~Dylan~
“What do you mean we can’t get a sketch artist? We need to do something, Elliot.” I turn towards Elliot’s subordinate, Cole, telling him, “Cole, tell him.” The tall, dark man only shrugs helplessly before directing his gaze at Elliot.
“Foley, it’s not like I don’t want to provide you with one. The artist is on maternal leave. She’s pregnant,” he says, like he hasn’t driven the point thrice, already. My point is that it doesn’t have to be the pregnant one. Is he really trying to tell me that she’s the only sketch artist we have in the FBI? No f*****g way.
“Well, call someone else,” I hiss but from the way Elliot’s turning beet with his nostril flared to facilitate his heavy breathing, I realise that this isn’t the way. Antagonizing my superior will take me nowhere, exce
