Page 22 of Until the End

“Oh, please.” She made an appalled sound. “You need to come up with less offensive terminology. We”—she pointed between herself and Reece—“have different definitions of bag. And don’t talk about me as if I wasn’t standing right here.”

Reece rocked back on his heels, tipping his ball cap that read The Hustle and Grind is Real. “Pardon me. Meant no offense, Miss…what’s your name? Or should I call you POI?”

“Poy works,” she said, stringing the letters of the acronym into a word.

“Not poi, like the Hawaiian dish.” Typical grit roughened Castle’s tone. “POI as in person of interest.”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes, jutting her chin high enough to put a crick in her neck.

Second time she’d said whatever to him in her snippy, kiss-off tone. A third occurrence would be met with a swift lesson in manners, and he was the perfect teacher.

“POI works too.” Her bearing was composed, her air of confidence almost believable.

Reece’s eyebrows shot up. “The meeting with the chief should be interesting. I can’t wait to witness it.”

“Sit this one out,” Castle said, “but I could use Willow and Doc in the conference room.”

Reece took a swig from his mug. “Padding?”

Castle nodded, grateful for Reece’s easy-rolling, discreet nature. Their POI was suspicious and tight-lipped. Padding the room with females might soften her and incline her toward cooperation.

“With this one,” Castle said, gesturing with his head at Jane Doe, “it’s best.”

“Excuse me, can you see me from way up there on your high horse?” She waved both hands in front of his face. “Because you’re talking about me again as if I’m not standing beside you where I can hear you.”

“You should watch your sharp tongue,” Castle said.

Her eyes flared with irresistible fire. “Or what, big bad secret agent? Hmm?”

The art of smooth talking to get what he wanted was lost on him, but even if Castle had been an expert, she would’ve tested him. He drew a deep breath, bottling his quick temper.

“I see you’ve got your hands full.” Reece raised both eyebrows. “Willow’s at her desk. I’ll grab her and look for Doc.”

Castle nodded his thanks and ushered their POI further down the hall.

Passing the clocks lined on the wall displaying times from eastern standard to Japan, his gaze fell on the conference room. The transparent walls had been darkened to an opaque slate, hiding the occupants. Maybe the chief was already inside, ready to rock and roll.

“I’m a bit disappointed,” she said. “Thought you’d be capable of mustering a retort worthy of a shudder back there.”

He stopped in front of the conference room door and pointed a finger at her while giving his fiercest look. “Careful what you wish for. You just might get me completely unfiltered and unfettered.”

She didn’t bat an eyelash. “Is that a promise or a threat?”

Sweet hell. Her unvarnished directness left him speechless. She was pushing all his buttons in god-awful ways. But he didn’t hate it nearly as much as he enjoyed it.

“I suggest you don’t let your mouth bite off more than you can chew. Much less swallow. Wouldn’t want you choking on all that gall.”

“I may have a faulty heart, but you’d be amazed by what I can handle. Don’t underestimate me.”

Her warning was loud and clear, and he respected the hell out of her for it. If he didn’t find a backbone of steel in a fiery woman so damn sexy, he might’ve been peeved.

“I’ll remember that.” He pushed the door open and hiked his thumb, directing her inside.

She waltzed into the conference room with her ready-to-take-on-an-army attitude and he bit back a smile, schooling his expression.

Alistair was seated, feet propped on the black glass table, ankles crossed. “My, oh my, what a difference no hoodie makes.” He flashed a flirty grin at her. “I’m Alistair. Can I get you something to make you more comfortable, dear? Coffee? Tea? Me?”

Castle shook his head at Alistair’s typical garbage. “Scram. I’m limiting the numbers in the room when the chief talks to her.”