Page 8 of In the Nick of Time
“But what about Tim?” Nick asked when he caught up to Swanson at the elevator doors.
The doors slid open and two well-dressed women stepped out.
“Doug.”
“Ariella. Ursula.”
“New guy?” one of them said knowingly as they slipped past Nick.
“New guy,” Swanson affirmed, stepping into the Death Crate. “Come on already. You can use the restroom in the lobby.”
The lobby was still justas empty as it had been when Nick arrived. Exiting the elevator, Swanson pointed to a door off to the side.
“Hurry up.”
Hurry up? Seriously? Long Shot needed a chill pill.
Nick took care of business in the single occupancy all-gender washroom, only managing to splash a little water on his suit when he scrubbed his hands. A quick look in the warped mirror had him wishing he’d done more with his hair than run some gel through it. Too late now. An impatient bang and “Get a move on” through the door had him rolling his eyes.
“Coming dear,” Nick singsonged. Agent Swanson had a thing or two to learn about Nick Sedgewick.
“Where are we going?”Nick asked as Agent Swanson pushed through the doors and out into the heat of the afternoon.
Without answering him, Swanson pointed his key fob toward a tiny car, one of those that doubled as an electric razor. The car beeped, announcing that it was unlocked. Nick stared at the vehicle; there was no way they were both going to fit in that thing. How did Agent Swanson fit into it even on his own? Maybe the tiny car was why he was so grouchy.
One of the reasons he was so grouchy.
A thought struck Nick. “And what about Tim?”
Swanson stopped at the back bumper to glare at him. “Who the fuck is Tim?”
“You do have memory issues. Tim is the turtle. Obviously.”
“Tim is the turtle.Obviously.” Swanson beeped the car locked again. “We’ll take your car. But I’m driving.”
“Oh, I do enjoy a man who likes to take charge.” Nick actually did, but in this case, he wasn’t giving the man a compliment. Agent Swanson was starting to piss him off.
“Mine’s over there.” He pointed to the spot on the very end of the row where he’d managed to park the Pontiac. Now there were open spaces on both sides of it, as if other cars were ashamed of its existence.
“Of course it is.”
When they reached Nick’s car, Swanson held out his hand. Did he truly expect Nick to let him drive Nick’s car?
“Hand ’em over.”
Apparently, he did. Caving like a soufflé, Nick handed Swanson his keys.
“Fine, but if you put so much as a scratch on my car… I’ll… I’ll be really irritated.”
Shaking his head and possibly hiding a smile, Swanson got in behind the wheel. He immediately moved the seat back and adjusted the rearview and side mirrors. After turning the key in the ignition, Swanson hit the power on the sound system with impressive speed.
“Nope.” Nick turned Taylor Swift back on. “If you drive, I control sound and climate. Those are the rules.”
Swanson shot him a glare, but Nick ignored it. Smiling, he checked over his shoulder to make sure that Tim was still there. The turtle—tortoise, Nick mentally corrected—was almost exactly where Nick had left it. Possibly, it had moved its head.
“Hey, Tim, glad to see you’re okay,” Nick said, snapping his seat belt. “Guess what? I didn’t get fired and this is officially my first day of work. Sorry, tortoise dude. You have to come along because Mr. Impossible here is in a hurry and I haven’t had time to research where to take you.”
“It’s Long Shot, not Mr. Impossible. Mr. Impossible is with one of the East Coast offices.”
