Page 3 of Snowbirds
The front office staff adored Ivan. More than once, Chris had had to yell through his office door, “Keep it down out there,” like he was some sort of playground monitor.
Morrison was a damn good agent though. He played the fool, much to the bad guy’s dismay but also something that often drove Chris up the wall. However, Chris couldn’t complain too much when the bad guys kept falling for it.
Chris hadn’t minded when Morrison started showing up around the office since it meant the agent hadn’t been assigned to another undercover assignment. He would be soon though. Morrison was an excellent agent. But he couldn’t help thinking that, if McBride thought Chris needed three weeks off, Morrison was definitely due for at least three months.
Chris stopped the chair for a second and reconsidered Morrison’s increased visits. Was Morrison checking in, possibly worried Chris was upset that Dante had chosen Andre and not him? There were few personal secrets in an office the size of theirs. Chris had been distressed—at first. But ultimately, it didn’t matter. He didn’t have time for a relationship, and he’d never had a chance with Dante anyway.
Maybe, a little voice in his head had whispered when the dust settled,you wanted him because you knew he’d never be yours. Which was a truth that still stung more than anything else he’d considered.
Okay, that did it. Time to stop thinking and start planning the next few weeks.
One thing Chris did know was that he would miss Morrison’s antics while he was away—his face peeking around Chris’s office door, eyebrows waggling, his voice booming down the hallway as he finished telling the receptionist a joke.
How Morrison had gotten into undercover work in the first place, Chris couldn’t begin to imagine. The man was not subtle.
Pushing against the carpet again, he spun himself in the other direction. He knew he should have left already. McBride’s local spies were probably already clamoring to tell him that Chris was still in the building.
Fine. It would be fine. Everything would be fine.
The phone rang yet again. Chris eyed it and checked the screen this time. With a sigh, he clicked Accept.
“When I said today and now, I meanttodayand I meantnow,” McBride barked, then clicked off without letting Chris respond.
“Fucking hell.”
With a sigh and a scowl, Chris rose to his feet and shrugged into the raincoat hanging on the back of his chair. Defiantly, he grabbed his laptop and shoved it into his briefcase, then snapped the case shut. If McBride thought Chris was leaving that item behind for Paulter to even sneak a glance at, he was sorely mistaken.
After one final quick look around, Chris released another sigh and headed out into the corridor. He grimaced at the newest front desk person as he passed by. Chris hadn’t had time yet to learn their name, but they responded in turn with a tentative smile, so most likely he hadn’t looked too threatening. It was lunchtime and no one else seemed to be in. Probably they’d all been given the heads-up by McBride.
Cowards.
Twenty-four hours later,Christopher Anthony Hatch, the man who never took a day off—no sick time, no personal time of any sort—found himself knocking on the front door of his parents’ modular home in Surprise, Arizona.
“Christopher!” his mom exclaimed, a huge smile on her face, almost as if she was surprised he’d actually shown up. “It’s so good to see you. Get yourself in here so I can give you a hug!” His mom grabbed the front of his hoodie in a tight grip. “Lance, get rid of the evidence, your son is here!”
Rolling his eyes, Chris allowed himself to be dragged over the threshold and tried not to groan too.
It was going to be a long three weeks.
TWO
Hatch
Chris’s phone buzzed, pulling him away from the thriller he’d borrowed from his dad’s bookshelf. Grateful for the interruption to the outrageous plot line, he set the paperback face down on the pavement beside the lounger he’d claimed earlier. Having learned from his most recent mistake, he checked the screen before answering, even though he suspected he knew exactly who was texting him this time.
He’d left Portland on Thursday, and the fact that he hadn’t heard from Morrison until now was almost shocking. The man often called or texted him weekly, and it had been more often since Dante officially left town. Well, Chris mused, the two of them were close friends. Morrison probably missed Dante’s company.
Something he refused to put a name to roiled in Chris’s gut. Ignoring it, he scanned Morrison’s text.
M: What the fuck? Where are you? Are you sick? Did you get fired?
Shaking his head and sighing, Chris waited a moment before replying. Morrison could never just text everything he had to sayin one go. Usually, it was a minimum of three texts before Chris responded.
M: Never mind. You didn’t get fired. No way. No secret police types have stormed the building to remove your belongings.
Chris felt a smile curve his lips. Ivan Morrison was nothing if not always entertaining. And reliable. And damn smart.
M: Although… it is always the quiet ones who end up being the most surprising.
