worry you, I –”
Malcolm cut me off, “Didn’t hear Kitty Sue, Indy or Ally say you waltzed out with Jerry, arms linked and laughin’, so stop apologizin’.”
I nodded then, even though it probably sounded stupid, it was true, I said to Mace, “I really could use a cup of coffee. Do you guys have a kitchenette?”
“I’ll get Brody to make a pot,” Mace told me.
“Shit no!” Monty exclaimed, moving away from the desk. “Brody’s coffee’s thicker than custard. One cup’ll keep you awake a week. I’ll make it.”
“Thanks Monty,” I said to his back. He didn’t turn around, he just lifted up a hand, flicked out his index and middle fingers and walked out.
“Shit to do,” Mace mumbled, tagged me with a hand behind my head and brought me close, leaned low (Mace was really tall), kissed my forehead, then he was gone.
Monty made coffee and Shirleen, who didn’t file but apparently did serve coffee or at least she did to recently returned kidnap victims, brought it in with milk, sugar and mugs.
I had just taken my first fortifying sip (Monty made excellent coffee) when the door opened and Hector was there.