Southern Comfort - Fern Michaels [21]
Josh Levinson laughed out loud at the expression on the women’s faces. He was a good-looking guy with an aversion to marriage, but he’d had the same girlfriend for the past ten years. She was a professional model and had no more interest in getting married than Josh did. He was movie-star good-looking, with dark hair, laughing eyes, and a perfect smile. His body was okay, too, all 180 pounds of muscle. His six foot two frame carried the weight well.
Roy Jacobson was grinning, too. Shorter than his partner, with a receding hairline, wire-rimmed glasses, and a spare tire around his middle, he was happily married with five daughters, two sets of twins and one stray, as he put it.
Both men were the kind of agents you wanted covering your back, and they did it well because it was what they did. Once they’d been an exceptional team, each agent knowing the others so well they could anticipate one another’s moves. Those instincts had saved all their lives on more than one occasion.
“One of these days, someone is going to pop the son of a bitch, and it will probably be one of our guys. I heard through the grapevine there is a petition going around. If he isn’t removed, there is going to be a massive walkout. I heard a special task force has been initiated on the QT,” Josh said. The other two men nodded to show they’d heard the same thing, which meant it was way past the rumor stage and absolutely a fact.
“Oh, be still my heart,” Sandy cried dramatically.
Roy swigged from his bottle. “Don’t get excited now. His old man is pretty damn powerful. He’s one of those people who makes things go his way. Or, I should say, his son’s way. He likes to brag that his only son is a big shot in the DEA. Don’t ask me why.”
“So, what are you working on right now? Can you talk about it?” Kate asked.
The silence that greeted Kate’s question sat there like a hundred-pound rock. The two younger agents deferred to Jellard.
“Drugs, drugs, and more drugs. Money laundering is at an all-time high, like I said. It’s just a long swim to Cuba from here. Yesterday, we had a visit from Homeland Security. Surprised the hell out of me, I can tell you that. Hey, Rush, what’s for dinner?” he asked.
That told Kate Jellard wanted to change the subject. “Pot roast. Sassy Susie gave me her recipe before I left. I perfected it. When you eat it, you’ll think you’re back there. And, of course, the peas and the Southwestern corn and peach pie for dessert. Anyone want another beer?” Three hands shot into the air.
“Relax, everyone, I’ll get it,” Sandy said.
The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant blur. The camaraderie was genuine and heartfelt. It was nine-thirty when Jellard finally got down to business. Kate recognized the look on her old boss’s face. Her heart kicked up an extra beat as she licked at her dry lips. She risked a glance at Sandy, who she was certain was reading Jellard just the way she was.
“I’m here to make you an unorthodox backdoor offer. I’d like it to be otherwise, but I know the two of you realize how the game is played, so we have to go with what we can and cannot do. Just so you know, on paper you’re both considered out-of-control hotheads. Tyler wrote up killer reports and made himself look like Agent of the Year. At least that’s what his father’s spreading around. He’d have to do a lot more ass kissing for anyone else to see him in that light, but blood’s thicker than water.
“In any case, the way it was done makes it pretty hard to get it reversed. But with the task force looking into things, I’m confident that, even if he isn’t canned, he’ll no longer be supervising the Miami office. So I’m going to make you this offer. But first I need to know if you’re interested. You both appear to have moved on, you have your PhDs now, and Sandy has what appears to be a fine job, while you, Kate, are following your dream of writing that cookbook you told me about. If you aren’t interested, say the word, and we’re outta here.”
“Bullshit,” both women said in unison.
“Lay it on me. I’ve been