Page 107 of D for Dead

‘Come on, Joel. This isn’t fair. I’m an FBI agent. Surely someone else can go. I’m working on the Gavin lead.’

‘Which Angell can take over. Today you watch Amy.’

‘This isn’t fair.’

‘And?’ Joel felt his temper fraying. Rivers had a knack of irritating him. ‘This isn’t kindergarten. It’s part of the job and I don’t give a shit whether you like it or not. Today you watch Amy.’

Rivers pouted, but didn’t argue. He was still a rookie and knew Joel could pull rank. That didn’t mean he had to like it and he stomped from the room like a spoilt child, punching the keys of his cell phone furiously, no doubt telling his friends what a jerk of a partner he’d been saddled with.

Joel watched him go, the feeling mutual. Maybe Rivers would surprise him and get his shit together, but he wouldn’t hold his breath.

* * *

Amy’s heart sank when Peterson opened the door and Special Agent Rivers smugly stepped inside.

He glanced disdainfully at her before briefing Peterson that he would be taking over and she listened as he explained Boaz had gone down sick. Peterson nodded, collected his things from the couch and waved a goodbye to Amy, telling her he would see her later in the evening. As the door closed after him, Rivers dropped the paper bag he’d brought with him on her coffee table, clapped his hands together, and turned to face her.

In his bed, Huckleberry growled, ears pricked back. He wasn’t a fan of Rivers either.

‘So, looks like we’re stuck together for the day.’

Amy pulled a face. ‘Yeah,’ was all she could muster.

The guy was a rude, pompous little idiot. She knew he didn’t like her; he had made it clear from day one, accusing her of having blood on her hands. She suspected that after their last encounter, when Sullivan had dragged him from her apartment, he liked her even less. Still, she had to make an effort; try and make the situation more bearable. Her natural good manners automatically kicked in.

‘Do you want coffee? There’s some in the pot.’

‘No, but I’ll have tea, with milk and two sugars. And I’ll need your laptop. I wasn’t expecting to come here today, so I don’t have mine with me.’

‘What? But I need it to write.’

‘I think federal business is more important than your silly little stories, Miss Gallaty. Besides, when you write people seem to die. I’d give it a break if I were you.’

‘I–’

‘You can set it up over there while I use your bathroom.’ He nodded towards the couch. ‘Which way?’

Amy directed him, her blood boiling.

Obnoxious little prick.

She made his tea, slamming the cup down and dumping in the teabag, milk and sugar, resisting the urge to spit in it.

Who the hell did he think he was, coming into her apartment and taking over?

She put the laptop on the coffee table, set his tea beside it, and was sat at the dining table reading a magazine when he emerged. He glanced at her and went to sit on the couch. Seeing him approach, Huckleberry got out of his bed and slunk over to Amy.

Rivers watched him warily as he fired up the laptop and took a sip of his tea. He set the cup down on the table and clicked his fingers, not bothering to look round.

‘Can you get me some more sugar? You didn’t make it sweet enough.’

‘What did your last slave die of?’ Amy muttered, getting to her feet.

‘What was that?’

‘Nothing.’ She gave him her best sickly-sweet smile when he glanced round.

Fetching the sugar bowl from the kitchen, she took it over to the coffee table, dumped it down. ‘Here, knock yourself out.’