Chapter Fourteen #4
“Agent Croft, a little birdie told me you’re curious,” Gabe said. “And after your text about the mob, I wanted to know more.”
Well, damn.
Now, he had to talk to him. As for him being curious, how could he not be?
That kind of went with the job.
Right?
“Yeah, I am. Blackhawk and Cantrell are moving pretty well through this case. They hit the ground running this morning, and we’ve already eliminated the mob—thanks to your help.”
“When Ethan arrived?” he asked.
Goddamn it.
It was in that moment that Greyson knew.
Yep.
Gabe was on the trail.
The man didn’t ask questions without already knowing the answer. He was like your Italian Nona. She’d ask, then, when you lied, she’d take that wooden spoon to your backside.
Been there.
Done that.
“Well, it would be silly if they started before he arrived,” he said, playing that game.
Gabe actually laughed.
“Oh, Greyson Croft, you’re funny. Do you think you’ll have a long career here?” he asked.
Immediately, his hackles went up, and there was that intense hate for Sasha Harper for fucking them all over good by pointing Gabe at them.
“Absolutely.”
Gabe continued.
“And when you’re a director one day, and you know something is going on, how will you handle it?”
Fuckity.
His ass was grass. He was now playing mind games with a man who used to profile homicide cases before his director days.
So, he was honest.
Somewhat.
“It depends on what the situation is. If I have agents who bust their balls, close cases, and make me look damn good, I’m going to be incredibly grateful to have them on staff.
I’m going to overlook PERSONAL things because honestly, that’s none of my fucking business.
When people dig into shit like that, Deputy Director, it makes people not trust them or like them.
People who don’t like a person are less loyal, and when you’re a Fed, you’re a team. ”
Gabe got the hint.
And gave him one back.
“Here’s just a little advice, Greyson. Moving up the ladder isn’t about being liked. It’s being effective.”
Oh, hell, no.
“And here’s my response, Director. Being a decent human being and not fucking with people’s lives because you’re bored, and can, makes your people more effective, and it gets you the same outcome with less issues.”
His heart was racing, and he felt sick to his stomach. With Gabe, you NEVER knew how he’d react to you calling out his shit.
It could go well.
It could take you right to unemployment ville.
It was a crapshoot.
Only, Greyson had to do what he could to protect his friends. There was not a shadow of a doubt in his mind that they’d cover for him.
“Good point,” he stated. “Anyway, I went deeper into your question regarding the mob, and it seems I was wrong. There is some mob activity in that area. Recently, there was a turf war, and a mob family was executed at a restaurant. A new power player has moved in, but there’s no big intel on him.”
Oh, boy.
He’d thought they were in the clear.
“He hasn’t started anything big, or that the FBI is worried about, but he is there.”
Great.
“What can you tell me about him?” Greyson asked. “I already passed on the other intel. I need to tell Gene and Ethan otherwise.”
Gabe shared.
“His name is Rodrigo Cruz. He’s from Puerto Rico. He grew up poor, and made a killing in the sugar trade. He owns a few of the sugar cane mills on the island.”
Greyson was curious.
“And we are watching him, why?”
Gabe laughed.
“Well, we aren’t, but another agency might be. You didn’t hear that from me. Anyway, Feds are paranoid, first and foremost, but also because they think he’s been using his family to get his start in Puerto Rico. We like to head things off before they cause problems.”
Greyson had to ask.
“Was the FBI using Jarod Shand to investigate?” he asked, covering his bases.
Gabe answered.
“No. Like I said, he’s new. We’ve just been watching, and that’s it. Another alphabet agency has been doing all of the heavy lifting, and that’s why we just got wind of it.”
Well, there were only so many.
The DEA.
The FBI.
The ATF.
And the CIA.
Yeah, this was definitely CIA bullshit, and ironically, they weren’t allowed to be playing those games—but DC turned its head a lot.
Greyson knew because he played those games as a soldier.
“We just started looking into him. He has an export business. We just can’t prove he’s doing anything illegal, but my balls say he is. They get this twitch when something foul is going down.”
Greyson sometimes forgot who he was talking to.
“They make a cream for that.”
Gabe laughed.
“When this is over, how would you feel about…?” Gabe began.
And Greyson knew where this was heading.
“Absolutely not. I do not want to work out of this office. It’s a nightmare. No one knows how to file paperwork, and agents are dying. Pass. I’m not your man.”
Gabe was surprised.
“It’s Puerto Rico. It’s sun, sand, and right up your alley. You’d be a director.”
Still.
NO.
“Thank you for the offer, but I’m a fall kind of a guy. I like orange, pumpkin spice, and falling leaves. It’s on all of my dating bios.”
Gabe got the picture.
“I see. Well, in case you change your mind, I’ll offer it up one more time. You never know when the FBI is going to clean house at an office.”
Oof.
He hoped that wasn’t a threat, but it likely was.
Gabe was notorious.
“I appreciate it, but I like Philadelphia. That’s where I need to be. I can feel that in my balls.”
He handed him the same line back.
“Tell Blackhawk and Cantrell to tread lightly. The last thing we need is a shitshow going down with a mob man in an office that’s not fully staffed or equipped.”
And with that, he hung up.
Well, shit.
Greyson had to give his friends a heads-up. Gabe was sniffing, and when he had the old snifferoo out, someone was about to get burned.
BIG.
TIME.
When Gabe hung up, he was laughing, and Elizabeth LaRue just shook her head.
“What are you doing, Gabe?” she asked, her booted feet up on the corner of his desk as she waited for him to get off the phone.
He shrugged.
“I’m testing the loyalty of my agents. I have some issues with a few of them, and I’m throwing shit at them to see what sticks.”
She sighed.
“Why do you have to be a dick? I mean, I know it’s natural for you, but aren’t we all busting our balls hard enough for you?”
He pointed.
“You get away with that, but that can change.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Oh, okay, Dick McDickerson. My bad. Pointing out the obvious is my flaw. God forbid the agent carrying all the homicides in this office can see the forest through your bullshittery.”
He snorted.
Elizabeth got away with it because he genuinely loved and cared about her.
“I have two agents that are in a relationship, and you know how I feel about that.”
She lifted a brow.
“Are they good agents?”
He nodded.
Gabe didn’t hesitate.
“Yeah, they’re out of the Philly office and originally from here.”
Immediately, her brain started working. She knew most of the agents who were floating from DC. There was one specific one in Philly.
Gene Cantrell.
Her friend.
Knowing Gabe, she couldn’t just tell him that, so she began protecting the people she knew would have her back—even against someone she called family.
Gabe was an asshole most of the time.
“How about you just leave them alone?” she asked. “Because you’re running short on agents. If you lose anymore, the mice in the morgue storage room are going to have to get itty-bitty guns and badges.”
He just stared at her.
“Who hurt you?”
She held up her hand and ticked the people off on her fingers.
“My mother, my stepmother, my father, my gay-man mother, my boss, my boss’s boss, and my…”
He stopped her.
“I got the picture two mothers and two bosses ago.”
She smiled.
“I like to paint a clear one. Now, are we going to get lunch? You promised me that you’d buy me a burger. You know what I’ll do for a burger,” she said, planning on keeping her ears open to make sure Gabe wasn’t gunning for Cantrell.
He had enough issues in Philly.
Gabe didn’t miss a beat.
“An ME, apparently.”
She didn’t flinch.
Why?
She was the winner in that one.
“He buys me steak, on a jet, with a side of lobster. I feel bad for the little water bugs, but it’s kind of their fault. When dipped in butter, they are the cat’s meow.”
He blinked.
“How do you continually pass testing?” he asked. “Do you have a cheat sheet? Because there’s no way you’re mentally stable.”
She stood.
“Tell it to the man who trained me, or the man who donated that sperm to my pretty momma. It’s going to be one of your faults. Do rock, paper, scissors to figure out who is to blame.”
He got up.
“We’re leaving the office for lunch. I don’t need anyone starting more rumors about how I’m having a secret dalliance with you.”
She shrugged.
“Does Livy think you are?”
He shook his head.
“She knows how obsessed you are with your ME—for what reason, I have no idea. I keep telling her that I know a guy…”
She held up her hand.
“You promised not to interfere or say mean things. I don’t talk shit about your partner.”
He lifted a brow.
“What’s to talk about?” he asked, curiously.
Oh.
Hell.
No.
She wasn’t going down that rabbit hole anytime soon. If Gabe didn’t realize the mother of his children had a mean streak a mile wide, was vicious like a viper, and held a grudge, that was on him.
Not her.
“Nothing,” she said. “I was trying to get you to say some shit so I could rat your ass out to Livy.”
He snorted.
“I do my own bad,” he admitted. “I don’t need your help.”
Funny.
She was the same.
All of the damn time.