Flashpoint Read Free

in a speed dial number, then held his phone to his face, plugging his other ear with one knockwurst-sized finger. Yeah, that would help him hear over the music.
    It wouldn’t have been quite so awful to sit here if only the DJ played some Aerosmith every now and then.
    Or if the strippers or waitresses in this place bothered to smile—Jesus, or even scowl, for that matter. But their perpetually bored expressions were depressing as hell. They didn’t even bother to be pissed at the fact that they were being exploited.
    Mondelay sat back in his chair as whomever he was calling picked up. Decker couldn’t hear the conversation, but he could read lips. He turned his head so that Mondelay was right at the edge of his field of vision.
    What the fuck is taking so long?
Pause, then,
No way, asshole, you were supposeda call me. I been sitting here for almost an hour now, waiting for the fucking goat head.
    Huh?
    Fuck you, too, douche bag.
Mondelay hung up his phone, leaned toward Decker. “I got the locale wrong,” he said. “Tim and the others are over at the Bull Run. It was my mistake. Tim says we should come on over. Join them there.”
    No. There was no way in hell that Mondelay had been talking to Tim. Decker had heard him on the phone with Tim in the past, and it had been all “Yes, sir,” and “Right away, sir.” “Let me kiss your ass, sir,” not “Fuck you, too, douche bag.”
    Something was rotten in the Gentlemen’s Den—something besides Mondelay’s toxic breath, that is.
    Mondelay wasn’t waiting on any goat head. He was waiting for the
go ahead
. The son of a bitch was setting Decker up.
    Mondelay began the lengthy process of pushing his huge frame up and out of the seat.
    “You boys aren’t leaving, are you?”
    Decker looked up and directly into the eyes of Tess Bailey, the computer specialist from the Agency support office.
    But okay, no. Truth be told, the first place he looked wasn’t into her eyes.
    She’d moved to D.C. a few years ago, from somewhere in the Midwest. Kansas? A small town, she’d told them once when Nash had asked. Her father was a librarian.
    Funny he should remember that about her right now.
    Because, holy shit, Toto, Tess Bailey didn’t look like she was in small-town Kansas anymore.
    “There’s a lady over at the bar who wants to buy your next round,” Tess told him as she shouted to be heard over the music, as he struggled to drag his eyes up to her face.
    Nash. The fact that she was here and half-naked—no, forget the half-naked part, although, Jesus, that was kind of hard to do when she was standing there half-fricking-naked—had to mean that Nash was here, too. And if Nash was here, that meant Decker was right about Mondelay setting him up, and he was about to be executed. Or at least kidnapped.
    He glanced at Mondelay, at the nervous energy that seemed to surround the big man. No, he’d gotten it right the first time. Mondelay was setting him up to be hit.
    Son of a bitch.
    “She said you were cute,” Tess was shouting at Decker, trying desperately for eye contact. He gave it to her. Mostly. “She’s over there, in the back.” She pointed toward the bar with one arm, using the other to hold her tray up against her chest, which made it a little bit easier to pay attention to what she was saying, despite the fact that it still didn’t make any sense. Cute?
Who
was in the back of the bar?
    Nash, obviously.
    “So what can I get you?” Tess asked, all cheery smile and adorable freckled nose, and extremely bare breasts beneath that tray she was clutching to herself.
    “We’re on our way out,” Mondelay informed her.
    “Free drinks,” Tess said enticingly. “You should sit back down and stay a while.” She looked pointedly at Deck.
    A message from Nash. “I’ll have another beer,” Decker shouted up at her with a nod of confirmation.
    Mondelay laughed his disbelief. “I thought you wanted to meet Tim.”
    Decker made himself smile up at the man