Page 7 of Fiona and the Fixer

I went to the door, opened it, making a mental note to use some hand sanitizer.

“Oh, and Trotter?”

His lips pursed into an invisible line, not thrilled with life right about now.

“Wash your hands.”

3

FIONA

“You passing throughor headed to Coal Springs?”

A few hours later, I was in the back of a very vintage convenience store with the overly friendly owner who’d introduced himself as Pops. Seventies. Bib overalls. Thinning gray hair but impressive sideburns. A broad smile as if–while running a business where everyone who came in was a stranger–he never knew one.

Including me, it seemed. As if upon meeting he adopted every caffeine-desperate traveler as an honorary grandchild. I wouldn’t know since I never knew my grandparents, but I assumed his friendly demeanor and probing curiosity were what they did.

Inwardly, I sighed. Outwardly, I pasted on a smile. This man was the key to one of my greatest joys in life: coffee.The faster I answered his questions, the faster I’d get my fix.

After the showdown earlier with Trotter–including supervising him filling out a medical leave form–I sat at my desk waiting for HR’s approval and quickly found a vacation rental in Coal Springs. No doubt Trotter put a rush on the paperwork because I was out the door within the hour. I went back to my apartment, packed, and hit the road without grabbing a to-go cup.

I wasn’t giving myself tons of time to think about what I’d done–either saved my career or killed it. Instead, I was winging it.

Which was something I didn’t do. Ever. I was methodical. Logical. Organized.

Some said fastidious. Anal. Even ruthless, but those people were the ones who thought I’d worked my way through the FBI ranks solely to put my own father in prison.

I had.

Lately, my life felt completely disorganized. Like a dumpster fire. Brain tumor. Shady boss and partner. Supersonic hearing.

More coffee would help. I figured this time off would, too, but I never took it before. I had tons of vacation accrued which I’d never used. Work was my life.

Ithad beenwork. Now it was hopefully a cup of coffee.

I’d found the pot almost empty and brought it to Pops’ attention. He was making a fresh batch while I waited.

“Coal Springs,” I said, leaning my hip against thecounter as I watched. Yes, an actual pot, not an industrial urn with the push of a button spewed forth the black gold into a waiting paper cup.

“Vacation?”

“Yep.”

Was paid medical leave without a medical issue called a vacation?

“With your family?”

God no. Unless dear old dad joined me in his orange prison uniform, handcuffs, and accompanied by armed guards.

“Nope.”

“Boyfriend?”

Boyfriend? As if. None of the guys I’d gone out with had balls big enough to handle a woman who worked for the FBI and took down bad guys for a living. Or maybe it was just me. The answer to that could go either way and it didn’t matter. I didn’t trust anyone enough to let them in. Sex? Sure, although that had been a long time ago. But a relationship? I had no clue how to be in one.

“Nope.”

His gray eyes were laced with the look you got when visiting the local pound and eyeing all the cute dogs up for adoption. “You’ve gotta be meeting a friend or something.”

---