Read Online Dancing on the Wind by Charlotte Boyett-Compo - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Charlotte Boyett-Compo
Ads: Link
alive?”
“Mother is. Father was murdered before Misha was born. Mom was married to a
captain in the Spetsnaz unit of the MVD when she had her little fling with Fallon. Word
is his stepfather was a truly evil son of a bitch. Rumor has it he was responsible for
Fallon’s death. He used to beat the holy hell out of Misha—kept it up until the day
Misha put the bastard down hard, nearly killed him actually. Misha was put in a special
detention center for the next seven years of his life so there has never been any love lost
between the two. I hear when they are in the same room together, Misha and the
Russkie can’t keep their hands off each other’s throats.”
“Ouch,” Keenan observed. “Must make family reunions a real blast.”
“He rarely sees his mom for that very reason,” Groves told her. “Though he calls
her every Sunday when he’s not on assignment.”
“That almost makes him sound human.”
Groves chuckled and reached for his orange juice. “I know he isn’t happy about this
Extension thing, so he’s gonna push the limits with you. Just go with the flow and he’ll
eventually lose interest in annoying you if he realizes it won’t make you crazy. He’s
more bark than bite unless you really piss him off, but since you’re a woman, he’ll use
the venom of that wicked tongue of his instead of those meaty fists to get his point
across.”
“I’m not happy about the Extension either, but I don’t guess either of us has a
choice,” she said.
“You work for the Exchange, you do what they tell you,” he said. “That’s the
downside of our employment. May I give you a piece of advice about Misha?”
“Please.”
“He’s very good at hiding his thoughts. The mental block that man has developed
is like trying to pry the lid off Ft. Knox. You won’t be able to read him—even sense
him—unless he allows it, so my advice would be to keep your own thoughts carefully
hidden as well. He’s bad about using other people’s feelings against them.”
“That’s encouraging,” she said, her shoulders slumping.
He leaned forward. “I tell you what—you’re gonna be bone-tired by the time
evening rolls around. How ’bout letting me take you to supper? There’s a neat little
barbeque place over in Altoona and I’m friends with the owner. We can go over and pig
out—pardon the pun—and swill down good sweetened tea with lemon.”
“Southern-style sweet tea?” she asked.
He nodded. “I taught him how to make it and the bastard was hooked from the first
taste.”
36
Dancing on the Wind
“What time?”
“Seven?”
“You’ve got a date!”
* * * * *
When Keenan was shown into the Supervisor’s office at exactly 7:30, Fallon was
already there as Groves had predicted. He didn’t even look over at her when she was
told to take the chair beside his. He was clutching a sheaf of papers, apparently
absorbed with whatever he was reading.
“I trust you had a good night’s rest, Keenan,” the Supervisor said from the
windows where he stood with his back to the room, hands clasped loosely behind him.
“No, sir, not really, but thank you for asking,” she answered, and since she was
looking past Fallon to her boss, she saw her fellow agent’s lips quirk with what could
only be amusement. She didn’t think it was his reading material that had caused the
smirk.
“Strange that neither of you slept well last evening,” the Supervisor commented,
turning around to face his agents. “Must have been something you ate, eh, Fallon?”
Fallon raised his head and swiveled it toward Keenan. “Guess so,” he replied, his
gaze raking down Keenan in such a way she ached to lash out and slap the half grin
from his chiseled lips.
“Well, let’s get down to business,” the Supervisor stated, and came around his desk
to perch on one end of it. “Tell me what you know about drochtáirs , Keenan.”
Keenan blinked. “ Drochtáirs ?” she repeated,
“Mother is. Father was murdered before Misha was born. Mom was married to a
captain in the Spetsnaz unit of the MVD when she had her little fling with Fallon. Word
is his stepfather was a truly evil son of a bitch. Rumor has it he was responsible for
Fallon’s death. He used to beat the holy hell out of Misha—kept it up until the day
Misha put the bastard down hard, nearly killed him actually. Misha was put in a special
detention center for the next seven years of his life so there has never been any love lost
between the two. I hear when they are in the same room together, Misha and the
Russkie can’t keep their hands off each other’s throats.”
“Ouch,” Keenan observed. “Must make family reunions a real blast.”
“He rarely sees his mom for that very reason,” Groves told her. “Though he calls
her every Sunday when he’s not on assignment.”
“That almost makes him sound human.”
Groves chuckled and reached for his orange juice. “I know he isn’t happy about this
Extension thing, so he’s gonna push the limits with you. Just go with the flow and he’ll
eventually lose interest in annoying you if he realizes it won’t make you crazy. He’s
more bark than bite unless you really piss him off, but since you’re a woman, he’ll use
the venom of that wicked tongue of his instead of those meaty fists to get his point
across.”
“I’m not happy about the Extension either, but I don’t guess either of us has a
choice,” she said.
“You work for the Exchange, you do what they tell you,” he said. “That’s the
downside of our employment. May I give you a piece of advice about Misha?”
“Please.”
“He’s very good at hiding his thoughts. The mental block that man has developed
is like trying to pry the lid off Ft. Knox. You won’t be able to read him—even sense
him—unless he allows it, so my advice would be to keep your own thoughts carefully
hidden as well. He’s bad about using other people’s feelings against them.”
“That’s encouraging,” she said, her shoulders slumping.
He leaned forward. “I tell you what—you’re gonna be bone-tired by the time
evening rolls around. How ’bout letting me take you to supper? There’s a neat little
barbeque place over in Altoona and I’m friends with the owner. We can go over and pig
out—pardon the pun—and swill down good sweetened tea with lemon.”
“Southern-style sweet tea?” she asked.
He nodded. “I taught him how to make it and the bastard was hooked from the first
taste.”
36
Dancing on the Wind
“What time?”
“Seven?”
“You’ve got a date!”
* * * * *
When Keenan was shown into the Supervisor’s office at exactly 7:30, Fallon was
already there as Groves had predicted. He didn’t even look over at her when she was
told to take the chair beside his. He was clutching a sheaf of papers, apparently
absorbed with whatever he was reading.
“I trust you had a good night’s rest, Keenan,” the Supervisor said from the
windows where he stood with his back to the room, hands clasped loosely behind him.
“No, sir, not really, but thank you for asking,” she answered, and since she was
looking past Fallon to her boss, she saw her fellow agent’s lips quirk with what could
only be amusement. She didn’t think it was his reading material that had caused the
smirk.
“Strange that neither of you slept well last evening,” the Supervisor commented,
turning around to face his agents. “Must have been something you ate, eh, Fallon?”
Fallon raised his head and swiveled it toward Keenan. “Guess so,” he replied, his
gaze raking down Keenan in such a way she ached to lash out and slap the half grin
from his chiseled lips.
“Well, let’s get down to business,” the Supervisor stated, and came around his desk
to perch on one end of it. “Tell me what you know about drochtáirs , Keenan.”
Keenan blinked. “ Drochtáirs ?” she repeated,
Similar Books
