CHAPTER NINETEEN - JORDAN
“So what do ya got?” I say, not bothering to look up as Darrel is about to knock his knuckles on the frame of my door.
“Jesus, man. You’ve got like a sixth sense about people or something.”
I smile, taking a moment to look up from the case file I’m studying. “Gotta be one step ahead at all times. You should know that better than anyone. Come in. Tell me what’s good.”
“Well,” Darrel says, easing himself down onto the chair in front of my desk. “We’ve got sixteen active cases right now and they’re all pretty much on track.”
I glance up at him again. “Jesus. When did we get so busy?”
“Word travels, I guess. Anyway—”
But he’s cut off by Eileen, my assistant, who does manage to knock her knuckles on my door frame before I can stop her. She’s sneaky like that. Maybe she should be the house private investigator? “Mr. Wells,” she says.
“What’s up, Eileen?”
“Someone’s here to see you. He’s very insistent.”
Darrel and I exchange a look that says, Yup, we know who this is.
“You want me to leave?” he asks.
“Nah,” I say. “It’ll be short, I’m sure.”
“Right this way,” Eileen says outside in the hallway.
“I know where his office is,” comes the voice trailing behind her.
“Shit,” Darrel and I say at the same time. That wasn’t who we were expecting.
Ixion appears in my door, doesn’t bother to knock, and walks right in like he owns the place. We’ve been friends… well, we haven’t exactly been friends for a very long time. But we’ve known each other since we were little boys. And back in our college days we might’ve thought about being more than friends.
He’s still kinda pissed about that game I played with him and his new girlfriend last month, so while I shouldn’t be surprised he’s here—I am.
He should be thanking me for that shit. No one ever thanks me. I mean, he got a new lease on life, he’s not living out in that shack up in Ten Miles from Nowhere, Wyoming, and he’s back in Denver. Where he belongs, I might add. With a pretty hot chick I introduced him to. You’d think a guy would get a thank you for that, right?
I laugh. “Well, this is a surprise. Come on in, Ix. Oh, you already have. In that case, have a seat. Can I get you a drink? Darrel, get the man a drink.”
He doesn’t sit and one look over at Darrel says he’s not here for the drink. He just lifts up his sunglasses so they’re resting on his forehead, places both hands flat on the top of my desk, glares down at me, and says, “What the fuck are you doing?”
I exhale. That exhale says I’m annoyed, I’m busy, and you don’t have an appointment. But I pride myself on being professional, so I say, “What the ever-loving fuck are you talking about now? I mean, Jesus Christ, Ixion. I get it. You don’t like me. You think I’m a bad guy. You think I fuck with people’s lives. So why do you insist on”—I make air quotes with my fingers—“bumping into me every chance you get?”
I see this fucker everywhere. The goddamned symphony—though that was partly my fault. At Chella’s little tea room, which I love and frequent often since she makes the most delicious pastries in town. He’s even working out at my fucking gym now. And it’s like… it’s like he just inserted himself into my world or something. And believe me, if I had known getting him down here for that last job I hired him to do was gonna subject me to his unending angst and anger, I’d have left his ass in jail.
“I heard you had a game going.”
“Darrel,” I say, not taking my eyes off Ix. “Do we have a game going?”
“We’ve got sixteen games going,” Darrel replies.
“Sixteen games,” I say, still looking at Ixion. “So which one are you interested in?”
“You know what game,” he says.
“No, Ixion. I really don’t. So either get real specific or just get the fuck out.”
He points his finger at me. Glares at me. Leans forward a little, letting me know just who I’m talking to, and says—
Could he kick my ass? I’m not sure. He’s big, but I’m smart. I think smart beats big every day of the week.
“—I’m not gonna play with you.” Eyes narrowed, jaw clenching, teeth bared. And not in a smiling way either. He’s always been dramatic like that.
I open my mouth to say something witty, and childish, and mean… but I can hear Eileen outside in the hallway, talking loudly.
“What the fuck?” I say, looking at Darrel. He shrugs, and then a man appears in my door, flanked by…
“Oh, this is fucking great,” I say.
“Who the fuck are you?” Ixion asks. As if he’s got any right to know anything.
But the guy pulls out one of those flip-open badge-holder wallet things and flashes it at me. “FBI, motherfucker. That’s who I am.”
I look at Ix. He looks at Darrel. Darrel looks at me. I look back at Ix.
Ixion says, “I’ll be back,” then flips his sunglasses down on his face like he’s the goddamned Terminator, and walks out.
OK. Annoying ex-friend—lover? Not quite—taken care of. Now back to Angry Guy Number Two. “How can I help you, Agent”—I read his badge because he’s still flashing it at me—“Murphy?” I squint to see it because it’s still kinda far away.
“Do you know who this is?” He jacks his thumb at Issy Grey.
“Nice to see you again, Issy. No hard feelings about last night, right?”
“I knew it!” she yells, jumping and kinda spinning in place like an over-excited puppy. “You did this! I knew it!”
“I’m gonna need to ask you some questions, Mr. Wells,” Agent Murphy says.
“I’m outta here,” Darrel says, getting up from his chair. “I’ll catch up with you later.” He walks towards the door without a second glance back at me.
“Thanks, Darrel. Remind me not to make you a real partner in crime, because you’d probably bail on me the first time things got heavy.”
He waves a hand over his shoulder as he turns the corner and disappears, ignoring my deteriorating mood. Which is why I keep him around. He kinda gets me.
“OK,” I say, clapping my hands and rubbing them together. “Issy, do you mind closing the door? Whatever this is, Wells Senior doesn’t need to hear about it. He’s got a bad heart.”
Agent Murphy kicks out and the door slams shut with a bang.
I smile. I’m not gonna let this day go to shit. I’ve got too many things in play to let one ex—lover? Friend? Whatever Ixion is—a jilted game player, and an FBI agent take away my Zen. “I think you two had better sit down and take a deep breath.” Issy Grey opens her mouth to snarl at me, but I hold up a finger and say, more forcefully this time, “Sit. The fuck. Down.”
She sits, he doesn’t. But that’s typical, right? Men.
“Did you approach,” Murphy says, “Miss Grey last night about a sexual fantasy fulfillment game?”
“Nope.”
“Liar!” Issy says, kinda yelling. Which makes her boyfriend here shoot her a look, which I think says, Let me handle this.
I look at Issy Grey, because I have a file on her, and I know she doesn’t let anyone handle something she can handle herself. So I expect her to put up a fight.
But she doesn’t.
Which piques my curiosity.