“Knight’s right,” Maddock said. “I’ve been there twice with him when he met with Markson and the guy is a loose cannon.”
Maddock was a nice guy, about five years younger than Derek, and always ready with a quick grin and a joke to defuse tension. The women around the office adored him, and the men all thought of him as a buddy, the kind of guy you want at your back.
Nordstrom was the only one unaffected by Maddock’s charming smile. “All the more reason to hurry. Knight, get an FD-473 ready. The minute the guy agrees, you can hand him the form and give him the recorder.”
Derek wasn’t sure that pressuring Markson was the way to go. “I don’t know. This guy is going to freak if we whip out an authorization form to carry a recorder on his body and then wire him up right on the spot. ”
It wasn’t the right thing to say. Nordstrom stood up and hovered over Derek. At six-three and two hundred and eighty pounds easy, he was old, cranky, and intimidating. Not to mention that prior to the FBI he’d been a marine.
“We don’t have time to dick around, Knight. This meeting is taking place in two weeks and after that there won’t be another one until the next fiscal quarter. I’ve got three agents on this case, and nothing happening. We don’t have the goddamn budget for you to spend the next three months playing with yourself.”
Well, when put like that.
Derek really didn’t know how he managed to piss Nordstrom off so regularly.
No one moved in the small airless room with government gray walls. As chairs squeaked and Nordstrom breathed hard, Derek was formulating a response, wishing Maddock or the other agent in the room, White, would rescue him.
They didn’t, but another agent popped his head in the door to Nordstrom’s office and said, “Reeder wants to see you, sir.”
Thank God.
Nordstrom started towards the door. “Get me something we can use, Knight. And don’t hang around my office all morning, I’m expecting someone at ten.”
Derek let out a sigh of relief as his boss left, and lifted his suit jacket a little to let his armpits air. He was sweating like a pig.
Maddock gave him a light clap on the shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry about it, man. Nordstrom’s just got budget concerns and stuff that we don’t have to deal with. You’ll be able to talk Markson into wearing a wire.” He grinned and shot a look at White, a female agent who was as unaffected by Maddock’s charm as Nordstrom.
CJ White, a serious and quiet agent, always had her hair scraped back into a ponytail and her body covered in loose ill-fitting pants and sweaters. She never wore makeup or jewelry and looked like she could take down a hardened criminal just by piercing him with a cold stare.
For some inexplicable reason, Maddock seemed to pick on her, and Derek thought it was because she was the only woman under fifty who didn’t flirt with him. An ego blow for the charming Maddock.
“Well, if you can’t talk him into it, maybe White can do it. Come on, White, we’ll slap you in a dress and you can go come on to the guy. ”
Derek buried his face in his hand. Jesus. What the hell was Maddock doing? The guy wasn’t normally such an idiot.
He was about to reprimand him, when White spoke.
“I heard Markson was bisexual. So maybe we should send you, Maddock, since your only skill is flirting.”
Derek laughed as White left the room, a faint smile on her face. Maddock sat up straight, his mouth wide open. Then he scoffed and laughed along with Derek, but was obviously still annoyed.
“I think White has a thing for me, that’s why she’s such a bitch to me.”
Derek wasn’t about to feed that delusion. He said, “More like she thinks you’re a sexist asshole.”
Maddock sighed, gazing towards the door White had gone through. “Probably,” he agreed. “I don’t mean to be sexist. I need to work on that.”
“Agreed.”
They sat there for a minute, Derek’s mind wandering back to Reese. They had said good-bye Sunday morning, had exchanged phone numbers and she had left.
Just left. And he missed her. Her laugh, her feisty smile, her soft satin hair.
She hadn’t even suggested they keep in touch for any reason other than the case, and she hadn’t so much as mentioned ever seeing each other again.
It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. It was two nights out of his life. She and her incredible legs had intruded into his job and personal life for less than two days, then popped back out. That’s all it was. A fun weekend.
Then why did he feel so damn depressed?