Page 87 of The FBI Agents Who Stole Me

Cal: Riley, fix whatever Julian’s doing. It’s too hard to replace a reliable player. Plus he’s so easy to beat.

Me: Fuck Riley. He’s a doctor, not…us. He can’t deal with all this.

Cal: We got him. He is really terrible at poker. He knows, right?

Me: Focus, Ninja Shit. Killing. Getting Julian. Stopping Elliot from murder (I’m on that one). Oh, and I need a ride.

Riley: On it. Welcome to the party, pal.

Riley: I couldn’t make that Die Hard reference work. Cal always takes the good ones.

Me: Riley!

Riley: Chopper will be there in fifteen.

Me: I love it when a plan comes together.

Riley: Damn it. The A-Team. Not you too, Lee.

Cal: Get to the choppa, Lee.

Riley: I’m so out of my league.

Cal: Do better, Ri. Hasta lavista, baby.

Me: He deserved that.

Riley: That was uncalled for.

Me: Was it though?

Riley: I’m your Huckleberry, Lee. I’ll do better.

Me: Duh. But seriously. Go get Julian. I need someone to come get Jasper from the cabin. He is not spending a night alone in the murder woods.

Riley: Got the location you just sent. I’m sending Saint. He loves cats.

Me: Thank you. There’s a lot of shit I need to tell you. But first I need to go kill some fuckers.

Riley: See you there. You don’t have to tell us. We’ve got your back.

Cal: And we got some grenades. See you there.

Jasper trots into the room like he knows I’m about to do something reckless, rubbing against my ankle with one annoyed little yowl.

“I know, buddy.” I bend down and scoop him up against my chest. “Your dads are idiots.”

I carry him, snuggled against me, to the bedroom and grab his carrier from beside the dresser. I shove one of Julian’s soft shirts inside before settling him in. He complains immediately and lets out a sad meow.

“I’m sorry. I’ll get Julian to buy you catnip and treats for this.”

He turns in a tight circle, sniffs Julian’s shirt, then sinks down on top of it with a wounded little huff.