Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 132962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
As he stared at Cody, a yawn finally tore free. He had to get Cody Turner out of his mind, and there was only one way to do that. He typed Cody a Skype message, and he also texted him so he wouldn’t forget.
“Come to DC for a day or two. I have a lot going on, I’ll be busy, but I want you like I’ve never wanted anything else in my life. Don’t fight me on this. Just come, you have the time off. I’ll buy your ticket.”
Chapter 22
Mitch surveyed the T-shirts he’d bought the day before, trying to decide which one might be the least offensive of the bunch. He didn’t give a shit what the director thought about his choice in clothing, but Gladys, now that was a totally different story. Her evil eye carried across the entire floor.
Even though he’d had just a few hours sleep, not more than seven in the last couple of days, he felt alive, invigorated, and ready to start this day. He was positive he could talk Cody into coming to DC for a couple of days. So sure in fact, he abandoned his wardrobe search and left the clothes hanging in the closet to go in search of his cell phone.
He sent a quick text to his assistant in Louisiana asking her to book an open-ended flight in the next few days from Austin to DC and charge his personal credit card. He had no idea how much that was going to cost him, since he hadn’t had to pay for a flight in the last six years, but whatever the cost, it would be worth it, of that, he was certain.
Mitch chose the T-shirt that had a print screen across the front saying, ‘I’m not gay, but twenty bucks is twenty bucks’, and smiled, looking in the mirror. He’d save the one that read, ‘I’d bottom you so hard,’ for tomorrow. Hopefully he’d be picking Cody up from the airport wearing that one.
Mitch opted for the shoulder holster today. He’d bought the jacket, but for some reason adding the outside, under the arm holster to the T-shirt just seemed all the more fun to poke at his temporary partner. And honestly, he knew he shouldn’t. Connors’s son was hurt. Released from the hospital last night, but still down for a good long time. He should be considerate, but whatever. He was in such a flipping good mood, and he loved giving people shit when he was having a good day.
Mitch looked himself over in the mirror once more and barked out a laugh. He looked perfectly ridiculous. He grabbed his jacket and laptop as he made his way out the door. It was a little before six in the morning, and Starbucks was right downstairs. A venti coffee and blueberry muffin would be absolutely awesome.
“Hey,” Mitch said, getting on the elevator. Damn, he hadn’t paid attention, and now he was going up, instead of down.
“Good Morning,” the woman replied. She was just coming in from what looked like a very long, but good night. Her dress rumpled, her makeup smeared, and her hair still partly up, well, he supposed that was what some would call it.
“Good time last night?” he asked, with a lift of his brow.
“You know it. Made some good money, that’s for sure.” She gave him a wink. “No one tips like the religious freaks.”
“That was more than likely keep-your-mouth-shut money, not a tip,” Mitch chuckled.
“I’m here for the rest of the week. Room eight-oh-one. Come see me” she said, as the elevator door opened. She moved forward, then leaned against the frame of the elevator, half in and half out. “You don’t even have to tip me, handsome.”
He was absolutely certain that was meant to be a sexy pose and certainly might have been without the mascara running down her cheek and her lipstick smeared across her face. She stifled a yawn and straightened her stance. He gave a nod and wink, not mentioning how that was never going to happen. She stepped out, still looking at him.
“I love the T-shirt. It’s the motto of my life,” she winked again. He wondered if she knew she closed both eyes when she winked. Thank god the elevator door closed just as she dropped her key card on the hallway floor and bent over to retrieve it. He would have gotten a full shot of what was going on under that micro mini and no one wanted to see that this early in the morning, especially before breakfast.
~~~
Questioning the Secret Service sucked. Mitch scrubbed a hand over his face and listened as the fourth agent repeated exactly the same spiel as the others. He bit at his thumbnail and ran his fingers across his chin. Good cop, bad cop interrogation tactics didn’t work on this crowd. Mitch sat in a room with the senior directors of both departments, along with legal counsel from each. It was all incredibly ridiculous.
Apparently things hadn’t gone so well yesterday in Director Young’s meeting with Don. They were now sitting in a neutral building, not FBI headquarters. They had been given very strict guidelines as to what could happen. Needless to say, the initial fun of the ‘twenty bucks is twenty bucks’ T-shirt had worn off, so Mitch now sat with his jacket zipped up, a cold cup of coffee in front of him, and just let Connors do all the talking.
Apparently the guy hadn’t clued in that every question was answered the same way—they were definitely pre-versed and rehearsed. If any question was deemed inappropriate, the attorneys stepped in, stopping the flow.
Mitch shoved back in his chair and stood. When he saw all eyes were on him, he realized he’d fucked up again. Well, nothing he could do about it now, so he started to leave in mid-question. Connors gave him one serious go-to-hell look and Mitch conceded, attempting to keep the situation civil.
“I’m just taking a bathroom break, please continue,” he said, waving a hand toward the conference room table where they all sat.