Actual Stop (Agent O’Connor #1)(70)

I glanced down and noted the name typed neatly at the top of the standardized Secret Service PT form. Eric Banks. The name didn’t ring a bell. I looked back up at Matt and met his steady gaze.

“He’s new,” Matt informed me as if reading my mind. “He’s been out of training for maybe four months. He’s in Counterfeit.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve been hearing some pretty disturbing things about him. He’s cocky. He’s arrogant. Apparently he walks around here like he’s God’s gift to the world.”

The muscles in my face twitched as I attempted to rein in a smirk. “Well, all of us are just a shade too cocky for our own good, don’t you think? We sort of have to be. I drove you crazy when I first started, remember?”

“You were a smart-ass, true enough. Still are, from what I can see. But I’d never describe you as cocky.”

“Thanks. I think.”

Matt flashed me a tight-lipped smile. “This kid is different,” he insisted. “I’ve been watching him the past couple weeks. Shows up late. Leaves early. Argues with or questions every single order he’s given. Has an opinion on everything. His way is always better. Never mind that he’s only been on the job a hot five minutes. He has an answer for everything and won’t listen to anybody. In short, he’s a real pain in the ass.”

And he was about to become Rico’s problem. Wonderful. “It’s a wonder no one’s thrown him a blanket party.”

“Believe me, some of the guys are about ready to. He needs the wind taken out of his sails a little bit.”

I’d known Matt for several years now. He’d been the AT of the Human Resources and Training Squad when I’d first started, which meant we’d spent a fair amount of time together at the outset. He was the exact opposite of my current boss, Mark. He was kind and fair and patient, so I knew if he was saying all of this about this kid, it was true.

“Did you talk to the scheduling guys? They’re excellent at this sort of thing.”

“I did. And they’ve been working on it. Midnight vehicle-security assignments, stairwell post standing, and duty-desk shifts abound for this guy. So far, he isn’t getting it.”

“I see. So, where do I come in?”

“Turn his paper over.”

I did and discovered a small sticky note with some numbers jotted on it. It didn’t take a genius to figure out they were the scores recorded from his last PT test, which I presumed had been administered while he was still in Beltsville. “Impressive.”

“Yeah,” Matt said dryly. “He thinks so, too. Apparently, he was quite the recruit in training. Won both the PT and the shooting award for the class.”

“Good for him. Does he know that doesn’t mean shit in the field?”

“He appears to be having considerable trouble grasping that concept.”

“And you want me to assist him in that arena,” I said, finally catching on.

“If you’re up for it.”

“Is that an order?” I was in an awkward position here. I definitely didn’t want to go against Matt’s wishes, but I was having a hard time getting excited about competing with a fellow agent, even a cocky new one practically begging to have his bell rung. It simply wasn’t my style.

“Think of it as a friendly request.”

Damn. I’d been hoping he’d let me off the hook by taking the decision completely out of my hands and making it a directive. No such luck. I glanced back at the kid’s scores so I could consider the matter.

“The pull-ups are going to be tough,” I said after a moment. “I might be able to swing the push-ups. Maybe. If I can break protocol and have one of the guys count for me.”

Matt gave me a quizzical look.

“Bigger hands,” I explained. “I won’t have to go down quite as far to make contact and have the rep count.”

Mentally, I ran through the faces of the guys I’d seen during my extremely brief stop in the gym, trying to decide who’d best be able to aid me. I needed one with big hands, who wouldn’t get all immature about the fact that I’d basically be rubbing my breasts against him with every push-up. That was why we generally had the women count for one another and left the men out of the equation. It was easier to avoid sexual-harassment lawsuits—and maintain plausible deniability—that way.

An emotion not unlike triumph flickered in Matt’s dark eyes. He knew he had me. “It’s the run I really need you to hammer him on. Apparently the guy thinks he’s some sort of Olympic-caliber marathoner. If you can even come close to matching him in any of the upper-body strength tests, that’s just gravy. And I know you’ve got the sit-ups locked.”

I consulted the score sheet again. That last statement about the sit-ups appeared to be true enough. But I said, “I hate running.”

“Really? But you’re so good at it.”

“Only because I want it to be over as quickly as possible.”

Actually, that was only partly true. My sister had run track all through high school and college and insisted on dragging me along when she’d trained. I only ran half as much as I did to this day because she and I tried to meet once a week to run together, if our schedules permitted it, and no way in hell would my pride let me lag behind. I was greatly looking forward to the day when Rory lost interest in running altogether so I could regress to training only as hard as I needed to so I could pass my PT test.