Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
I nodded. He already knew more than most.
“Terrance Daniels and Arthur Winters started the agency in 1977,” I replied. “TJ Daniels and Quinlan Winters are their sons. They’re next to take over—if Terrance ever retires.”
I’d never had the chance to meet Arthur. He had been murdered in 1988, which had prompted the “restructuring.”
Today, Arthur’s office was… Honestly, fuck if I knew; I didn’t have access to the room. I just knew the office was still there, and I’d seen Quinlan go in there a few times.
Hillcroft didn’t have the most lighthearted history, and that wasn’t my story to share.
We reached the end of the hall, and I gestured for Danny to take the chair closest to Terrance’s office. I sat down next to him and gave his leg a gentle squeeze. I liked what he was wearing today. It was the first time I’d seen him in a pair of regular jeans. Otherwise, he went balls to the wall with utility pants or, my favorite, cute pajama bottoms.
“Are you nervous?” I asked.
He bit at the corner of his lip and clasped his hands in his lap, and I could tell he was struggling with how to sit. My soldier didn’t know how to relax in an everyday setting, and it was kind of disheartening. In moments like this one, it was painfully clear how deeply service members were indoctrinated and molded.
“Yes and no,” he admitted. “As long as I get in, I believe I can prove myself. But I don’t know if they’ll give me a shot.”
I furrowed my brow. “Why wouldn’t they give you a shot? You’re already a tremendous asset, sweetheart.”
“Am I, though?” He glanced over at me, visibly unsure. “I watched Reese and River at your cabin—they blend in, like you said. They walk and act normal. My military background flashes like a neon sign.”
I inclined my head. “True. But you possess skills that take years and years to perfect. Your training will be much more centered around deprogramming what you learned in the Army. And we have patience for that.”
He let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “I guess we’ll see what your boss says. Is he nice?”
“He’s fair,” I said. “He’s not nice, and he’s not rude. He can be funny at times—just takes a couple pints to get him there.”
Danny chuckled a little and shifted in his seat. “What more can you tell me about him?”
This was good. He always wanted to be prepared.
“He was born in Tennessee, was infantry in Vietnam, and thinks the world’s gone to shit,” I answered helpfully. “He has a wife and three kids, two daughters and TJ. He’s, uh…” I scratched my jaw, wondering just how much to divulge. Terrance was a great man, but he wasn’t always easy to be around if you were a generation or two younger. “He’s had a pretty tough life, so it’s made him intolerant to whining and complaining. I have zero doubt that he’ll give you a shot, Danny—he’ll just expect results.”
“Did he do that with you too?”
“What, expect results?” I chuckled. “Absolutely. He shook my hand firmly and said he was looking forward to me succeeding with whatever they threw at me.”
“Yikes.”
I shrugged. I preferred high-pressure work environments—and I was sure Danny did too.
He cleared his throat and turned toward me. “What kind of tough life, by the way? I mean, my upbringing wasn’t a cakewalk either.”
True enough.
“Racism, for starters,” I said. “He left the South pretty early, but I’d imagine it’s not easy serving a country that hasn’t fully accepted you.”
“Oh.” He blew out a breath and leaned back in his seat. “Shit, that hasn’t really changed. Do you remember Thomas?”
I tilted my head. The name rang a bell—someone from his unit. “Vaguely. Was he the guy who always carried his pocket bible wherever he went?”
Danny let out a laugh and nodded. “Yup. The one guy I sort of got along with.”
That jogged a memory, and I nodded to myself. I did recall the two had worked well together.
“Anyway,” he went on, “he got shit from all sides. Pissed me the fuck off. I think his old man was black, and on his ma’s side, it was a mix of Latino and Thai or Vietnamese—I don’t remember. And then I got shit for getting involved.” He scoffed and started bouncing his knee restlessly.
My mouth twitched. “Could it be because you got involved with your fists?”
“Not at first,” he defended. “We were at this bar once, and a couple guys got mouthy. Started calling him slurs and whatnot, and so I walked up to them, right? And I was like, there are literally a dozen valid insults to throw at Thomas—he’s got shit aim, he eats too slow, he’s always quoting scriptures, and he’s talking nonstop about his girl back home. Meanwhile, T’s rolling his eyes, and a few others are laughing. Then when I’m done delivering my speech, I tell the fuckheads to apologize and use whatever few brain cells they have left to come up with a more creative insult, and they refuse. More than that, they double down—and they call me white trash while they’re at it.” He shrugged. “I didn’t see what choice I had, to be honest.”