<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#99ff99">Cat rolled her eyes at his comment about her wrath, but didn't retort further.  She started the SUV and drove them to the scene -- a seedy little motel where an NYPD narcotics cop had been found very extremely dead by the motel owner when he'd missed checkout.  "I hope like hell he was here undercover," Cat murmured to Gabriel under her breath as they approached.<br/>
<br/>
She plucked her badge off her belt and held it up to the uniformed officer at the door.  "Special Agent Catherine Gabledon, FBI.  This is my partner, Gabriel Sullivan.  We need to see the officer in charge."<br/>
<br/>
"Ma'am, I'm not authorized--"<br/>
<br/>
"Son," Cat said, with a dangerously polite smile.  "See where it says FBI there on my badge?  Do you know what that means?"<br/>
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The unformed officer -- who was probably in his mid-twenties -- looked nonplussed.  "Federal Bureau of Investigation?"<br/>
<br/>
"It also means 'faces busted in', so why don't you just move aside there, Skippy?"</span></span>