Winter Hawk

by Rachel Grant

  She knew this kind of lockout was, in fact, a stipulation of her living arrangement. Her work on getting the HH drone technology integrated into the US military system meant she had direct, unfettered access to highly classified and encoded servers. If someone hacked a military drone, she’d be among the first suspects.

  “In addition,” Tim said, “you are to turn over your company credit card and the key to your company car.”

  “Wait, am I being fired from this contract and HH?” She was the brains behind the big product launch that had Hathaway-Hollis drones on every kid’s wish list, and Tim Hathaway knew it.

  “You’re being suspended without pay as HH conducts our own investigation, but I think it’s safe to say your tenure with Hathaway-Hollis is over.”

  “This is bullshit. If this is about missing the beta test deadline, you know it’s because I had to fix Peacemaker.” Terminating her like this for failing to reach a deadline was extreme, especially considering Captain Sullivan had given her a pass.

  “The military doesn’t have to provide cause for termination of contractors.”

  “No. But HH does.”

  “Which is why there will be an investigation.”

  At the same time Tim spoke, the female MP held out her hand and said, “ID and CAC card.”

  Leah pulled the lanyard with her Navy Yard ID from her neck and pulled her Common Access Card from the computer slot.

  The man added, “Credit card and car keys.”

  She dug out her keys and credit card from her coat pocket. She never bothered with purse or wallet for work because every item on her person was thoroughly searched both coming and going. The company card provided direct access to her per diem account and paid for all her meals, making carrying cash unnecessary. Her personal debit and credit cards were in the townhouse with her passport and other important papers. Because she never needed it on base, she kept her driver’s license in the glove box of the company car.

  Any phone with a built-in camera was not allowed past security. It was in the phone safe by the security desk, available for use during breaks. She’d be forced to hand that over as they exited the building.

  In short, she had no phone, no car, no home, no ID, no credit or debit card, and no cash. Banks were closed today, so she couldn’t walk into a branch and withdraw money even if she had ID.

  Basically, she was screwed.

  Into the phone, she said, “Tim, I don’t have any IDs or credit cards or cash. I need to be allowed access to my stuff.”

  “That’s not possible, Leah. Good luck.” The line went dead.

  “Bastard,” she said, barely containing the urge to slam the plastic handset into the cradle. Her hands shook as she grabbed her pathetic few belongings and dumped them in a used FedEx box. The first item to go in was her one framed photo. She stared at her eight-year-old self’s gap-toothed grin as she posed with her mother at NASA.

  She touched a finger to her mother’s forehead. Sorry I let you down, Mom.

  She turned the photo facedown and tossed a microwave-safe bowl and a bamboo utensil set she kept in her desk for eating on the fly. Next she grabbed the drawing pad she’d doodled on just minutes ago, then searched the drawers for other personal items. Her favorite ink pen followed the Mt. Vernon ticket into the box. A tube of crimson lipstick rounded out the small pathetic pile, but then, she’d only been here three weeks, and this wasn’t the most comfortable of work spaces given the layers of security.

  “We need to inspect everything that goes into the box,” the male MP said.

  She shrugged. “Knock yourself out.”

  “You can’t keep the notebook,” the woman said.

  “It’s just doodles. I draw when I need a brain break.”

  The woman flipped through the pages. “Looks like a schematic of a computer system to me. You can’t take it out of the building.”

  Leah shrugged, impressed the MP had recognized what it was. It had been worth a try.

  The male guard took apart the picture frame and examined every inch of it before dropping the pieces into the box.

  “Can I put it back together?”

  “No. They’ll search it again at the gate.”

  She sighed.

  He lifted the candlelight tour ticket from the box. “We need to copy this.”

  She nodded. “Go for it. It’s invalid after five forty-five anyway.” She glanced at the clock. If she’d left earlier like she wanted to, maybe she would have avoided all this today. It might not be any better tomorrow, but dammit, she’d had plans tonight. And she never had plans.

  He copied the ticket while the other MP disassembled the ink pen. The male MP returned and placed the ticket in the box, then he searched her lipstick. In the process, he smashed the waxy compound, making it a misshapen glob. He then scanned her from head to toe. “I’ll need to do a pat down.”

  She raised a brow. “In addition to the scanner at the front of the building?” This office had the same kind of scanners airports had that could identify a hairband left in her pocket.

  “Yes. Sorry.” His tone said he wasn’t, but she’d give him the benefit of the doubt.

  She held out her arms, and he performed the pat down. When he was done, he asked if she had any other items for inspection. She handed him her wool coat, and he ran a metal-detecting wand over it, then patted down the liner.

  The search was complete just minutes after the two MPs had entered her office. It had happened so quickly, she hadn’t quite had time to grasp what this all meant.

  She’d just lost…everything. She was being fired from HH after five years. She’d been their star employee, and this assignment had been her crowning achievement. She was no longer working on toys; she was strengthening national security.

  But that was all gone now, and her reputation was shot.

  There would be no recovering from this, not professionally. And given the classified nature of this work, she wouldn’t even be allowed to talk about why she was fired.

  The MPs escorted her to the front desk of the building. They retrieved her smartphone from the phone safe and added it to the pile of confiscated items. The door guards repeated the search of her belongings, the pat down, and this time, she got the full-body scan.

  Humiliation complete, the MPs escorted her past the front desk—vacant on this December Sunday—and she spotted the landline phone.

  She paused. “I need to make a call.” Not that she had a clue who she’d call. She had no way to pay for a taxi and didn’t have any friends in the area. She’d lived in the DC area for only three weeks and worked alone in what amounted to a cell. Sure, there were supervisors in the outer offices, but she hadn’t made friends with any of them.

  She’d eaten lunch in the cafeteria several times but hadn’t spoken with anyone other than the food service workers.

  She considered calling Michelle Hollis, but what could Michelle do? Leah was being fired by the military. Michelle had no say there, and Tim would never get away with confiscating the car and phone if he didn’t have Michelle’s tacit approval.

  “Calls aren’t permitted,” the male MP said.

  A cold calm rage settled in as she left the building and walked toward the base exit, but she held her head high as she crossed through the gate, leaving her life’s work and reputation in shambles behind her.

  She stood on the sidewalk, next to the wall that defined the naval base. It was a crisp, chill December day. The wind bit into her and whipped at her hair. She didn’t have hat, gloves, or scarf because those items were in her company car. She shivered in the wind and wondered what to do next.

  She glanced to her right and spotted a beefy SUV parked next to the barricades installed to prevent truck bombs from ramming the base entrance. A man in a dark suit and darker sunglasses leaned casually against the vehicle holding a sign that said simply, “Ellis.”

  Between the suit and the man’s impressive build, he looked more like Secret Service—or maybe mob enforc
er—than chauffeur.

  She frowned and patted down her pockets for money or phone or credit card she was far too aware weren’t there. Assured once again she was shit out of luck, she approached the man with the sign, noting as she did so that with his dark hair, dusky skin, and trim beard, he was attractive.

  Her brain screamed this could be some sort of trap, but…did she have any other choice?

  He stood with power and authority, his face impassive even though he was surrounded by marines who watched his every move.

  That was kinda hot, actually. But then, she’d always had a thing for men who exuded that kind of masculine confidence. It was a shame that in her unfortunate experience, men who exuded alpha pheromones were condescending bastards.

  Dex was exhibit A.

  But still, this man was nice to look at, and given her day, she could use a little eye candy. If nothing else, it was a pleasant distraction.

  “My last name is Ellis. You my ride?” She nodded toward the SUV.

  “Depends,” the man said, lifting the dark glasses to study her in the cold December sunlight. “Were you just fired?”

  She gave him an icy grin. “Lucky me. I was.”

  He lowered the sunglasses, then folded the handmade sign. “They didn’t give me a first name. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Shitty timing if nothing else.”

  “Well, this is going to make my New Year’s resolutions much easier.”

  “How so? Going to resolve to get a new job, be a top-notch employee?”

  He probably assumed she was guilty of whatever had triggered this abrupt firing. But then, why wouldn’t he?

  She handed him the FedEx box after plucking her smashed tube of lipstick from inside. “Oh hell no.” She applied the bright red color to her lips, then flashed a fast, angry smile. “I was already a top employee. My resolutions will be focused on revenge.”

  Mr. Hot Driver gave a smile that came and went so fast, she almost thought she’d imagined it, but then he yanked open the rear door of the SUV. “Let’s get started, then.”

  Maybe she did it because she had no choice. Or maybe because she’d been fired without notice on the first night of Hanukkah. Or maybe it was because of that fleeting smile.

  She might never fully understand her reason in that moment, but whatever it was, she climbed into the backseat of a car driven by a complete and utter stranger, without knowing his name or who he worked for, knowing full well it could be some sort of trap.

  2

  “Where to?” Nate asked his mysterious passenger with the sexy red lips and cool demeanor.

  She wasn’t traditionally attractive, her features too asymmetrical, too imperfect with her sharp nose and narrow chin, yet she was…utterly attractive. Stunning even.

  She removed her long wool coat before settling into the backseat, and he noted she dressed with a femininity and polish he wouldn’t have expected of a military contractor working on the Sunday before Christmas. Pale silk blouse. Blue pencil skirt. Knee-high boots.

  Damn. Were knee-high boots ever not hot?

  She smiled at him in the rearview mirror, unbuttoned the top button of her blouse, and said, “Mt. Vernon.”

  “What?” He turned in his seat, not wanting to confine his view to what the rearview allowed. He carefully kept his gaze above her collarbones. He wouldn’t take her bait no matter how much cleavage she displayed.

  Was it wrong that he was attracted to her on a physical level? After all, the play with the button had been an invitation to notice her, but she could be a traitor to the country he’d served as a Special Forces operator.

  “Mt. Vernon. George Washington’s plantation. You’ve heard of it, right?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I have a ticket for the holiday candlelight tour. Starts at five forty-five. We’ll be early, but maybe I can explore the museum first.”

  “You want me to take you to Mt. Vernon. After you were fired.”

  “I bought my ticket weeks ago and have been looking forward to it.”

  Okay, her cool attitude was kinda hot. And really, if the military suspected her of serious wrongdoing, the MPs wouldn’t have stopped at the gate.

  “Your choice.” He studied the map on the SUV’s built-in GPS to refresh his memory, then turned off the screen, put the car in gear, and wove between the bollards to the main road.

  He was still learning his way around, but he knew this part of DC. He had a choice between either 395 or 295 to GW Parkway. Habit had him taking the long way, staying on surface streets and conducting a Surveillance Detection Route. Freddy would roll his eyes, wondering why he was making the job take longer than necessary, but he’d have the woman to Mt. Vernon in less than forty-five minutes from the pickup even with the SDR, and it never hurt to practice.

  Alaska had been pretty much the worst place to practice this kind of security work. There was only one road into Tamarack, the town closest to the compound, and few roads on the compound itself. In Tamarack, either someone was following you or they already knew where you were going.

  If nothing else, the DC area was entertaining, but he was admittedly rusty in this department. There could be a reason other operatives had passed him by in the hierarchy, but he should have been rotated out of Alaska years ago, as he’d repeatedly requested.

  He checked the rearview often—no longer focused on his interesting passenger—and noted the vehicles at each intersection. He’d been driving for several minutes when a gray sedan he’d noted twice before appeared a third time. Given his lane changes and turns, that was…odd.

  He brushed it off. This was practice, nothing more, but five blocks and two turns later, the car was there again. He tapped his headset to call Josh Warner, an operative who also lived in the Virginia compound. The guy knew about Nate’s bonus gig and suggested they both don Raptor headsets in case the contractor turned violent. But really, Nate had figured the former SEAL was bored at the prospect of two weeks off.

  “You testing me, man?” He wouldn’t put it past Josh to have decided to mess with him. Maybe that was why he’d suggested the headsets to begin with.

  “What?”

  “Are you on my tail?” Nate asked.

  “Hell no. Heading to the gym.”

  “No tricks? You aren’t checking my SDR skills?”

  “No way. You suck at SDRs, that’s on you. Why? What’s going on?”

  “Gray sedan has been following me for…two and a half miles. Surface streets, multiple lane changes, and unnecessary turns.”

  “Not me. Not anyone from Raptor. Sounds like someone is interested in your passenger.”

  Nate tilted the rearview to center the woman. He didn’t even know her first name. She sat forward in her seat, clearly concerned by his conversation. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Thanks, man,” he said to Josh and clicked off. To Ellis, he said, “We’re being followed.”

  “By who?” She twisted in her seat to look out the rear window.

  “Gray sedan three blocks back. Want me to lose them?”

  She turned back to the front. “I have no clue why anyone would follow us. Hell, I don’t even know why I was fired.”

  He had a hard time believing that, given her cool, controlled demeanor. “So you don’t want me to lose them?”

  “Not really. I’d like to know who they are. Let them get close.”

  “I doubt they’d be dumb enough to let you identify them. They’re being pretty careful to hang back.”

  “Well then, lead them to Mt. Vernon. There’s only one road in, if I remember correctly. They can’t exactly hide.”

  It wasn’t a bad plan, actually. A tourist spot on a Sunday. “You got it. Mind if I bring someone from my team in on this? If they can get behind the gray car, we might get a license plate.”

  “Your team? I didn’t know car services had teams.”

  “I work in private security.”

  “HH—I presume it was HH and not the government—hir
ed a security guard to drive me around?”

  “No, HH hired my brother’s car service to take you home. I got roped in to fill in when no one else was available to pick you up today. And sweetheart, I am way more than a security guard.”

  He caught her smirk in the rearview. “Really? What other services do you provide?” She crossed her legs and leaned back in the seat. “Because I’ve had to be a good girl since I submitted to the security screen eleven months ago, and about thirty minutes ago, my security clearance stopped mattering. I’m feeling a bit…reckless.”

  Oh hell. This woman was not what he expected. But then, he’d been braced for a weeping victim. “Sadly, I can’t help you there. Raptor has a certain professional reputation to uphold.”

  “You work for Raptor?” She said it like an expletive. He really shouldn’t find that charming, but given his current frustration, he didn’t mind.

  “Yep. Going on eight years now. I’ve been working there since before Senator Ravissant bought the company—back when Robert Beck was CEO.” He wasn’t entirely sure why he added that, but maybe he was feeling defiant. He was proud of the years he’d given the company. He’d never once done anything to be ashamed of.

  “You know the senator?”

  “His wife’s brother was a close friend.” And Vin’s death still hurt. He could have done something, if only he’d listened to the soldier. And suddenly, he was reminded he did have something to be ashamed of.

  He took another turn, still on the DC side of the Potomac River, going in circles now as the gray car followed them. “Do you want me to bring in another operative or not?”

  “Go for it. But you should know, I’m not paying Raptor’s fees.”

  He grinned. “Don’t worry, HH is already paying me.”

  Her eyes flashed with a hint of vicious glee. “By all means, then.”

  He used his headset to call Josh and invited him out to play. “I’ll give you part of my fee,” he offered.