Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [20]
Excitement coursed through Kate as she rushed around tidying up the living and dining rooms, where she had books and papers scattered everywhere. The guys were coming. How wonderful. The next few minutes were spent preparing the vegetables and potatoes. She was pouring fresh tea over a full glass of ice cubes when she stopped what she was doing when the realization hit her that she wanted to go back to being a DEA agent almost as much as Sandra Martin wanted to. Since they’d burned their bridges, the next best thing would be hearing the guys recount all that went on this past year.
The ATF was always looking for experienced agents, ditto for the FBI. She’d actually queried the DOJ, but when the Department of Justice called her to come in for an interview, she’d blown it off. Now with her doctorate under her belt, she knew she would be in high demand. Or was she flattering herself? Probably.
Kate shifted into a neutral zone and stared out at the ocean until she heard Sandy’s car in the driveway. Sandy barreled up the slate walkway, jabbering as she reached the porch. “I can’t believe they’re coming. I’m so excited. Are you excited, Kate? Oh, God, are we having pot roast? Okay, okay, I know it’s the only thing you know how to cook. It’s okay. The guys will love it. I can’t wait to hear what’s been going on. Jeez, it’s almost a year. Why now?” She deflated like a pricked balloon as she sat down in a lime green Adirondack chair. Kate did love bright colors. Painting the chairs had been their first project after Sandy’s first class at Home Depot. Three more chairs were on the front porch, one bright yellow, one orange, and the other a beautiful sky blue. The chairs matched the colors of the flower-filled clay pots.
“How many times have we sat out here bitching and moaning about life?” Kate asked.
“Too many to count. Do you think they’re coming for a reason, or is it just a social call? Eleven months is a long time without so much as a call. What do you think, Kate?”
Kate laughed. “What you’re really asking is what do I want it to be? Why lie? We’d both kill to get back in, but that isn’t going to happen. So let’s just go with they’re coming for dinner and let it go at that. If it’s anything else, I think we’ll both be surprised.”
They heard the horn that started blowing a full block away. Both women ran down to the end of the driveway to wait for the Jeep Cherokee to swerve onto the driveway and park next to Sandy’s car.
Arnold Jellard was out first, wearing shorts, T-shirt, and sandals. He looked like a beached whale. Josh Levinson was dressed in khaki shorts and a white Izod T-shirt. He was barefoot. Roy Jacobson wore long pants and a button-down short-sleeved shirt. All three men had military-style crew cuts and were heavily tanned.
The hugs, the squeezes were genuine, and the laughter was happy and joyous.
Sandy played hostess while Kate checked on dinner. She literally danced around the kitchen. She couldn’t remember being this happy in a long time.
Tray in hand, with three Coronas, a lime wedge stuck in each bottle, and two glasses of ice tea, Kate made her way to the porch.
“Tell us what’s going on. Do you miss us? What’s up with Tyler? How do you like Miami?” Sandy never asked one question if she could ask three or four at the same time.
Jellard waved his arms. “We can’t keep up with the drug runners. The money laundering is getting away from us. We’ve been working seven days a week for months. We’re also shorthanded. Miami is great, but I hate the humidity. Tyler’s daddy arranged for him to relocate to Los Angeles. Given the manpower shortage after the budget cuts, not only does he continue to supervise the office here in Miami, but also the Arizona and LA offices.
“Seems like the only place he isn’t supervising is New Jersey. Don’t ask me what they did to deserve that piece of luck. I suppose that if you have to work in New Jersey, you’re entitled to luck on something. We’ve lost a lot of agents because of Tyler. But that’s not my problem. We do our job, and I