“Oh, crap,” she muttered, her shoulders falling. She’d forgotten. In having fun with the dog, in being part of the op, she’d actually forgotten her tormentors for a moment.

“It’s nice to see you, too,” Agent Tom Rutherford said smoothly, walking past her and into the apartment. As usual, the HDD handler wore a designer navy-blue suit, power tie, and polished loafers. His blond hair was cut short in a wave, and his blue eyes were shrewd and ambitious.

Agent Fields waited in the hallway. “May we come in, Brigid?” His tone was much more polite, albeit weary.

She stepped aside and gestured him in. Her stomach cramped. “Like I have a choice.”

The older agent gave her a sympathetic glance, his faded brown eyes kind. In contrast to his partner, his brown suit was from the eighties, as were his striped tie and scuffed shoes. He moved like he’d been shot a few times and was just waiting for retirement to kick in so he could be done with all of this nonsense.

She shut the door, her mind reeling.

Roscoe clopped out of the bedroom, eyed the men, and then jumped out of the heels to run to Brigid. The powerful dog planted himself in front of her and barked. Twice.

Well, wasn’t that nice. “I think he’d eat you both for dinner if I asked him,” she said, her spirits lifting.

Fields stared at the four shoes on the floor. “Was he wearing heels?”

Brigid patted the vibrating dog. “I wanted to see what they looked like from a distance.” Roscoe’s height issues were nobody’s business but the team’s. “Decided the floral ones were the best for the dress I’m planning on wearing to your retirement, Rutherford.”

The younger agent snorted. He was probably decades from retirement, but no way was that guy staying an agent. Probably had political aspirations. He even looked like the new, young, hip politician that had just been elected from New York.

He moved for the sofa to take a seat. “You haven’t reported in during the last week. That’s a violation of your plea agreement, Agent Banaghan. Surely you don’t want to see Guantanamo from the inside.”

The threat was getting old. Brigid had done enough good for the HDD that she was getting some juice, but she couldn’t yet challenge Rutherford. She’d get there soon, and if she told Angus Force the truth, he might help her with the higher-ups. Or, he’d be so pissed she’d been sent to spy on him that he’d kick her butt out of the unit. The idea sank a heavy stone into her gut.