After spending the last week overly cheerful and not giving a damn about anything aside from what made him happy, all he wanted to do was beat the shit out of the punching bag in the gym. When his cell phone began chirping at him, he gave honest consideration to ignoring it. Picking up his gloves, he made it as far as the door before finally going back to see who it was and what they wanted.
A few texts later, he dropped the gloves on the table, grabbed his keys, and headed out the door. If the way the texts had been written were any indication, the FBI agent wasn't in the best shape. And what the hell had that been about an explosion?
It didn't take much searching to find him once he got to the street. He pulled over to the side of the street, leaving the truck running and the headlights on, illuminating what it could of the scene. "Shit," he murmured as he drew closer, crouching down beside him. He looked like he'd taken a trip through Hell. "Hey. You still here with the living?"