Without Fear - Reese Knightley Page 0,41
and another began. He ran his sharp gaze over the street and surrounding area all the way back to the entrance to their building. Stanton used his key fob and the doors unlocked.
“You’re late,” Whip said the moment Stanton closed the apartment door.
“Sorry,” Macy grinned. “I wanted another go at Stanton.”
“How’d that work out for you?” Whip’s smile widened.
Macy waggled his hand back and forth. “So so.”
Stanton snorted.
Movement from the kitchen had Macy palming the Glock tucked into his pants. He pulled it and aimed it at the stranger’s head.
Stanton whirled around and pulled his firearm as well.
“Hold,” Whip said. “He’s a friendly.”
Macy lowered his gun and waited because the guy didn’t look friendly at all.
“US Marshal Axel Bain,” the big, wild looking man said. “Don’t shoot.” The guy pointed a thumb over his shoulder to someone standing behind him. Another guy stepped out wearing a Marshals badge hanging from a chain around his neck.
“Hey Flint,” Stanton said and Macy relaxed. They all seemed to know each other.
“This is US Marshal Flint Ashbridge,” Whip introduced the guy.
Flint grunted, ran his eyes over him, and a very slight sneer curled the man’s lip. From the look of distaste on Ashbridge’s face, Macy realized that the new guy apparently found the short pink top he’d worn to match his sweats offensive.
Great, just fucking great. He stared stonily at Whip. “Why the extra muscle?”
“Axel and I need to head to Oregon and pick up a witness. I’m leaving Flint in my place.” Whip hefted a duffle bag over one shoulder and Axel opened the door.
Macy followed Whip to the door and stepped out into the hallway. He heard Stanton and Flint talking.
“Why him?”
“What?” Whip frowned.
“He’d doesn’t seem…tolerant,” he said for want of a better word, and then added, “of me.”
Whip smiled. “He’s like that with everyone. He’s been with the marshals for fifteen years. He’ll help Stanton to keep you safe.”
“If you say so,” he scowled.
Whip gently pushed him back through the open door. “I do. Don’t give him a hard time.”
Whip shut the door and Macy was left gazing at the wood.
He turned back to the room and the sneer had turned into a more derisive look. Screw this. He retreated to his room. He wouldn’t be subjected to a marshal that appeared to be at the least an asshole and the most a homophobe. Okay, he didn’t know that for a fact, but he wasn’t stupid. It was apparent as all hell that the guy had a bug up his ass about him.
Carefully, he lowered to the edge of his bed. He could hear Flint’s deep voice bitching about the lack of food, and Stanton’s a moment later ordering pizza.
Plopping back on the bed, he gazed up at the ceiling and wished he was anywhere but this miserable run-down place. Easing to his side, he tugged off his shirt and studied the Icy Hot covered fading bruise on his arm. Limping into the bathroom, he shucked his pants and carefully peeled away the bandage over the wound on his leg. He turned away from the mirror and turned on the shower.
Lastly, he unwrapped the two sprained fingers on his left hand. The digits were red and the knuckles were swollen and throbbed beneath his touch. Who would have thought that broken fingers took so long to get better? The doc had said two to eight weeks before they healed and even longer for full mobility.
Stepping beneath the hot water, he let the spray pulse against a few tender spots from his spar with Stanton. Several minutes after washing, he cleaned the wound on his leg, rinsed, and dried off. After wrapping his fingers back up, he changed into a pair of black sweats and a heavy, hooded sweatshirt of the same color and tucked his bright pink outfit away.
Finally stopping at the mirror, he touched his lips with a baby pink lip gloss and outlined his eyes lightly with charcoal. There, he felt a bit better with makeup since he’d chosen to forgo wearing bright colors.
It took several long minutes to work the spray-in conditioner into his long hair with one hand and even more challenging to tie it back, but he managed it. He gave his reflection a satisfied look. Flipping off the light, he returned to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed.
Even though his hand hurt like hell, shoes and socks were a must. WITSEC did that to a guy. Hyperawareness of people and be