Chapter Nine #3
From the kitchen, Javi muttered, “Shit,” under his breath.
“I’ll get it,” Cloister said over his shoulder. “She’s seen me half-dressed before.”
Javi made an aggrieved noise as he jogged out of the kitchen and headed for the bedroom.
“She can pick her moments,” he grumbled as he tossed Cloister’s T-shirt to him. “And I’m still not done with you.”
Cloister appreciated the view of Javi’s tight ass and lean shoulders until the bathroom door closed on him. Then he looked down at Bourneville, a just audible grumble still rattling around her chest.
“Stay,” he told her.
Bournville put her ears back at the command, but did as she was told as Cloister padded through the starkly minimalist room to get to the door. He flicked the deadbolt and opened it.
Tancredi stood on the landing in full uniform, an apologetic expression on her face, and Kincaid stood next to her.
Behind them, three deputies and two FBI agents were lined up on the steps with their hands on their weapons.
Kincaid looked Cloister over with a slow, neutral sweep of faded brownish eyes, his gaze lingering on Cloister’s mouth.
“And there’s the man himself,” he said. His hand moved to the gun holstered on his belt, fingers wrapped around the butt of it. “I told you that if he wasn’t at home, he’d be here, Deputy Tancredi. Can we speak inside, Deputy Witte?”
Cloister held up his hands, palms out and relaxed. He didn’t move.
“My dog’s inside,” he said calmly. “I need to secure her before anyone comes in.”
One of the FBI agents snorted and rolled her eyes. “If the dog’s a problem, we’ll deal with it,” she said as she stepped forward. “You heard him. Move, or we move you.”
There was a bad taste in Cloister’s mouth.
Like he’d told Javi earlier, he’d been on both sides of this sort of knock before.
Sometimes everything went smoothly. Mostly everything went smoothly.
It didn’t take much to change that, though, and Cloister didn’t like the energy the Feds had brought with them.
They were tightly strung and pissed off.
Before he could say anything, Tancredi turned around and put herself between Cloister and the agent.
“Deputy Witte is a dog handler,” she said. “Bourneville’s his K-9. Let him get her sorted.”
The agent looked sour and glanced at the blond man for direction.
He thought about it for a second and then raised his finger to put her on pause. “Don’t shoot the dog unless you have to, Cartwright,” he said. “That’s the sort of thing that gets you a nickname. Secure your dog, Deputy, and Special Agent Merlo while you’re at it?”
Kincaid’s gaze bounced from Cloister’s mouth down to his groin. A sort of smile tugged at his mouth, but died before it got anywhere.
“I mean, I assume that’s who you’re entertaining?” he said.
Cloister backed away from the door slowly, his attention fixed on the armed agents.
“Bathroom,” he said. Bourneville’s lead was slung over the back of a chair.
Cloister grabbed it and clipped it to Bon’s collar without looking.
She settled reluctantly. Cloister pitched his voice to carry as he yelled. “Javi. We got company.”
The blond man looked annoyed that the jab hadn’t gotten him anywhere. He gestured for Tancredi to step back and let himself into the apartment. He glanced at Bourneville and then at Cloister.
“Deputy Cloister Witte,” he said with starchy satisfaction, “you’re being detained pending questioning about SSA Joel’s whereabouts. I expect you to cooperate.”
Cloister stared at him.
“What the fuck?”
It took a second to register that he might have thought that, but he hadn’t been the one who said it. Javi shoved past him, still barefoot despite the Henley and slacks he’d pulled on, and glared at Kincaid.
“You’ve gone too far,” he snapped. “Whatever problem you have with me—”
Kincaid interrupted him. “I’ve given you a little leeway because of the…
highly charged…situation, Agent Merlo,” he said.
“But don’t push it. We’re here as part of an official investigation into the whereabouts of a missing agent.
So keep it professional, although I know you have trouble with that. Now step back.”
Javi didn’t.
One of the agents tightened their hand on their gun. “Director Kincaid said—” the man started, his voice pitchy and a little too into getting to play the bad cop.
“Shut up, Benson,” Javi snarled.
Cloister reached out and touched Javi’s shoulder. He could feel the warmth of his skin through the soft material.
“It’s fine,” he said. “I’ve nothing to hide.”
Javi gave a strangled, humorless snort. “You know better than to think that matters,” he said. His shoulders relaxed a little as he stepped back. He gave Cloister a quick, searching look. “I’ll get you a lawyer. Don’t say anything until he gets there.”
It wasn’t the first time that Cloister had been given that advice. First time in a long time, though. He took a deep breath as he registered that, right now, he was on the wrong side of the thin blue line.
“I know the drill,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”