Page 10 of Talk to Me

Kettle on to make tea, I studied the fresh contents of my fridge. Fully stocked and I had no idea what I wanted to eat. Grilled cheese was probably where I’d end up. My secondary phone beeped and I checked my watch to see who it was before I tapped the button on my headset.

“Talk to me,” I said as I answered.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Boxer said and I closed the fridge.

“No,” was my answer.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask,” Boxer argued. Despite the playfulness, there was an undercurrent of sobriety in his words.

“I don’t have to know, you only open the call with compliments when you want a favor.” The kettle was boiling. “You only want favors when you want me to take on new clients after I told you I was taking a break from newbies.”

“Goddamn, Patch.” He almost managed to sound offended. “You don’t think much of me, do you?”

“I don’t have to think much, I know you. Now, if you want to invite me to game or if you want to shoot the shit or something else fun?—”

He sighed. “I just—need a second set of eyes on this guy.”

Uh huh. “What’s wrong with him?” I poured the water into the pot and set the tea ball into it so it would steep. Probably good, because my soothing tea was going downstairs with me.

Boxer didn’t answer immediately. While he wrestled with the balance between needing assistance and how much to disclose, I threw together a sandwich and carried all of it downstairs to the office.

Once I was in, I engaged the locks and brought my system up.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “Just—something hinky. You have good instincts. Even when you can’t put your finger on what’s wrong, you can tell when something is.”

Lips pursed, I considered his comment then shook my head. “Boxer, if you’re feeling uneasy decline. One thing I’ve learned about this business—our clients have to trust us implicitly, but that means we have to trust them.”

“I hate turning it down—it’s good money.”

“Money isn’t everything.”

“Says the operator with steady clients.”

I shrugged, I wouldn’t defend my work ethic or my clients. I’d whittled the list down this year. Normally, I only ran five to seven operatives. But currently? I had three regulars and two intermittent. Three more were on my list, but two of those were on an extended vacation. The third one had dropped completely off the map.

They could be dead, I supposed. Hopefully not.

A beep signaled another call coming through and it was McQuade. He was right on time.

“Boxer, if your gut says no—then say no. A job is not worth the stress if you can’t be certain of the client.”

The other operator let out a forlorn sigh. “Yeah, I guess.” He didn’t say anything for another long moment. “Thanks, Patch.” Then he was gone.

Shaking my head, I clicked over to McQuade’s call. “Talk to me, big boy.” I put a little drawl on the endearment.

“No one else I’d rather talk to, sugar bear,” he fired back, snappy and sassy.

A snort of laughter escaped me. “You win.”

He chuckled. “Damn, you gave in almost too fast. There’s no fun if you don’t make me work for it.”

“Next time,” I promised, my cheeks aching from my smile. Thankfully, I hadn’t choked on my tea. “But that was a good one.”

“Well, since I won and you seem to like it so much, Sugar Bear, we’ll go with it.”

I rolled my eyes, but didn’t argue. After all, he had won. “So, what are we doing?” I managed a sip of my tea without inhaling it or spitting it over my keyboard. “Your request didn’t go into a lot of details—just, you needed to talk to me.”

“Can’t a guy want to talk to his sugar bear?”

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