Chapter Fourteen
PATSY
I stopped at Cassidy and Mike’s police precinct at seven the following morning to meet with their sketch artist. I did my best to describe what the men who’d chased Wes looked like. Just as I was finishing up, Napoleon walked in and broke out into a wide grin when he saw me.
“Are you waiting to start or are you finished?”
I reached up and patted his cheek affectionately. “Just finished. If you’d like, I’ll wait around for ya.”
He looked dubiously at Cassidy and Mike who sat at desks facing each other.
They were talking to the lovely, young woman whom, I had to admit, was very talented with her pencil and paper.
She’d come up with three great sketches, seeming to effortlessly draw the men in my head.
That kind of thing probably took a lot of practice. Napoleon asked, “How long did it take?”
“The better part of an hour. I don’t mind waitin’.”
He grinned. “Thanks, Pats.”
He walked away and I sat, drinking the last dregs of the Starbucks tea I’d stopped off to buy before coming in. A little over an hour passed in the blink of an eye and when he was finished, we headed for our office together, anxious to get in a workout before our shift.
I walked into the FBI gym a little after nine-thirty with a spring in my step that hadn’t been there for a long time.
I felt like I was floating on air. Waking up to find another man in my bed had been jarring at first, but memories of last night had filled my brain with the sexiest recollection and I’d relaxed when I realized who it was.
I’d snuggled back against his large, sleeping form, and fallen asleep again, almost missing my alarm when it went off.
He’d wrapped me up in his arms and kissed me for several minutes before I’d pulled away from him with a gasp and an apology for having to get up and go to work.
When I found my team in the large gym, they greeted me with cat calls and whistles.
“Whoo hoo! Look who decided to join us,” Rex drawled from the bench where he’d been lifting while Mickey spotted for him. “Did someone keep you up late?”
“Feck off, eejit!”
“You’re late! Now we know why,” Mickey said, grinning like an arsehole.
“He has a new beau,” Alain drawled. “Leave the poor sod alone.”
“Thanks, Brit.” I grinned as I set down my water bottle and climbed onto the treadmill beside him to start my warmup with a slow jog. Besides Rex, Mickey, and Alain, we were the only members of the team in the gym. “Where would everyone be?” I asked.
“Candy was in his office on the telephone last time I checked,” Alain replied, tapping buttons to increase his speed.
“Nash called to say he’s also running late, Miguel and Raven are in court this morning, and Mars is over there.
” He pointed to the weight rack about twenty feet away, where he was putting weights on a bar. I hadn’t even noticed him.
“And Napoleon? Didn’t he come in with you, Pats?” Mickey asked.
“Where do you think he is?” Rex drawled as I glanced at him and nodded.
“Texas is right.”
“Irish speaks the truth. We’re always right,” Rex said, grunting as he hoisted the bar upward, resting it in the cradle as Mickey stood over him.
“The fish is in the pool.” Napoleon always split his workouts between weight training and the pool, making sure he stayed in the water at least half the time we spent training.
None of the rest of us made swimming a part of our daily cardio like the SEAL.
“I think I’m gonna cancel my gym membership,” Mickey said.
I turned to look at him. “Why would ya be having a membership at an outside gym when ya have access to this one?” I asked.
“I’ve had it ever since I was in high school.”
“So, yer tellin’ us that even though ya have the fantastic FBI gym at yer disposal 24/7, ya still pay them money?” I asked, increasing my speed on the treadmill, warming to the run and the conversation.
“Yeah, because sometimes I don’t want to work out with you assholes,” Mickey replied with a grin. “Besides, it’s like a block from my apartment and sometimes I don’t want to drive all the way here to get in a workout on a Sunday morning.”
“Lemme ask you somethin’,” Rex said, sitting up on the bench and grabbing his water bottle. He held up a hand as he took a long swig.
“What?” Mickey asked.
“Is it a nice gym? Maybe I’ll join. We don’t live too far from each other.”
“Yeah, it’s great.” Mickey drank from his own bottle. “It has all the same equipment and machines, and there’s an outdoor area where they’ve got pulling and climbing ropes, and even a rock wall.”
“I’ll never join an outside gym,” Alain drawled. “The last time I went into one to inquire about it, they tried to sell me exorbitantly priced training sessions with a personal trainer.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Mickey asked. “You don’t have to buy them.”
“I’m not sure,” Alain replied. “It just rubbed me up the wrong way. The chap said, ‘Hey, we’ll sell you time with a guy who’ll make you work out at a place you already pay to work out at.’ How does that make sense?”
I laughed, panting as I continued my run. “I’ll bet ya can also throw money in the rubbish for a small fee at that gym.”
Everyone chuckled.
“That’s not what bugs me about personal trainers,” Rex said, moving to the bench press and patting Mickey on the back in thanks for spotting him. “I always wonder how a gym hires them damned trainers.”
“How do you mean?” Mickey asked, claiming the bench press beside Rex and adjusting the weight.
“I mean, they’re all assholes. I heard one ask a girl what her goals were right after tellin’ her that her BMI was considered morbidly obese.”
“How’d she respond to that?” I asked.
“She told him that her goal was payin’ him for an hour, so she doesn’t eat for an hour, and then told him to shut up and stop askin’ questions about goals.”
I laughed out loud.
“As far as hirin’ goes, I’d be willin’ to bet at the end of the personal trainer interview process, the boss just asks, ‘Hey, what size T-shirt do you wear? Medium? Yeah, that’s what I thought.’ Then he hands him an extra small and tells him to head out there and just be condescendin’,” Rex said.
We all laughed.
“I’d like to know how they ever sell a Stairmaster when you can just climb stairs for free?” Alain asked.
“By telling them it’s a set of stairs that never ends,” I said, unable to wipe the grin from my face.
“How about a stationary bike?” Rex asked.
“If it’s in West Hollywood, they probably said, ‘Hey, buy this stationary bike so yer customers never have to leave a gym full of sweaty guys.’ Besides, fresh air and nice scenery by a lake are overrated.” I added.
Everyone was laughing when someone whistled sharply. We all turned to look. Candy stood at the door with two fingers in his mouth beside a dripping Napoleon. He dropped his hand and gestured for all of us to come over.
“Whoopsie, looks like we’ve got a job to do,” Alain drawled from beside me as he stopped the treadmill. I did the same, grabbing my water bottle and towel.
“What’s cookin’, boss?” I asked as we all gathered around him.
“Get showers and meet us in the briefing room. Lincoln Snow needs the team for an Op later this afternoon.”
I groaned. As much as I loved my job, a late afternoon Op meant I wouldn’t be getting home to Wes until well after tea tonight.
I’d told him I’d be bringing home a meal for both of us from my favorite Indian place that had the best butter chicken, vegetable samosas, and chicken tikka masala in Los Angeles.
Their homemade yoghurt and cucumber raita went perfectly with garlic naan.
And since we’d both be eating the garlic, the snogging I’d planned for dessert, wouldn’t be a bother at all.
I hit the showers along with the rest of the guys and by the time we were in the briefing room, the rest of the missing team members were waiting with the exception of Raven and Miguel.
Lincoln Snow and the rest of his team had arrived too.
Max Prince, Dr. Leo Reeves, Beth Michaels, Kindness Rayburn, Mac McCallahan, Carter Perez, and Noah Burgess were all seated with our team.
Burgess was the only member I hadn’t met before making the jump from Houston to L.A.
The young, black man was their team’s computer genius, a former Marine like Perez, Prince, and Rayburn.
He’d been injured in Afghanistan, leaving him paralyzed from the waist down and wheelchair dependent.
He worked in the office, often with Raven and Judy behind screens where all three were most comfortable.
We exchanged brief greetings with the group as we took seats. It was packed in there.
“Let’s get started,” Candy said. “I’m going to turn the briefing over to Lincoln Snow who’ll tell you why he wants our team involved.” Snow as always looked sharp. A handsome, black man smartly dressed in a black suit and tie, he looked every bit an FBI Special Agent. “Go ahead, Snow.”
“Thanks. I’ll be as concise as possible,’ he said, standing at the front where he could address the entire room.
“We’ve been chasing a serial killer for the last two months after LAPD detectives asked for our help.
His victims are prostitutes who work the red-light district around Figueroa Boulevard and Ninety-Sixth Street in South L.A.
If you’re familiar with the area, it’s between Gramercy Park and Avalon Gardens.
” He pointed to a map taped to a whiteboard at the front of the room.
“If you’re not familiar with the area, let’s just say it’s a rough part of town and not the place you want to be at night if you don’t know where you’re going,” Candy said.
We all nodded.