The Auction Block (Agents of Interpol 1)

Page 15

Blake nods, still not taking his eyes off me.
Jax clears his throat. "Mr. Mason, I'd like to show my team the training area if you don’t mind."
"Of course." He extends his arm toward the door. "After you, Agent Williams."
I catch Jax's eye on my way past Blake. He raises one eyebrow. I shrug and march from the room.
We ride the elevator to the basement and I practically run out once the doors open. Elevators are bad enough, but one forcing me to cram in with eight other people is hell. I stroll forward, ignoring the constant prattle of my team behind me.
The concrete basement has been transformed into a decent training space.
"Why couldn't we just go to the DC office to train?" I glance at Jax.
"Too far away. Monroe doesn't want us shorthanded here. He figured this would work best."
"Ah. How nice of him." My eyes reach for the heavens.
There are weights, other exercise equipment, and a large area for hand-to-hand exercises, but the area that catches my eye is the weapons corner. Several melee weapons adorn the far right wall with indoor approved ranged weapons as well. There's a single enclosed target range and what looks like a rotating target.
Interpol really went all out.
I step onto the mat, pulling my jacket off. Rhett looks up at me as I slide my gun holsters off and set them atop my jacket. A smile spreads across his face as he removes his jacket and weapons as well. He jogs over, taking a place beside me and faces the rest of the team.
I meet Dresden's gaze, a slow, sinister smiling forming on my lips. "Let's have some fun."
Dresden removes his weapons and nods to Vlad. They both make their way to the center of the mat.
"You take, Vlad?"
Vlad chuckles.
"Be sure to kick Dresden's ass," Rhett whispers back.
Oh, this is going to be fun.
I lean on the railing of the living room balcony, the breeze billowing around me. It's rather peaceful here.
"Beautiful view isn't it?"
I turn my head as Blake leans his back against the railing next to me. There's less than two inches between his hand and my arm. I scoot away.
He raises his eyebrows.
"It's nothing personal, Mr. Mason." My eyes never leave the skyline.
"You don't seem to have an issue touching people when you're kicking the shit out of them," he says, turning to mimic my stance.
I glance at him briefly. "No, I don't."
"How come?"
A sigh escapes my lips, my fingers wrapping around the railing as my arms tense. "I don't know."
“You don’t know or you aren’t willing to tell me?”