Chapter 1
The recline of Mitch Knox’s oversized leather chair fit him perfectly. This exact comfort level had required years of fine-tuning and honing the balance, but he’d invested the time, proud of the results. He sat at an angle, his Doc Marten booted feet propped securely against the file folders on his desk.
Lost in thought, Mitch’s brow narrowed as he bit at his thumbnail. His eyes stayed fixed on the inner workings of the Camp Beauregard, Louisiana, United States Marshals Service field office. Like normal, he wasn’t truly paying attention to anything going on outside his office door. What occupied his mind was a case on which he’d managed to get little more than a passing interest from his senior advisors and definitely zero dollars to help fund an investigation. Man, that frustrated the shit out of him.
The lingering doubt that plagued his thoughts surfaced. Why hadn’t he been able to move this case any further along in all these months? Clearly, he’d completely lost his touch. Maybe his age had something to do with that. He’d just turned thirty-three. Close to middle-age, or hell, he could qualify for a solid middle-age compared to the life expectancies in this country. Good thing his people lived to ripe old ages, or he’d really be down about this latest birthday.
The shrill ring from his antiquated office telephone interrupted his thoughts, drawing his attention back into the now. Since caller ID hadn’t made itself to the field office yet, Mitch was forced to answer the call blindly. He recoiled at the thought, but picked up the phone nonetheless. “Deputy Marshal Knox here.”
“This is Director Skinner.” The voice sounded strained on the other end, which was the norm, considering how much he’d been nagging his superior about the Colton Michaels case.
“Yes, sir, hang on.” Mitch reached over his desk, extending an arm as far as he could across his small office to shut the door. The move effectively drowned out all the noise coming from the large grouping of cubicles just outside. Mitch had plopped back in his seat by the time the door slammed firmly shut. “You rang?”
“You’re ignoring your email again. You’re being requested on a federal warrant to transport Carlos Chavez from Dallas to Washington tomorrow morning.”
“All right,” Mitch said absently, raising his feet back in place on his desk as he reached out to pull up his email. He searched the incoming messages, going all the way back before lunch, because, while he would never admit the words out loud, he hadn’t checked his email since he’d arrived this morning. Shit, now it was close to quitting time on a Friday. He needed to get moving.
Mitch held the receiver between his ear and shoulder as he brought the keyboard to his lap. He replied to the message quickly, letting them know he was on his way and took a second to print the details before forwarding the message to his assistant.
“Mitch, are you ignoring me again? I told you in your last performance evaluation, there’s a hierarchy in all this. When you ignore me, your boss, and then the senior ranking officer who’s also been emailing you this afternoon, that doesn’t bode well,” Director Skinner lectured.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Mitch paused, knowing full well it wasn’t time for jokes, but he loved annoying his higher-ups. He kind of lived for these moments. He waited until he finally heard the exasperated sigh on the other end of the phone.
Score! He achieved the desired result and grinned, probably for the first time that day. “Don’t worry, I already responded to the message. I’ll have to make a few calls, then I’ll get the first flight out. I’ll be there tonight, ready for the bust in the morning.”
“Then why are you still on the phone?” Skinner asked in a very lame attempt at humor.
“Ha ha. I keep telling you to leave the jokes to me. Bye.” He didn’t waste a second before he ended one call and started another. He dialed Ellen, his assistant, and pushed the speaker button.
“Yes, Your Grace,” she answered.
“What’s with all you jokesters today? This is serious law enforcement business. Not playtime!” Mitch scolded, cocking his head to the side. The blinds to his office window were raised, and if he bent a little farther, he could see her at her cubicle. She was looking directly at him. “I sent you an email. I need to arrange a trip to Dallas for departure ASAP. Once you get the details, will you forward them to the email address inside the message I sent you?”
“Yes, sir,” Ellen said with a bright smile. She was young, pretty, and extremely capable. And from day one, she’d always used the ‘sir’ on him, but as of his last birthday, the word seemed to take on a whole new meaning.
“What have I told you about that?” he asked, irritably.
“You told me you aren’t old enough to be a sir yet.” She made air quotes at the word sir. “But you are.” They had been through this before. He knew the comeback and could never beat her at this game, but it didn’t stop him from engaging.
“You don’t have to say it,” Mitch said drily in her pause.
“Because my parents always taught me to be respectful of my elders.” He made a show of rolling his eyes. She always had that same response, clearly very proud of her attempt at humor. She laughed and Mitch tried hard to hide his smile, not wanting to spur her on.
“You need better jokes.” He gave a little chuckle as he reached across the desk to end the call. That didn’t stop her. He should have known it wouldn’t as she opened his office door and stuck her head inside.
“Why? When that one still works so well!” The door shut quickly, and he ignored her completely as he packed his laptop and grabbed his cellphone off the charger. By the time he hit the elevators, his cell vibrated with an incoming email. Ellen was a keeper, even in her current state of becoming a pain in his ass. She’d already arranged his flight, departure in an hour and a half. Just enough time to grab his always ready kit and get to the airport.