Page 6 of A Labor of Hate
“What’s this?”he asked, his voice level and controlled, save for the slightest tremor of irritation as he glared into his desk drawer.
I fought to keep the same control over my own, even as he lifted the new and improved coaster in the air.“I’m not as uppity as you, but I’d guess that it’s a coaster.”
“‘Why did the apple stop in the middle of the road?’”he read flatly, ignoring my sarcasm and looking down his nose at my homemade replacement.“It ran out of juice because I drank it all.Really, Lex?”
I grinned, unable to hide it any longer.“Pretty good, huh?Not my best, but definitely not my worst.”
“That remains to be seen.”
I blinked innocently.“Are you asking for more?Was this particular apple pun una-peel-ing to you?”
His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t dignify my pun with a response, which was pretty typical.Honestly, if it weren’t for the miniscule tells I’d picked up, I’d almost believe he’d convinced himself I didn’t exist every time he shunned me.Even then, the blatant ignoring still boiled my blood.
Whatever.Two could play at that game, and I had work to do, anyway.
The rest of our unit arrived, and I felt my “work persona” slip comfortably into place as we all buckled down with our separate caseloads.I was here to make a difference, and that’s what I’d do.The majority of the slush pile was assigned to me as the newest squad member, but I didn’t mind.Every week, it was a little less than the week before.My long hours and dogged determination were paying off.
I was about to hit the streets with Isaiah to find one of our criminal informants when McBride intervened.He waved me down from across the room, his features as stony as always.“Piper, you’re needed in interrogation room two.”
Colt sat up straighter, his penetrating stare burning holes through me.Annoyingly enough, I could hear his voice in my head asking the question at the tip of his tongue, said with as much haughty disgust as he could muster.Why her?
I straightened into my dancing posture, wiping my face of all emotion.Whatever McBride’s reasoning was, I trusted it.“Of course, sir.”
“Dixon, you, too.”
I barely even noticed as Colt followed, my mind racing through the information about the low-level dealer as McBride briefed us on the way.This was it.The potential break we’d been waiting for.All we had to do was convince the guy to give us the name of the mastermind behind the modified drugs the team had been tracking for months.Thus far, all we knew was his street name:Le Chimiste.
The Chemist.
Strong core, shoulders back, chin up, neutral expression.
It was go time.
CHAPTERTHREE
I MADEMY way into the breakroom, rubbing my temples at the beginnings of a headache pounding through my skull.While being out until the wee hours of the morning wouldn’t normally affect me as much as it would anyone with a normal sleep schedule, that was assuming I’d have the chance to sleep the morning away.Which I didn’t.Being employed wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, okay?Especially considering my job was the reason I was out so late in the first place.And the worst part?Absolutely nothing noteworthy happened during my surveillance shift.Nada.Zilch.Just hours of mind-numbing nothing.
Add in starting the day with the resident goose outside my apartment complex literally chasing me to my car, oversleeping so I had to skip breakfast, and being pulled into an hour-long interrogation; I needed coffee.Desperately.
I nearly bumped into the person in front of the coffee maker, mumbling an apology until I realized who it was.Because,of course,it was him.The poster child for pocket protectors and daily planners.The patron saint of calculators and tax forms.The bane of my existence.Even if I hadn’t spent countless hours glaring at the back of this particular freckled neck—which I had—the broad shoulders, neatly combed hair, and lean figure were unmistakable.
“Bulldozing everything within reach again, newbie?”Colt asked, not even bothering to turn and face me.
My scowl deepened.“I’ve been here for two months now, Colt.I think it’s time you finally admit you’re not creative enough to come up with another derogatory nickname for me.”
“Oh, coming up with them isn’t the problem,” he muttered, finally turning as if he had all the time in the world—and still blocking the coffeemaker, “HR is.”
“Right, I almost forgot you’re allergic to the possibility of bending the rules.”Heaven forbid he ever got reprimanded.His cold, dead heart would probably give out then and there.
His eyes narrowed, and his knuckles whitened almost imperceptibly around the handle of his mug of apple juice.The only indication of his irritation since his voice remained cool.“Is that what you call what you do—bending?”
I sighed, trying to think around the worsening pounding in my brain.“Are you going to wax poetic about the importance of the handbook again?Because I’ll spare you the time and energy.I.Don’t.Care.”
Perhaps that was a little harsh, but I really didn’t care.I knew the rules well enough, but I wasn’t about to have them tattooed to my forehead like he apparently wanted me to.And if I had to sit through another twenty-minute rant about how I’d donethiswrong orthatout of order, I was going to splash his apple juice in his face.I’d aim for his shirt, but with how much starch was undoubtedly in it, the juice would probably just roll right off.Maybe congeal into apple juice gravy and jiggle menacingly.
“That’s evident enough,” he scoffed.“Tell me, did you at least have the courtesy to warn Max before you went completely off the rails in this interrogation, or did you blindside him like you did me?”
I clenched my fists, my composure dangerously close to slipping.“That’swhat you’re so mad about?That was ages ago.”
