Page 8 of Ace

Hell, I'm a hundred percent certain Hemlock hates me and the man still shook my hand and treated me with respect when I was at the cabin the other day.

Dale can't even look up from the folder in his hands to acknowledge me.

"Which report?" I ask, because I have several irons in the fire.

"The Winslow case."

I do my best to hide my reaction, even though he isn't looking at me.

"I think Agent Crews took things too far. She should've—"

"She might be a better fit for that group in Gatlinburg," he says, looking up at me for the first time.

"She needs a vacation," I counter. "She's been working for eighteen months straight."

"So Gatlinburg?"

"It isn't a dumping ground for agents who can't keep their shit together in the field," I say with as little emotion to my voice as I can manage.

"You don't think she's a good candidate?"

"I don't make team decisions for Cerberus," I remind him.

"But you can make a recommendation."

I pull in a deep breath, my irritation growing with every word coming out of his mouth.

"I would not recommend Megan Crews to join Cerberus."

He frowns, but I can tell by the gleam in his eyes that he fully expected my response. He should know better than to think that she'd be a good fit.

"Speaking of vacations. When was the last time you took a break?"

My jaw clenches, the muscles in my cheeks growing taut.

"If it's been too long to remember, then maybe it's time you took a break for a while as well."

There's no sense in arguing with the man. The last vacation I took was also a suggested vacation, and he has to know that because he was the one to facilitate it the last time.

"I'll take two weeks," I tell him as I stand.

"You'll take a month," he counters, his eyes challenging me to argue.

I know doing so could either land me in forced retirement or a reprimand in my folder for the way Agent Crews' last case was handled.

"I have a lot of things in the air right now," I argue.

"And we have agents that can easily step in and handle those."

I want to rip his head from his shoulders, but doing that to a supervisor is frowned upon, no matter what organization you work for.

"I appreciate that," I tell him. "I'll get the paperwork filled out and the request placed this week."

I turn to leave, but he clears his throat, an indication that he isn't done with me.

"I've gone ahead and worked on that request for you. All I need is your signature," he says, holding the top page up. "Here and here."

I'm spitting fucking nails by the time I make it back out to my car. I thought I'd at least have a few days to clear some shit before he shoved me out the door, but it looks like my forced month-long vacation starts today.

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