He glanced over his shoulders at the other two FBI agents. “Wipe your shoes, fellas.” With the mountains at their backs, they entered the hotel, scuffing the January slush off their soles. Benjamin Pennybacker, his jaw squared with brave new optimism; Special Agent Hugh Calloway, graceful as Astaire; Special Agent Pony Harris, grin like a crocodile. Special Agent Tucker Minnick, tight as a piston. Heads down, hats in hand. Scuff scuff scuff.
