Page 2 of Snowbirds
“I don’t know, but if I hear of you coming around the office, there will be disciplinary action,” McBride said before ending the call.
Chris stared down at the cell phone he held in his hand and wondered if he’d imagined the entire conversation.
“Vacation? Just like that?”
Glancing up, he caught sight of the personalized Chris Hatch Pop Figure that Morrison had given him for some ridiculous reason—National Boss’s Day, maybe. It acted as a sentry on his bookshelf and seemed to watch him from all directions. The head appeared to nod, mocking his question. The figurine even had a red cape, which Morrison had been particularly proud of.
No, dammit, he hadn’t imagined the call. McBride was forcing him to take a break.
The damn phone rang again before he could set it aside—or chuck it against one of the walls. Chris didn’t normally resort to violence, but he was feeling the need for it today.
Without checking who was calling, he pressed Accept.
“Agent Hatch.”
“Chris, honey! I’m so shocked I don’t have to leave a voicemail!”
His mother sounded so happy he’d answered the phone that he felt a bit guilty for not calling recently.
“Hi, Mom.”
But inwardly Chris groaned. He loved his parents, he truly did. They supported him in everything he did. When he’d come out to them in high school, Mom had given him a huge hug and Dad had too. They supported his career—for the most part. While Chris pretended he didn’t know his dad smoked pot on a regular basis, at least it was legal in most places now.
Like all good parents, they just wanted him to be happy.
“You sound down, honey. What’s going on? Is there a big case?”
“No,” Chris answered honestly. “I’m being forced to go on vacation. For three weeks.”
Once the words came out of his mouth, he cringed and squeezed his eyes shut again, immediately wishing he could take them back. If he’d been thinking clearly, he never would have said anything about the time off. His mom would insist he come for a visit, to Arizona where they’d retired a few years ago. Then again, it wasn’t as if he had anywhere else to go.
“Vacation?!” His mom repeated with delight. “And three weeks, too? Come down here and visit us so we can fuss over you. It’s been too long. One of our neighbors is traveling for the month, so you could do him a favor and house-sit. That way you could have some privacy.”
“I don’t know—” he began.
His mom cut him off. “Christopher Anthony Hatch, none of us are getting any younger. Including you. Live a little. What are you going to do in Portland? Hole up in your house for three weeks?”
And so what if he just holed up? That actually sounded all right. What was wrong with hiding out, his only human contact being the pizza delivery person?
Unsurprisingly, by the time he’d gotten off the phone, Chris had agreed to spend his vacation time in Arizona at his parents’ fifty-and-over community. Although he knew most of the residents were over sixty-five. Yippie-ki-yay.
Boy, didn’t that sound thrilling. Better than a case of shingles, he supposed.
“You’re our guest, so the fact that you’re not quite fifty yet doesn’t matter,” his mom had assured him. Damn, it was almost as if his mom read his mind.
By the time they’d clicked off, Chris had also agreed to house-sit for Frank, the next-door neighbor. Susie Hatch’s superpower was convincing people to do things she wanted them to without them realizing it. These days, Chris was onto her tactics, but he was almost as powerless against them as he’d been when he was a teen. She really should have been a politician.
“For fuck’s sake, what was I thinking?” Leaning back in his chair, he allowed himself to release a groan that echoed around his office.
Truthfully, he’d had no real choice once his mom got started.
Truthfully, sitting at home for three weeks didn’t appeal that much.
Chris had no hobbies outside of work. The pizza delivery guy was too young for him even in an imaginary porn flick, and he hated watching TV. The office was where he liked to be, in the eye of the hurricane.
Toeing the carpet, Chris spun his chair around in a slow circle.
Recently, that hurricane included Ivan Morrison. With Dante Castone permanently off the team, Morrison wasn’t in the field as often as he had been. These days, he was invariably underfootfor reasons Chris couldn’t begin to fathom. Morrison constantly turned up, claiming he had work to do that could only be taken care of at the office. Not long ago, he’d even cut his unruly hair, although it still wasn’t quite regulation. And more unsettling, Chris wasn’t sure he approved of the new style—he’d kind of liked the wild Morrison look.
