Page 42 of Under Cover
Walking through the garage and into the elevator became like the oldBatmanshow, Crosby thought. Once they hit the elevator, their “new lovers” faces disappeared and their “federal agents” costumes plastered on. They walked into their office on the eighth floor shoulder to shoulder, ready to be briefed.
What Crosby saw, sitting at their happily battered conference table, made his breakfast threaten to rise up in his gorge.
“Mudson, my friend,” McEnany said. “I’m so glad you are not dead.”
Crosby took a breath and looked to Harding, whose expression was stony with displeasure.
“Crosby, Garcia, my office, now. McEnany—”
“Agent McEnany to you,” said Crosby’s former partner. Fortyish, balding, ginger, McEnany was wiry and living proof that redheads needed sunblock and a lot of time indoors. His skin was leathery and freckled, even the skin under the remaining hair on his head, and the sneer he delivered to Crosby was one of his best weapons.
Or it had been. It used to give Crosby an upset stomach just looking at the guy, but not now. Now Harding was regarding the man with absolute distaste.
“And that’sSpecialAgent Judson Crosby to you,” Harding replied icily. “If you get unprofessional on him one more time, I’m giving my entire unit permission to call you McAsshole. Try me.” And with that he spun on his heel and into the office, not even looking back to see if Garcia and Crosby were following.
Of course they were.
Harding’s office door slammed behind them, and Harding made a show of closing the blinds as McEnany looked on with that patented sneer contorting his features.
When the last blind clicked into place, Crosby sank into one of the chairs across from Harding’s battered wooden desk and scrubbed at his face with his hands.
“IA?” he asked gruffly. Harding had mentioned that McEnany had gotten a federal job after the DA in Chicago had failed to prosecute him for the bad shoot. He’d just never, ever thought the two of them would have to cross paths again.
“IA,” Harding confirmed, sitting on the desk in front of his chair. “But here’s the thing. He has no authorization to grill you here. There’s been no internal affairs case opened on yesterday’s incident—and there wouldn’t be. Not on you. I authorized the shoot. The entire team heard me screaming at you to take the shot. He shouldn’t be here, and as far as I know, the only reason heishere is that our perp’s CO took it upon himself to call in a favor with McEnany’s superior.”
Crosby took a breath and met Harding’s eyes. “So I don’t have to deal with this guy?” he asked, to be sure.
“Absolutely not.” Harding ran his hands through his dark hair, rucking it up in all directions and making the occasional strand of salt stick out wildly. “That said, I’dreallylike to know what he’s doing here. But we can’t. Not right now. I suspended your desk duty and called everybody in because we’ve caught a live one. We need to shut McEnany down and work around him. Do you think you can ignore him?”
Crosby nodded, feeling his face harden. “It’d be my pleasure,” he snarled, thinking about how happy he’d be to be able to plow the guy over while he and his team did their jobs.
“Excellent.” Harding nodded and then paused. “But I’ve got to ask. Are you still rooming with your DJ friend in midtown?”
Crosby winced, but Garcia spoke up. “I was going to move him into my spare room today, sir. Those digs are no good.”
Harding lifted an eyebrow and blinked so slowly Crosbyknewhe was thinking three things at once.
“Well, I think that’s a good solution for the moment.” He gave Crosby a compassionate look. “You’re too old to be couch surfing, kid, and your friend may be a stand-up guy, but for people like McEnany, he’s one more reason to hassle you, you got me?”
“Yessir,” Crosby said, trying hard not glare at Garcia. “We can move me out after we clear the case.”
Harding nodded. “Okay, so let’s go out there and show this McAsshole fucker what a real group of professionals looks like when they work. Don’t respond to him, don’t look at him, and don’t tell him anything about the op that he wouldn’t hear as a fly on the wall. You feel me?”
Crosby and Garcia both nodded and then turned to leave.
“And guys?” Harding said, causing them to turn.
“Yeah?”
“Same thing I told you months ago. Fire long before you see the whites of their eyes. I donotlike this guy in my situation room. He is not our friend.”
“Understood, sir,” Garcia told him, and together they walked back toward the conference room. In the short time they’d been in there, the others had emerged from their open cubicles and were ready to lay out the sitch and talk strategy. McEnany had apparently spenthistime staring at the door to Harding’s office, and as Crosby and Garcia stalked back toward the conference room, he didn’t appear to notice that they weren’t alone.
“So, did you have a nice little confab?” McEnany sneered as they emerged. “Were you told to cooperate with—”
“Gail, do you have the sitch board ready?” Crosby said like the guy wasn’t even there. Finest bit of acting he’d ever done. If he hadn’t felt the clamminess under his arms and down his back, he would have sworn he wasn’t on the verge of puking.
“Yeah, me and Swan are ready to throw down. Who’s your friend?”