No, she’s so much more than that. But what the hell do I call her? Lover? Mistress? No, that word sounds dirty and doesn’t fit her at all.
None of those options sit well with me.
My thoughts are interrupted by a soft chime from the speaker on my desk.
“Mr. Plushenko, an Agent Patterson is here to see you.”
I freeze for a moment, considering my options. Part of me wants to send her packing. But another part of me, the part that’s always curious, wants to know what the hell she’s doing here.
I drain the last of my whiskey.
“Send her in.”
The door opens and Agent Patterson strides in, all business, all authority.
“Agent Patterson. To what do I owe the pleasure? Or should I say, the inconvenience?”
She narrows her eyes. “I’m not here to play games, Plushenko. You know exactly why I’m here.”
“Enlighten me. I’ve had a long day, and, well, my mind’s a little foggy.” I gesture for her to sit. “And since I’m assuming this is a friendly visit, I won’t need to call my lawyer, correct? Or security…”
She doesn’t sit.
“I have questions,” she says. “And I think you have answers.”
“About?” I ask, my mind already racing through the possibilities. What does she want this time? Info on the engagement party shooting? The attack on the street?
I chuckle, gesturing to the whiskey decanter. “Care for a drink? You look like you could use one.”
“I’m not here for pleasantries.”
“Clearly,” I reply, setting the glass down. “Then let’s cut to the chase. What do you want?” A thought occurs to me. “You know, the last time we saw each other, I believe you were telling me and my brothers to keep a low profile. And now, here you are to, what, ask for my help?”
I step over to the whiskey and pour myself another drink.
“You sure you don’t want a little bit?” I wiggle the bottle a bit, the amber liquid inside sloshing around. “It’s good stuff. And my workday is over, so it’s time for me to unwind.”
“No.”
I sit on the edge of my desk, Agent Patterson finally easing into one of the chairs across from me. She’s more than a little uncomfortable about the whole thing, I can tell.
“I’m here to talk about De la Rosa.”
Another sip. “What about him?”
“I want to know everything you know about him.”
“Snappy dresser; I can tell you that much.”
Part of me wants to slip out my phone and get one of our lawyers here ASAP. But at the same time, this could be a good opportunity to squeeze a little info out of Agent Patterson.
“Enough with the bullshit,” she says. “I want actual info.”
I wag my finger. “Agent Patterson, I don’t know how you do things in the FBI, but in my world, it’s more than a little rude to make an unannounced visit and then get all bossy like this. Either give me a reason to talk, or you can turn around and head out the way you came in.”
I sip, letting my words hang in the air.
She narrows her eyes, and I can sense that she’s realizing that she’s not going to get anything without giving something.
