Blood in the Ozarks

15. Snitch Mobile

My phone buzzed against the faux wood of the night stand flashing Cian's name across the screen. I didn't have time to talk. So I waited for the buzz to stop and then I sent him a quick text letting him know I was working on the case. However, I was cautious not to specify how I was working on it.

A heavy knock resonated from the door.

Without checking the peephole, I swung open the door knowing it would be Ortega. Not the smartest idea, but no one else could produce a level of irritation in me with simply a knock.

"What are you wearing?" He asked by way of greeting.

I glanced down at my standard outfit of black slacks and a solid colored blouse. "Clothes?"

"Are you planning on interrogating people, or finding out what's going on in this goddamn town?"

"I..." My mouth hung open for a moment, unable to find a reason he was wrong. "I'll change."

It had been a long time since I had done any undercover work. Typically, I ran around flashing my badge and getting information that way. I'd forgotten what it was like to mix and mingle with the locals letting them do the talking.

Ortega followed me into the hotel room and took a seat in the desk chair as I searched through my suitcase for a more casual outfit. He had come prepared dressed in a black Henley shirt, a leather jacket, and a pair of run down black boots. Although if not forced into an FBI windbreaker, this was the Ortega standard. The man only owned a handful of t-shirts and plaid button downs to throw on under that sad excuse of a jacket.

"By all means, take your time. We've only been waiting all day for this," Ortega said snidely as he leaned back in the chair and propped his boots on the faux wood desk.

After our late night at the diner, I'd been eager to visit The Shed and find out if Yvonne's sister was a true psychic. Or at the very least if she'd told us where we could find a fiend or two. However, Ortega talked me down. By the time we would have gotten there it would be last call and there wouldn't be many people left. So we waited.

I'd taken out nearly every piece of clothing in my bag and nothing screamed 'night out' to me. All my clothes were for working or sleeping. As I plucked through the pile some more I apologized to Ortega. "Sorry, we can't all wear the same shirt three days in a row and be fine with it."

Finally, I spotted a black blouse I normally wore a camisole under. I ditched the cami, added a pair of fitted jeans, and ended the outfit with black flat-heeled boots and a gold necklace that dipped low into the shirt. After a quick change in the bathroom, I was ready for going out with a side of kicking ass should the opportunity present itself.

Never wear heels on an assignment. You never know when you're going to have to chase a hella fast Nightcrawler down the back alley of a mattress store. You'll end up with a sprained ankle and no perp.

"Ready," I announced walking out of the bathroom.

Ortega's gaze followed the gold chain down to the crystal at the end which nearly fell into the wide v of my shirt.

"Is this better?" I asked, placing my hands on my hips.

His eyes snapped back up to meet mine, then he gave a slight cough to clear his throat. "Looks good, Ross."

"I'm glad you approve."

"You've got a few hairs..." Ortega motioned to the air over his head.

The wardrobe change must have skewed my hair. I tried to run my fingers through the loose strands to get the strays back into place, but after a few moments Ortega stood from the chair and made his way towards me.