Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
I sat down and crossed my arms, Lang did the same, and I wedged my knee against his.
“Are you two even aware of your body language?” Becker asked as Wes Ching, the SOG commander, stuck his head into the office.
“Are we going to—oh, sorry. Never mind. I think I got my days mixed up.”
“No, you didn’t,” Becker told him, gesturing at us. “But these two and Pazzi and Yamane are having a thing.”
“Which one is Pazzi? I feel like I know that name.”
“He’s the one Kohn threw the stapler at,” I reminded him. I really liked Wes Ching. He said exactly what he thought at all times, and since he didn’t share an office with the rest of us, he never got talked to about sharing his judgments.
“Oh yeah.” He glanced at Becker. “Maybe let these guys go so we can eat, since Pazzi’s an idiot.”
No comment from Becker on that. “Text Cho and find out what she’s picking up. Get something for me, and we can eat in here. This won’t take long.”
Ching grunted and leaned out as Pazzi and Yamane came in. Pazzi closed the door behind them.
“Nice,” Yamane said in a really judgy voice at our back-of-the-room seating as he and Pazzi sat down.
I would have flipped him off but I didn’t want to annoy my boss.
“Start at the beginning and tell me why you did what you did,” Becker told Pazzi. “I already heard from Lang and the cowboy here.”
I didn’t mind the cowboy thing. It was the hat, which I only wore occasionally now, and my boots that were still a wardrobe staple. There were Wranglers as well, and my belt buckle was apparently far too big, according to my partner.
Yamane put up his hand to shut up his partner and explained that yes, Pazzi had been overly cautious, but technically, he was working from our training.
Lang countered that there was training and procedure and then there was stupidity when enough forms of identification were confirmed to satisfy detainment. “And even if you want to waste time waiting for IAFIS when you have everything but a goddamn birth certificate in front of you,” Lang said, his voice getting sharp and precise like it did when he was pissed, “all fugitives or suspected fugitives should be in restraints. That is for our protection as well as theirs.”
“I—”
“Period,” Lang nearly yelled, shutting Pazzi down.
“Are you going to let me talk?”
“Was it your turn to talk?”
I glanced at Becker, who was quietly listening. I had a horrible vision of him making us swap partners for two weeks or something, and so I gently bumped Lang with my shoulder, then turned to Pazzi.
“We both know Vargas should have been restrained, yeah? Why so careful?”
Pazzi stared at me.
“It’s always better to err on the side of caution, ain’t it? That’s just common sense. We all worry about bein’ wrong, but I had to run five blocks.”
He smiled then and exhaled, seeming to deflate. He was as tired as we were. When I glanced at my boss, he leaned back from his desk like he too was more relaxed. The temperature in the room had cooled, which was very good.
“I’m really sorry about that,” Pazzi finally said.
I smiled wide. “Payin’-for-lunch sorry?”
“Not the way you eat,” he griped.
Yamane elbowed him in the side.
“Fine. Whatever,” he conceded.
“And Lang,” I added.
“No,” Lang said, “I don’t need him to get my—”
“We’re a packaged deal,” I said, cutting off my partner, tapping my fist on his knee to get him to stop. This time, he needed to let it go. “Because even though I was the one runnin’, Lang had to keep track of me, and you know how much he hates doin’ that.”
Both Pazzi and Yamane laughed that time, and Lang muttered under his breath something about me being an ass, but he bumped my shoulder with his chin before sitting up straight.
“You need to text Cho. She’s probably at the deli by now. Our orders are already in.”
We all looked at Becker then, who waved us away, wanting his office cleared.
I was almost out when he said, “Wait one second, Mac.”
Becker used Mac for me the most; Doyle seemed more partial to McCabe.
“Close the door.”
I did as he told me and stood there waiting, facing my boss.
“You’re good at resolving tension. You and your partner, your strengths and weaknesses line up well, so when he needs you, you’re there, and vice versa. Don’t think I don’t see it.”
I had no idea what that meant. “Just don’t put me and Pazzi together. Please. We won’t somehow find a way to work together. That’ll end in bloodshed.”
He scowled at me. “Care to rephrase?”
“My blood sugar is very low, sir. I don’t even know what I’m sayin’ no more. I might need some glucose or—”
“Get out,” he ordered me.