Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 132962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132962 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 665(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
~~~
“He does leave early.” Mitch leaned against the doorframe in the kitchen, watching Colt add bacon to the frying pan.
“He works hard every day, but the weekends are big gym time because the kids are out of school all day,” Colt said, moving the bacon around, turning the heat down on the burner. He obviously took great care in cooking the bacon just right.
“So, you’re saying teenage girls and boys get out of bed at the butt crack of dawn to go do cheerleading? I’m not buying it.” Mitch shook his head, taking the coffee mug Colt handed him, and then poured himself a cup.
“That’s what I thought too, but they do. He’s usually there until late into the night. He gives everything to those kids. Anything they need, he’s right there helping them. You should see his gym. It’s unbelievable really.” Colt sounded proud and checked the fryer again until he was satisfied everything was cooking just right. “I added four pieces for you.”
“Really? So that means the rest is for you? There has to be at least twenty or so slices in that packet.” Mitch laughed as Colt shot him a grin of excitement, then went back to expertly turning the strips.
“Jace watches my diet closely. He hasn’t gotten off the mother hen meets Florence Nightingale act. I gotta get it when I can,” Colt said, pulling a carton of eggs from the refrigerator, taking his time to carefully crack each one over a bowl.
“You guys look like you’re doing pretty well.” Mitch lifted the steaming cup to his lips and took a welcomed drink of the hot brew.
“I think we are. I’m picking up some broadcasting and public speaking gigs, but my main focus is to try hard to be everything he needs,” Colt answered, throwing the last eggshell in the trash can before whisking the eggs, then pouring them into the already heated skillet.
“That’s all anyone could ask for, or at least, that’s the way I see it. Jace’s lucky to have you, Colt. Not trying to change the subject, but I was thinking that if the day turns out like I think it will, this whole mission’s gonna be a big waste of time. So maybe I can take you two out. Maybe dinner, dancing, that kind of thing. You do go to clubs, right? If not, dinner’s fine.” Mitch watched as Colt placed the cooked strips of bacon on a paper towel.
“Nah, I go anywhere. I haven’t had the urge to drink since Jace took me back. We go to a club close to downtown sometimes.” Colt grabbed two plates out of the cabinet dividing the scrambled eggs equally, but only adding four pieces of bacon to the plate before handing it to Mitch.
“Cool. I should know something for sure in the next couple of hours, but I’m betting I’m off tonight. I have a feeling our man’s gonna be a no-show, even though they haven’t called it yet.”
“No problem. I’ll call Jace and let him know. We haven’t been out dancing in a while. Jace loves to dance, and I love watching him shake his ass,” Colt said and gave him a wink before shoving a few more slices of bacon in his mouth. “Oh my god. Bacon. It’s from God.”
Mitch laughed at the ecstasy on Colt’s face, then pointed at the pile of bacon on his friend’s plate. “You really aren’t planning on sharing, are you?”
“Hell no! I gave you a room to sleep in, but I draw the line at my bacon treat. If you’re still hungry, there’s a wide assortment of yogurt products in the refrigerator. Jace goes nuts at all the flavors. Help yourself,” Colt offered, never slowing his intake of bacon.
“That’s okay. This’ll do,” Mitch added, eating a large chunk of the scrambled eggs.
“Yeah, that’s the way I feel about yogurt, too.”
~~~
“Fuck you. Fuck this team and fuck this state.” Mitch glared at Brody Masters, head of the Dallas field office and a longtime friend. Just like he’d assumed, Carlos Chavez was a no-show even though they had been told by their most reliable source he would be there today. Fucking informants sucked shit, and this was turning into nothing more than a big, bad joke as everyone flexed their muscles, trying to hide from becoming the scapegoat in the deal. What Mitch couldn’t understand was why in the hell they had even bothered to call him in. He’d have been happy staying tucked in that badass room, getting a little shut-eye.
“I can see why you might feel that way,” Brody started, but Mitch wasn’t ready to hear any more on the subject.
“No, fuck you. I’ve got a case needing some serious attention, and your fucking guys can’t even figure out there’s a cop conference in town. It took me about a minute to know they were here and about another minute to figure out that no fugitive would be dumb enough to show his face in a town full of official enforcers of the law, thereby making it impossible for me to make the arrest.” Mitch paced the back of the office, letting the venom spew from his lips. As a matter of fact, most of the frustration he’d been feeling for quite some time fueled this rant, making everything that much worse.
“Mitch,” Brody started again, but he cut him off.
“No, the fucking Omni Hotel has likely been flashing ‘Welcome to Dallas, International Law Enforcement conference’ on the side of their building for the last week. The fucking American Airlines Center has had banners posted for the last two weeks. The barista at Starbucks downstairs told me that little bit of information when I walked into the building.” Mitch gestured with his hands as he spoke, completely wound up.
“And while we’re on it, why haven’t any of your men been able to ID Chavez for themselves? Why am I needed in your field office? There has to be two dozen deputy marshals housed right here. The FBI’s been working this case for three fucking years.” Mitch stalked forward and flipped the file folder open on the desk separating the two of them. He knew the answer to the question. Chavez was a sneaky son-of-a-bitch. He could become anyone and had no problem paying people to pose as him.