Code Name: Rook

by Sawyer Bennett

  Finally, I turn back to Cage. I hate that I notice just how damn handsome he is. He has dark circles under his eyes, which are proof he didn’t sleep well last night. Otherwise, he looks yummy dressed in jeans, a sweater, and a well-fitted peacoat that’s covered with a dusting of snow, which had started to fall about an hour ago.

  God… when he crashed through the warehouse window last night, he’d been like a modern-day superhero. Swinging on that rope, bursting in with confidence and surety as if he did that maneuver weekly. When he’d knelt before me, I couldn’t help but notice the tight black t-shirt, black fatigue pants, and military boots. Muscles bulging, he’d been strapped with weapons, death in his eyes. At that moment, I hadn’t been able to think of anything other than how ungodly handsome he looked.

  Me being pissed off came a bit later, and it hasn’t diminished yet.

  My inclination is to grab my coat and purse, haughtily tell my parents that while they’re free to invite Cage to their dinner table, I have the freedom to choose not to sit there with him, then flounce out the door. I could retreat to the sanctity of my apartment where Cage wouldn’t be allowed in.

  Cage regards me with determination and hope. He’s not going to be easy to put off, but it occurs to me that as long as he’s surrounded by my family, he’s not going to have the chance to beg, grovel, and plead his case to me. We’ll have to keep the conversation light around the dinner table. He won’t be able to delve into our relationship issues and I can keep quiet, knowing no one will force me to participate.

  The smile that curls my lips up is almost triumphant. I lift my chin at Cage, giving him a hard look, then turn to my mother. “Dinner smells great. Let’s eat.”

  I head into the kitchen without a backward glance. No one says a word, but I soon hear shuffling feet as the others follow me into the kitchen.

  Mom sets the huge bowl of pasta covered in a fragrant sauce—heavy on tomatoes, peppers, and onions—in the middle of the table. Laney pulls a salad out of the fridge, and I nab three bottles of different salad dressing before closing the door. Dad and Brian sit at the table, and Cage looks uncertain where to sit. I suspect he’s waiting to see where I sit, but my dad points to a chair and Cage takes it.

  Pointedly, I move to the other side and sit at the far end, while Mom and Laney settle into their chairs.

  There’s total and awkward silence for a moment until my mom says, “Dig in, everyone.”

  More silence as we load our plates, pass condiments, and fill glasses with homemade lemonade.

  “So, Cage,” my dad says as he ignores the salad he put on his side plate and digs into his meal. “Tell us a little about yourself.”

  Forks pause, all eyes going to Cage, including mine. He puts his utensil down, scanning the table before resting his gaze on me. Then an easy smile splits his face, and he shrugs. “Sure. What do you want to know?”

  “Where did you get your mad secret-agent skills?” Brian asks, sounding like a teenager enamored with Captain America.

  Cage laughs. “First, I’m not a secret agent. Second—”

  “It was a secret to me,” I say flatly, not even realizing those words of accusation were going to pop out of my mouth.

  His green eyes dim, turning regretful. But I don’t get an apology. Instead, he asks, “You really want to do this here? Now?’

  “No,” I mutter, looking down at my plate. I don’t want to get into it with him period, because I’m afraid he’s going to suck me in again. I’m worried I’ll fall for his pretty words and even prettier face.

  Cage turns back to Brian, continuing as if our little exchange didn’t happen. “As I said, I’m not a secret agent. I do work for a private contract company that performs many dangerous missions that make use of my particular skillsets.”

  “Skillsets?” my dad asks, but I don’t look up from my plate. I concentrate on repeatedly putting fork to mouth as I listen.

  “I was in the Navy,” Cage says, and I have to resist the urge to pop my head up in curiosity. “A Navy SEAL, to be exact.”

  “No way,” Brian says, the hero worship clear in his voice.

  “That’s impressive,” my dad adds.

  I risk a glance over at Laney. Giving me a small smile, she raises her fist again to show me that none of this impresses her. She’s on my side all the way.

  For the next half hour, my mom, dad, and brother throw a steady barrage of questions at Cage, and he answers them all. In that time, I learn more about my husband than I have in the six and a half weeks we’ve been together.

  Without the boundaries of his stupid lie, Cage talks freely and candidly about his life and career. And while it admittedly makes me curious, it also just pisses me off more. I should have been privy to this information before he married me. Not that it would have made me look at him any differently, and it certainly wouldn’t have stopped me from marrying him.

  But it’s important stuff, and he should have been completely transparent with me before we tied the knot.

  Throughout it all, I don’t say a word, but I don’t need to. Cage doesn’t address me at all, but merely proceeds to charm my family.

  Except for Laney. She’s still with me, and I can tell by the way she glares at him.

  After dinner, Laney and I jump up to do the dishes while everyone else chats around the table.

  As we stand at the kitchen sink, side by side, she bumps my shoulder with hers and leans into me. “You ready to make a run for it?”

  I glance over my shoulder, seeing my parents laughing at something Cage said. He doesn’t look my way. I whisper back, “I’m so ready.”

  After the last dish is dried and put away, Laney spins around and announces, “I need to get going, and I’m going to give Jaime a ride back to her apartment.”

  My mom looks disappointed, yet I can also see understanding in the sad smile. Cage’s lips press flat, and I can see he was hoping for some one-on-one time with me.

  “You’ll be here Wednesday night, right?” my mom asks.

  Wednesday is Christmas Eve. We’ve always had dinner together as a family, before exchanging presents and attending midnight Mass. My parents are still devout Catholics who attend church every Sunday.

  “Of course I will,” I manage to say, avoiding Cage as I smile at my mom and dad in turn before Laney and I head for the door.

  “We need to talk,” Cage calls. “Tomorrow.”

  “Busy tomorrow,” I flippantly reply.

  “Then, the day after.” His voice follows me as Laney and I make it to the front door.

  “Busy then, too.”

  When Laney giggles, I grin at her.

  He doesn’t say anything in response, so I open the door and usher Laney ahead of me. Just as I’m about to shut it behind me, he gets in the last word. It sends a chill up my spine. “You’re my wife, Jaime.” There’s nothing but grit and determination in his voice. “And you cannot hide from me.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Cage

  Monday morning starts the same way almost every week. We have a meeting in the large conference room to discuss upcoming projects, give updates on existing ones, and brainstorm ideas as needed.

  My head isn’t necessarily into it, but I attempt to pay attention. Granted, my mind keeps wandering to my wayward wife, who refuses to give me the time of day. I had hoped dinner at her parents’ last night would go better than it did. I’m forever appreciative of their invite, both making it clear they are firmly in my corner. That doesn’t mean they don’t love Jaime with all their hearts and want what’s best for her.

  It’s just that they’ve decided I’m what’s best for her.

  Now I just need to convince her of that, but when I might have the chance, I have no clue. As she left her parents’ home last night, I reminded her that we had to talk. She put me off, and it was clear I was going to have to get creative to get her focused attention.

  There’s a nudge to my arm from my left, and I swing my attention Jackson’s way.
Leaning in, he whispers, “Am I the only one who doesn’t understand half of what Dozer and Bebe say?”

  I snicker, cutting my gaze to them. They’re standing at the end of the room in front of a SmartBoard, rambling on about a new communication technology they are working on that will enable comms without a satellite signal. I had tuned out a bit when they said it was still a few years away from production, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think their work is important. Bebe is probably the best hacker in the world, and Dozer is a NASA scientist genius. Together, they’ve probably been the biggest deciding factor on whether our missions succeed or not.

  Bebe and Dozer finish their presentation. Kynan gives an update on our most recent mission down to Colombia, reporting the rescued family has settled back into their homes and the children are in therapy. It may seem stupid to give us that follow-up information, but it actually helps in validating the importance of our work. These are real people we are saving from real horrors.

  Kynan stands from his seat at the head of the large conference room table, a smart tablet in his hand with a stylus in the other. He used to do these meetings with an old-fashioned clipboard and paper, but it offended Dozer, who insisted he get with the technological times.

  Kynan starts to go over the week’s assignments. “Malik, I want to put together a tactical seminar for the Vegas office focused on evasion techniques. I’d like to be able to do that in the next few months, so maybe you and I sit down this week and brainstorm ideas.”

  “Got it,” Malik replies, leaning back in his chair. He swivels to look at Anna, who sits next to him. She’s busy typing notes on her laptop, recording every word of the meeting. She doesn’t notice him staring at her, but I can’t help but smile at the all-out love and devotion in his expression. Anna and Malik have been through their share of horrific struggles this past year, but they’ve both been healed through the power of love.

  That was a notion I’d found slightly comical not but a handful of weeks ago.

  Before I met Jaime.

  Kynan hands out more assignments. He’s sending Cruce to meet with some high-up at the defense department to discuss future contracts, and Saint and Jackson are spearheading security for an upcoming visit from a foreign ambassador next month.

  “Jackson,” Kynan announces, his gaze roving over his tablet. When he looks up, he says, “We’ve been contacted by the government of Bretaria. They are sending an emissary to the U.S. to do a tour.”

  “Bretaria?” Jackson asks, frowning. He raises an eyebrow at me, but I shrug. “Where the hell is that?”

  “It’s a moderately sized and incredibly wealthy island that sits off the Australian coast. It’s ruled by a monarch, and it boasts one of the world’s largest ruby mines. Our government is extending a hospitable welcome, but, frankly, the country has no trade relations and nothing of value to us. They’re not going to provide security. Instead, they have contracted us to handle it.”

  “And I’m going to do it single-handedly?” Jackson asks.

  “Not at all.” Kynan chuckles. “August is going to head up a five-man team of agents from here, and the Vegas office will handle the security plan as the delegation travels across the country. He’ll be in charge of the overall safety of the members who are coming over.”

  “Then I don’t understand,” Jackson says, confusion clearly etched on his face. “What’s my role?”

  “Your role,” Kynan replies, a slight curl to his mouth, “is to be the personal bodyguard to the Princess Camille of the House of Winterbourne.”

  Jackson’s mouth hangs open. “You’re making that up.”

  “I’m not,” Kynan assures him, and I have to suppress a laugh.

  “I’m to babysit a princess?” Jackson sneers.

  “Well, babysit isn’t exactly what I would call it,” Kynan replies, his voice going a little hard. “You’ll be personally responsible for protecting her.”

  “From what?” Jackson demands. “A diamond falling out of her tiara?”

  “It would probably be a ruby,” Kynan points out with a snicker. “But the truth is, she’s the heir to a kingdom and a vast fortune. She’s a valuable target. While there’s been no chatter that we know about that she’s at risk on this visit, her family doesn’t want to take any chances.”

  “Christ,” Jackson mutters so only I can hear him, slumping in his chair and clearly unhappy with this assignment. “Another fucking babysitting job.”

  I don’t reply, because Kynan isn’t finished. He gives a pointed look at Jackson. “I’m actually sending you and August to Bretaria next week to meet with the royal family’s security team to put together the entire plan so you can identify exactly what resources are needed.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jackson says, his voice slightly antagonistic. I have no clue where this attitude is coming from as he’s generally a laid-back dude.

  Kynan stares hard at him a moment, perhaps debating whether to call out his attitude, but then moves on. After fifteen more minutes, we are dismissed.

  I have no current projects, for which I’m grateful since I need to stay in the area until I can get my marriage straightened out. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have work to do. I’ll actually sit in on planning sessions for the active missions as well as offer any consulting services Kynan deems appropriate. It’s one of the things I love about this job.

  It’s never boring.

  We file out of the conference room. Jackson and I are the last two to leave. I put my hand on his shoulder as I can feel the tension vibrating off him. “Hey, man… why so bent out of shape about your assignment?”

  Jackson whirls on me. “You mean you’d be happy babysitting a fucking princess?”

  I think about that a moment. “Well, it’s not a sojourn through a Central American jungle to rescue hostages, but it’s not without its importance. Sounds like she’s a high-risk target.”

  “Princesses are brats,” he growls.

  “Now, you don’t know that for sure,” I chastise.

  “Regardless,” he says with a shake of his head. “It’s not what I signed up for.”

  Jackson pushes past me, and I consider going after him. There’s something much deeper than disdain for royalty or whatever he’s got going on. But before I can make a move to follow, I see Clay Brandeis standing out in the pit, talking to Kynan.

  Jackson forgotten for the moment, I move their way. I’m sure Clay is here to give us an update on Jaime’s kidnappers.

  He sees me heading his way and smiles, giving a small jerk of his head to indicate he actually needs to talk to me.

  We shake hands when I join them, and Kynan says what I suspected, “Clay stopped by to give us an update.”

  “We’ve obviously turned the cases over to the district attorney since it wasn’t a federal crime,” Clay says. Kynan and I both nod. We knew that would be the case. “I also talked to the DA, and she said if Brian is willing to testify against them regarding the rest of their criminal enterprises so additional charges can be brought, they will give him immunity.”

  That’s good news indeed, but there’s danger there. I lean in. “How far up the chain do they want information?”

  Clay nods, understanding my concern. It’s one thing to turn on his low-level street pals, but it’s another if the DA is going to insist on information about the organized crime syndication, which is fronting all of it. That will make him a target and could even mean his death.

  I get a reassuring smile from Clay. “I already sort of put a bug in her ear that he wouldn’t be willing to do more than what he knows on the low level. The DA seems satisfied with that, and she thinks she’ll get the kidnappers to take a lesser plea in exchange for information.”

  That makes me bow up with indignation because now we’re talking about giving leniency to the fuckers who kidnapped and terrorized Jaime. And well, I’m not in favor of that at all.

  And yet, Jaime would want any opportunity possible given to her brother. If I interfere with hi
s chance, she’ll never forgive me.

  So I keep my mouth shut.

  We chat for a few more minutes before Kynan excuses himself to handle the pressing obligations of running a large security firm. I offer to escort Clay back out. Instead, he asks, “Hey… you mind giving me a tour of the place? Griffin says you actually have an indoor firing range here.”

  Laughing, I clap him on the shoulder. “Sure. Be glad to.”

  I start weaving through the pit desks, and he follows. “This is obviously the main floor where we do administrative work. You came through the garage and first floor, so you can see we like to keep our place well camouflaged.”

  “Yeah.” Clay laughs, shaking his head. “It was a bit disconcerting coming into what looked like an abandoned building, then needing a security scan to get inside.”

  “The technology we have here is better than you feds will ever see,” I tease. Who knows, maybe one day Clay will want to move from the Fibbies to the private sector?

  We make it to the floating staircase, but I point over to the elevator just ten feet away. “You can take either up to the third and fourth floors, but most of us use the stairs.”

  Clay glances over to the antique freight elevator that chugs at the speed of molasses. I think the only use it got recently was just before Anna gave birth to her daughter. Those last few weeks, she took the elevator rather than the stairs.

  I put my hand on the stair railing, intent on starting upward, when I note Clay’s gaze slide to the right. He makes an almost strangled sound in his throat. He’s staring at the first glassed office there, which belongs to our resident shrink, Dr. Corinne Ellery.

  She’s sitting at her desk, head bent over her laptop. She always keeps her fluorescent overhead lighting off, preferring the ambient glow of a few lamps set about her space instead.

  When I swing back to study Clay, he has the most stunned expression I’ve ever seen on anyone before. Without even a backward glance at me, he starts moving toward Corinne’s office, but in an almost hesitant kind of way. He looks as if he’s seen a ghost and is compelled to go see, but might be a bit afraid of what he may find.