Blind Rage by Terri Persons Read Free Book Online

for me.”
    “Let me know,” she said, and got up to transfer the files over to her desk.
    Garcia headed for the door. “I’ll call you.”
    She gathered the folders in her arms. “The scarf?”
    “Whatever else happens, I’ll get the scarf to you,” he said, and walked out of the office.
    She set the files down on her desk and lowered herself back into her chair. “Whatever else happens,” she grumbled.
    “Strange bastard? Ghost grievance committee? Exorcism? Is that how you two talk about me when I’m not around, missy?” asked Creed, who’d reappeared at his computer.
    “We didn’t mean anything by it.”
    “What’s this about a steak at your place tonight?”
    “You heard what I told Tony. A working dinner.”
    “So now it’s Tony.” He peered at her over the top of his computer screen. “Be careful, Agent Saint Clare. Fraternization between supervisors and those under them is most definitely—”
    She held up her hand to stop him. “I don’t need a lecture, Ruben.”
    “And that nonsense about my wanting vacation pay! I never said that.”
    She plucked the top file off the pile and set it down in front of her. “I was having a little fun with Tony…Garcia.”
    “Make sure that’s the only fun you have with him.”
    She flipped open the file. “Are you my partner or my dad?”
    In place of an answer, he started typing furiously.
    “Don’t break the computer,” she said without looking up from her reading. “That’s government equipment, you know.”
    “Hilarious,” he snarled from behind his screen, and continued banging on the keyboard.
    The cellar was starting to feel crowded. She stood up and pulled on her coat. Started stacking the files. “You know what, Ruben—Agent Creed—I’m going to take this stuff home with me. If Garcia comes by my place—”
    “I’m betting he won’t.”
    “ When Garcia comes by place, we can go over these together.”
    “Don’t hold your breath, missy.”
    Behind his back, she flipped him the bird and took off for the day.
     
     
     
    HE WAS RIGHT. Garcia didn’t show. She fell asleep with the files.

 
     
    Chapter 6

     
    JUGGLING HER PURSE, AN ARMLOAD OF BOOKS, A CAN OF diet pop, and the mangled remains of a Slim-Fast bar, the reed-thin woman hustled up two flights of stairs and down a narrow hallway with high ceilings. Just before she entered the classroom, she polished off her drink, spotted a trash can, and tossed the empty into the receptacle. The clatter made her wince. The classroom door was wide open, propped by an ancient copy of The Living Webster Encyclopedic Dictionary of the English Language . The old building was stuffy, and the prof kept the door open to prevent everyone from suffocating.
    She slipped inside, zeroed in on an empty desk in the last row, and dropped into it. She ran a hand through her short spiky hair, dyed to match the color of black licorice, and checked her watch. As soon as she was done with this class, she had to bolt for another appointment.
    While she shrugged off her vest, she watched the professor scribbling on the board. In an attempt to blend in with their students, some instructors wore jeans and T-shirts or the occasional flannel shirt with the requisite frayed collar and cuffs. Some had beards or other facial hair, and a few of the arty ones had long hair. This guy looked the way college professors were portrayed in movies: Dress slacks. Dress shirt. Necktie. Blazer. Loafers or wing tips. His belt always matched his shoes, a miracle for a single man who wasn’t gay. Clean-shaven face. Short blond hair with a bit of curl on top and a smudge of gray on the sideburns.
    When the school year started, he’d had a sunburned face and a tan on the back of his neck. During a hot spell that early September, he’d removed his blazer and rolled up his sleeves, revealing tanned, muscled arms covered with blond hair. She bet most of the girls in her class and a couple of the guys suffered a drop in grades