Description : Make Me, Sir
Her eyes puffy from crying, mouth set with determination, Gabrielle Renard walked down the hallway of the FBI"s Miami field division, hunting for the correct office. There it was. She stopped and took a careful breath— I can do this—then straightened her shoulders and shoved the door open.
It was a typically bland room with coffee-stained, brown carpeting and off-white walls, and the scent of sweat, coffee, and overly musky cologne sure didn"t help her stomach. A metal desk with aputer occupied the right side. On the left, two men sat at a small conference table, papers strewn across the surface.
One had his back to her, and with dismay, she realized why the cologne smelled familiar. Agent Preston Rhodes. Only three or four inches over her five feet five, the pale, brown-haired creep had the whiny personality—and the morals—of the hyenas in The Lion King. During her one-month stint in Tampa last year, he"d even tried to coerce a victim"s sister into bed.
The other man had black hair and eyes, an oliveplexion, and deeply carved lines bracketing his mouth. He frowned at her and asked, “Can I help you?”
in a clipped New England accent.
Rhodes turned in his chair and scowled at her. “What are you doing here, Renard?” He glanced at the other man. “She"s a victim specialist with the Miami field office.”
Ignoring him, Gabi spoke to the dark-haired agent. “Are you in charge of the investigation...