The Trifecta Challenge is to write anything, in whichever form, that is between 33 and 333 words based upon a word and definition given. This week’s word is “new.” My personal challenge is to weave the entries into an actual story. Word count verified by Written? Kitten!
Once the police arrived, things got a little frantic. There was a flurry of paperwork and threats of being fingerprinted. By the time things were sorted out at the precinct, the homeless man had gotten a meal, the bystanders had been reassured, and Dean had admitted that their last names really weren’t Greenway.
The worst part had been calling his boss at the Bureau to explain what had happened and allow the officers to confirm that he was indeed a federal agent. His boss had been polite and amicable with the cops but Dean flinched every time he laughed on the speakerphone, knowing what was coming when they handed the phone back to him.
“Yes, sir. I’m very sorry.” Dean closed his cell phone with a snap and sighed, then looked at Sahara. As much as he would have liked to delay giving her the news, time was once again of the essence. “We have to get home and pack.”
“Great. Just what I wanted to hear,” she said sarcastically. “At least I don’t have a job to quit this time.”
“Leave it to you to look on the bright side.” Dean gave her a smile that he hoped didn’t betray how nauseous he felt. “Hey, maybe this time I can convince him to let you pick your own name.” Sahara gave him a pitying look and he sighed again.
“You’re saying that a lot today.”
“I’m new to this too, you know.” It was the truth; looking after Sahara was his first assignment and so far it had been as much trouble as being on the job for a decade. “And it’s not particularly fun pretending to be your boyfriend, either.”
“Then why do you keep trying to convince me to sleep with you?” Sahara said this as loudly as she could and Dean put a hand over her mouth, a gesture that had the exact opposite effect he had hoped for when three armed officers descended on him. Again.