Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
“HAVE YOU APOLOGIZED yet?”
I sandwiched my phone tighter between my shoulder and cheek with a huff, juggling my bag, keys, and breakfast bagel between my hands. “Why on earth would I do that, Dekker? He’s the one who’s got a problem with me.”
I swear I could hear my sister’s eyes roll through the phone. “That wasn’t how it sounded to me.”
I snorted, stuffing a bite of bagel into my mouth as I rocketed down the stairs of my apartment complex.
Dekker was the type of person who apologized to doors for closing them too hard or thanked automatic soap dispensers for doing what they were designed to do.
Every. Single. Time. I loved her to death, but fighting back against the human equivalent of going to the dentist was a little out of her wheelhouse.
“Yeah, but that was, like, two weeks ago,” I deflected, bursting out of the building and into the frigid March morning. “You probably mixed up the details.”
“Except for the fact you’ve called and complained about this Colt guy every day since.”
“I have not .”
She ignored my denial. “First, he organized all of your papers?—”
“ Ruined my system ,” I corrected.
“—then cleaned off your desk?—”
“He dumped my coffee in the trash!”
“—and hung your coat on the coat rack.”
“I was looking for it for thirty minutes ! He intentionally hid it under two other coats, including his own.”
“But what did you do to him, again?”
“Nothing he didn’t deserve,” I grumbled, shoving the last bite of bagel in my mouth.
Sure, I’d shifted his phone by one inch every time he had to leave his desk, and maybe I’d replaced all of his pens with those pink, fuzzy ones I used to pine for as an elementary schooler. And maybe I’d also switched his apple juice out for pear juice.
Who drank apple juice every morning, anyway?
No wonder the guy had issues. He’d never been caffeinated a day in his life.
How he managed that, I’d never know. We were the last ones to leave the field office every night.
It was like a battle of wills between the two of us.
The first one to crack lost. Simple as that. Thus far, I was ahead by one.
Sometimes, FBI agents could pull some seriously insane hours, but the two weeks since transferring here had been relatively calm. Boring, even, which was another reason why I’d messed with him so much. And there was the fact he deserved to be knocked down a peg or two. And he was the worst.
“He’s just so, so…” I struggled to find an adequate adjective as I slid into my car.
“Perfect?” Dekker offered, the teasing in her voice unmistakable.
“Hardy har har. Wrong P-word. I was thinking ‘pompous’.” Perfect , seriously? Colt Dixon was perfect in the way arsenic was a good seasoning—he put the “kill” in “overkill.” In this case, the thing he was killing was my patience. “Look, I’m about to drive, so I’ve gotta go, okay?”
“Already?” There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. “Isn’t it a little early for you?”
I fought to keep my face neutral even as my thoughts strayed to the bag in my passenger seat. Still, my voice came out a touch more defensive than I would have liked. “I have a lot of work to do.”
That was partly true, for the record. There was always something to do, and we were getting so close to a breakthrough with the drug mastermind Le Chimiste , I could almost taste it.
“Mhmm, work. Okay.”
I glared at my phone, already shifting the car into reverse. “Goodbye, Dekker.”
I didn’t give her the chance to reply before ending the call and making my way to the field office.
The Drug-Related Crimes Unit was eerily quiet and still as I made my way off the elevator.
There was the cluster with the brawny agent—whose name I’d learned was Max—and Alec’s desks.
Papers cluttered the surfaces, arranged into haphazard piles around the empty mugs, water bottles, and photos.
Then there were two other desks, both clear of clutter save for photos, pens and pencils, and a few cups.
Those belonged to Isaiah, the agent with the intense stare, and the only other woman on our squad, Rowan. And lastly, you had my desk and Colt’s.
Mine was somewhere in between Alec’s and Rowan’s as far as organization went. Everything had its place, even if said “place” looked a bit chaotic and colorful. I knew where to find everything I needed, and that’s what mattered.
Post-It notes stuck out in various directions from my computer monitor, and stacks of paperwork were arranged into piles.
A small photo of my parents, Dekker, Nonna, Papa, and myself from my high school graduation years ago sat by my phone.
My sparkly pink coffee cup Dekker had gotten me when I’d been accepted into the FBI training program sat next to it.
There was a takeout receipt from last night’s dinner and a stress potato conveniently placed next to my keyboard.
Yeah, you heard that right. Stress potato. Because life was too short to squeeze anything but your favorite vegetable when you needed to blow off some steam.
I Colt were already here, I was positive I’d be able to see him in the reflection from his desk.
Seriously. It was like he was a robot or something.
No pictures of his family. No clutter. Whatever paperwork he didn’t make it through before he left for the night went into the lemon-yellow folder in the top left drawer.
The only desktop inhabitants were the keyboard, monitor, and phone all arranged at perfect ninety-degree angles.
And when he had his morning cup of apple juice, he’d pull a coaster from one of the desk drawers.
Yep. A coaster. And it wasn’t even a cool one. Circular. Dull. Cork-brown. It was probably the most boring coaster I’d ever seen in my life, which was saying something since my standards for them were devastatingly low to start with.
Which brought me to my next order of business.
I glanced around inconspicuously, ensuring I was really the only one in this section. My eyes caught on the coat rack in the corner where an all-too-familiar coat hung. Pressed and pristine. Not a single speck of snow or mud.
I frowned, vowing to never wake up a minute earlier than necessary ever again, no matter how great of an idea it seemed at the time.
I was not a morning person and waking up a half hour earlier today just to try to beat Colt at his own game had nearly killed my will to live and buried it in the backyard.
So much for that . I’d choose staying late over coming in early every time.
With another hasty look around and a sleep-deprived grumble, I switched out his coaster with the enhanced one I’d made last night.
Satisfied that my switcheroo went undetected, I settled into my desk.
I ignored the coat holder in the corner, both because I didn’t want my coat to smell like antiseptic and crushed dreams from touching Colt’s, and because I knew hanging it on the back of my chair bugged him.
And, come on, it was way more convenient to have it within reach.
I’d only made it through the first page of paperwork before the hairs on the back of my neck raised. Sure enough, Colt’s voice cut through the relative stillness.
“You have a knack for ruining even the best laid plans, don’t you?”
“Funny, I could say the same about you,” I muttered, not even bothering to look up from my papers as he slid into his chair. “Tell me, are you here because you’re a masochist, or because you can’t stomach the fact that I might have gotten more done than you yesterday?”
Based on his determination to drive me up the wall, I’d put my money on the former.
“Perhaps I wanted a few minutes of peace before being subjected to your incessant crunching,” he retorted.
I raised my papers to hide my triumphant smile.
The chips yesterday were a happy accident, honestly.
I was hungry from skipping lunch, and I was craving something salty, so naturally I’d detoured to the vending machine and gotten a bag of potato chips.
I’d been so focused on the files I was sifting through I hadn’t initially realized how slowly I’d been opening the bag, or how drawn out each bite of crispy chips was.
Not until Colt started his impatient huffing, that is.
And when he’d asked if I’d “show some evidence I knew what manners were and chew quieter,” well, he’d sealed his fate.
And, yes, I fully planned to make a bag of afternoon chips a habit now. Maybe I’d even bring some celery and carrots. But that would involve me having actual vegetables in my fridge instead of takeout containers and bottles of iced coffee, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves.
Once I’d wiped all the emotion from my face, I let the papers drop enough to spare him an unimpressed glance. “I know this is shocking information to you, Colt, but us humans call that ‘eating.’ Something a cyborg like yourself couldn’t comprehend, I’m sure.”
His nostrils flared, and I allowed the slightest self-satisfied smirk to lift the corner of my mouth.
Lex: one. Colt: zero.
“What’s this?” he asked, his voice level and controlled, save for the slightest tremor of irritation as he glared into his desk drawer.
I fought to keep the same control over my own, even as he lifted the new and improved coaster in the air. “I’m not as uppity as you, but I’d guess that it’s a coaster.”
“‘Why did the apple stop in the middle of the road?’” he read flatly, ignoring my sarcasm and looking down his nose at my homemade replacement. “It ran out of juice because I drank it all. Really, Lex?”
I grinned, unable to hide it any longer. “Pretty good, huh? Not my best, but definitely not my worst.”
“That remains to be seen.”
I blinked innocently. “Are you asking for more? Was this particular apple pun una- peel -ing to you?”
His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t dignify my pun with a response, which was pretty typical. Honestly, if it weren’t for the miniscule tells I’d picked up, I’d almost believe he’d convinced himself I didn’t exist every time he shunned me. Even then, the blatant ignoring still boiled my blood.
Whatever. Two could play at that game, and I had work to do, anyway.
The rest of our unit arrived, and I felt my “work persona” slip comfortably into place as we all buckled down with our separate caseloads.
I was here to make a difference, and that’s what I’d do.
The majority of the slush pile was assigned to me as the newest squad member, but I didn’t mind.
Every week, it was a little less than the week before.
My long hours and dogged determination were paying off.
I was about to hit the streets with Isaiah to find one of our criminal informants when McBride intervened. He waved me down from across the room, his features as stony as always. “Piper, you’re needed in interrogation room two.”
Colt sat up straighter, his penetrating stare burning holes through me. Annoyingly enough, I could hear his voice in my head asking the question at the tip of his tongue, said with as much haughty disgust as he could muster. Why her?
I straightened into my dancing posture, wiping my face of all emotion. Whatever McBride’s reasoning was, I trusted it. “Of course, sir.”
“Dixon, you, too.”
I barely even noticed as Colt followed, my mind racing through the information about the low-level dealer as McBride briefed us on the way.
This was it. The potential break we’d been waiting for.
All we had to do was convince the guy to give us the name of the mastermind behind the modified drugs the team had been tracking for months.
Thus far, all we knew was his street name: Le Chimiste .
The Chemist.
Strong core, shoulders back, chin up, neutral expression.
It was go time.