Free Embracing Midnight by Devyn Quinn Page B

about. “And you did what?”
    So hot a moment ago, a chilly perspiration soaked her, dotting her forehead. “I almost had a fucking panic attack,” she snapped. “What would you do if the man you had under surveillance followed you home at three in the morning?”
    A cunning glint sidled into the depths of Reeve’s eyes. “I’d invite him in.”
    The rest of the men laughed.
    Barely hanging on to her composure, Callie tried to ignore them. Impossible. The tension in the room still felt like a noose around her neck. At any moment someone was bound to kick the chair out from under her feet. “That’s exactly what I did,” she shot back coolly. “I felt contact should be maintained as long as possible.”
    Charlie Grayson clapped her on the shoulder. “You did the right thing. You are one cool chick.” He pointed to his partner. “Now Mitch here, he’d have screamed like a little girl. God forbid some sexual predator got hold of his precious virgin ass.”
    Sitting on the other side of the narrow table, Mitch Reeves tossed his middle finger. “Fuck you, Grayson. You’ve been trying to get in my pants since we partnered. That ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy is totally bogus.”
    Grayson flicked his butt toward his partner. “No, it just covers perverts like you.” He pretended to think a moment. “Maybe I should tell them about the stakeout of that gunrunner’s farm….”
    A service weapon was drawn, safety flicked off. “If you say one Goddamn word, Charlie, I swear to God, I’ll blow you away.” Reeve’s eyes were crazed, almost fanatically so. “I’ll fucking sit in prison, man.”
    Charlie Grayson raised his arms in surrender. “Chill, dude. Chill. I’ll never tell.”
    The gun was put away. “I’m warning you, asshole.”
    Charlie Grayson flicked a shit-eating grin. “I want your house, your car, and your wife in return for my silence.”
    A set of keys flipped across the table. “The tank’s almost empty, so fill it up on the way home, please. And good luck with getting the fat bitch off the couch.”
    Grayson considered the keys. “I’m a fag, remember?” He tossed the keys back. “And I’ve seen your wife. No wonder you prefer sheep.”
    The two agents collapsed into snickers and giggles. Charlie Grayson wasn’t gay and Mitch Reeve, as far as anyone knew, didn’t screw farm animals. Partnered long enough to practically be Siamese twins, they loved nothing better than to keep the jokes flying.
    Callie rolled her eyes and blew out an exasperated breath. If the taxpayers who signed their paychecks saw them in action, Grayson and Reeve would be fired as idiots.
    Roger Reinke cleared his throat in a severe manner, leaving no room for argument or further high jinks. A certain amount of joking was necessary to keep the pressure down. However, enough was enough. His frown was deadly, silencing the guilty. “Up the hall we have a dead body, yet another victim of a man we can’t seem to lay our hands on. I am sure that poor girl’s family wouldn’t find your jokes hilarious. Put a cap on it. We have work to do.”
    Grayson and Reeve sobered.
    Roger nodded approval. “Now, back to Agent Whitten.” He addressed Callie directly. “You said you believed Drake might try to use you as an alibi. How long, exactly, was he with you?”
    As if she hadn’t given this answer already. “An hour.” She paused. “Maybe a little more. I can’t really remember.”
    A hint of irritation drew down the corners of Faber’s mouth. A ridge of muscle tightened in his jaw. “You can’t remember?” He spoke precisely, watching her in a way that scraped along her exposed nerves. Focused gray eyes never wavered. He watched her like a hawk, ready to swoop in and snatch its prey.
    Callie rubbed her eyes with a trembling hand. Her head hurt, her body burned and she didn’t want to tell the whole truth. “With all due respect, sir, I was tired. It was a long night. I fell asleep.”
    Samuel Faber