Every Last Breath

by Juno Rushdan

  “I think it’s safe to say I have the biggest pair.” Castle Kinkade, Maddox’s brother, dragged a hand across his bald brown head. Nobody laughed. He’d proven his mettle often enough in the field, putting his ex-Navy SEAL experience to use. “But to make it fair, whoever is left last without a target should get the headache of taking Sanborn.”

  Across the table, Alistair Allen clicked his tongue. “Nice try, Elephant Balls.” His posh James Bond accent clashed with his hipster haircut and grunge attire. “As Sanborn’s protégé, you’re the best choice to get close enough without triggering his Spidey senses.”

  Steel-toe boots clubbed a vacant chair as John Reece threw his feet up into it. “I’m all for fair, but that’s a valid point. I think you’re stuck with the short end of the stick.”

  Castle folded his thick arms over his linebacker chest. “All right, the hot potato is mine.”

  “You can handle the heat.” Maddox fiddled with her new engagement ring. The massive rock must’ve cost her fiancé a kidney. “Next, Sybil Parker. Her epic fail is the reason we’re here.”

  Parker’s position as insider threat monitor was protected. The ITM and her henchmen were watchdogs, blessed with unfettered access to mission details and the authority to surveil any computer system and phone line to prevent insider threats—to catch spies. The irony.

  Complicating this shitshow, the director of national intelligence had hired the ITM three-pack, and only he could fire them, making the lot untouchable without irrefutable evidence.

  “I’m up for the challenge,” Reece said.

  “Got a death wish?” Maddox snickered. “That praying mantis will eat you for a midday snack. It won’t be easy to play Parker. She’ll anticipate it.”

  Reece tugged down a ball cap that read I’m Your Huckleberry. “No worries. I got this. I’ll approach her with serious concerns,” he said, using air quotes, “about her nemesis.”

  “No love lost between her and Sanborn,” Sean “Ares” Whitlock said. The guy had dark eyes, dark hair, and an even darker presence that’d make the average man wet himself. “That’s catnip Parker won’t be able to resist. Guess you’re not an insult to our profession after all.”

  Reece grinned and flipped him off. “And I’ll try to dig deeper into her minions.”

  Stand-up guy taking one for the team. Gideon gave him a two-finger salute.

  “Maddox,” Ares said, his voice full of grit and gravel, “you should take Doc.”

  No secret the man had a thing for their resident CDC scientist, Emily “Doc” Duvall, but she avoided Ares as if he had a communicable disease. Ares obviously didn’t intend to let the hound dogs he worked with sniff around the one lady he wanted and couldn’t have.

  “Doc is dying to be BFFs.” Maddox winced. “But it gives me the perfect in. Okay.”

  No one would deny Ares a favor. Going along was sure as heck easier than opposing him.

  “At the top of the list after Parker,” Maddox said, “is Willow Harper.”

  Gideon’s pulse spiked, his insides doing a one-eighty just hearing her name.

  “A sharp cryptologist. Talented programmer. Skilled hacker.” Maddox rubbed her brow. “I don’t get a malicious read from Harper, but she’s a loner. A textbook red flag. And she made critical mistakes during the last op that can’t be ignored. She was also the one who redesigned our firewalls.” Knowing gazes were exchanged. “She could dig into our network without leaving a trace.”

  All true, but Gideon’s intuition—or whatever he had relied on to stay alive in this brutal job for ten years—protested. Willow Harper was no mole.

  There was an awkwardness about her that he found genuine. Refreshing. Her modest charm hid a loneliness he recognized. But he kept his distance. She was refined and had a gift for creating elegant programs. He was rough around the edges and had a knack for terminating threats. They were different breeds.

  “I can try reeling her in with my charm and repartee,” Alistair said. “If a friendly approach doesn’t work, I can always use a bit of pressure to crack her odd shell.”

  Gideon choked on the chewing gum slipping down his throat. What the—

  “I should have a go at her,” Ares said. “I’m the one who’s been surveilling her.”

  A snowball’s chance in hell either would succeed. Ares was a bull in a china shop, and his atomic intimidation factor would render her mute. Alistair’s crass tongue and droll facade wouldn’t scratch her shell. The team couldn’t squander time on the speed bumps of their failures.

  “Applying pressure is my specialty.” Gideon’s voice was low and cool. He was the only one in the group trained in interrogation. The cruel kind at CIA black sites. “I’ll take Willow.”

  The room flatlined. Everyone’s attention snapped to him, wary looks surfacing.

  “Willow?” Ares chortled. Even his grim laugh could scare someone shitless.

  Gideon could count on one hand the times he’d spoken to her beyond a passing salutation. On the rare occasions he had mentioned her, it’d been by surname. How he thought of her was a different story. Letting that slip was unlike him.

  Gideon shrugged. “Getting on a first-name basis is logical. I’ll need to get close.” Willow had rolled off his tongue smoother and sweeter than soft-serve ice cream. Something about her inspired whimsical thoughts and deranged hope for a drop of goodness in his life.

  Maddox’s insightful green-eyed gaze pinned him. His best friend saw through people, picked up on the things others sought to hide, and she knew him better than anyone. He wanted to squirm under the dissection of her scalpel-sharp scrutiny but merely flexed his jaw.

  “If Harper isn’t the leak, she doesn’t deserve you on her tail.” Maddox shook her head. “I’ve seen how you look at her. I know how you’ll handle this.”

  Really? He didn’t. Arching a brow, he waited.

  “The lover angle,” she said. “It’s the wrong play. We don’t know enough about her—whether she’s into girls or guys or no one at all. And if you’re her type and she’s not our traitor, heaven help her.”

  He knew what she was saying. One-night stands and no attachments suited him. No one got burned. No one got a chance to see the truth about him—not since his late wife, and she’d been terrified.

  “Give me some credit. I’ll feel her out and determine how to play it, but the reality is lovers fosters intimacy faster than other methods. Yields more reliable results too.”

  Not that he’d ever worked a honey trap before, and sleeping with Willow hadn’t been on his agenda. Walking into the conference room, he hadn’t even planned on getting within two feet of her, never mind taking her as a target. But after observing her the last three years—her unfaltering work ethic, how she interacted with others, avoided office politics—he had an advantage the others didn’t. He knew Willow’s character.

  Maddox drew her dark curls into a ponytail, accentuating the striking features of her golden-brown face. “I have a hunch Harper is innocent. If she’s cleared, she still has to work with you. The situation could get messy. Ugly. I don’t like it.”

  Gideon shared her concern. There was something wholesome yet complex about Willow. He wanted to protect her, not hurt her. Out of their other choices for the job, he was the best one.

  “We’re at war,” Castle said. “We were supposed to be impenetrable, but the enemy is embedded, has been fooling us for years. If this isn’t resolved ASAP, heads are going to roll.”

  A leak inside the CIA or FBI would be bad, but this was worse. Their off-the-books unit operated beyond the black-and-white lines of other agencies and at times beyond the law. They were sanctioned for direct action on foreign and domestic soil with access to the most classified data. This was a political nightmare that could end careers, starting at the very top.

  “We don’t have the luxury of indulging a hunch,” Alis
tair said. “Sometimes we do bad things for good reasons.”

  “This isn’t really your forte, Gideon,” Maddox said, pausing as if waiting for him to agree, but he held her gaze and his tongue. “Flirting and finesse,” she finally added.

  Gideon was good at many things and some of those began with the letter F, but only his best friend knew he couldn’t flirt or finesse his way out of a paper bag.

  To keep the others off Willow, however, he’d be willing to try.

  “Are you kidding? If anyone can quickly get that analyst to lower her guard, whether it’s inside or outside the bedroom”—Castle hiked a thumb at him—“it’s our Golden Boy.”

  The nickname prickled Gideon’s nerves, poking fun at his college days as a quarterback as well as fair looks that had always been more of a curse than a blessing.

  The guys thought Gideon was an expert pickup artist based on his appearance. In truth, he was a magnet for flirtatious bombshells and let them pick him up instead. He was good at asking questions, not at having bullshit conversations.

  “I’m capable of getting close and finding answers without…complications,” Gideon said.

  “Capable, maybe, but not without complications. I’ll take her instead of handling Doc.”

  “Our leak compromised you and nearly cost your life.” Ares stabbed the air at Maddox. “Harper’s at the top of the list of suspects, and we’re worried about her feelings? Lives are on the line, national security is at risk, and the clock’s ticking. We find the mole, no matter the cost.”

  An uncomfortable silence settled around the room.

  “Gideon takes Harper,” Ares said. “You’ll keep Doc.”

  Maddox raised both palms. “Fine.” She slid her hand in her pocket and dumped a pile of memory sticks in a clatter on the glass table.

  Flash drives loaded with a cloning program. The small device plugged into the USB of a personal computer and copied the hard drive. Those were courtesy of Maddox’s fiancé, who worked at a private security company that specialized in corporate intelligence gathering.

  “Anything I should know about her?” Gideon asked Ares, as he swiped a flash drive.

  Everyone would assume anything not in the surveillance report that Gideon should’ve read by now, but snooping on Willow’s personal life was a temptation he’d resisted.

  “She wrote in a notebook two nights ago. Keeps it in her bedside table. I haven’t had a chance to break in and look at it with that old bulldog on patrol. And she has insomnia.”

  Something they had in common.

  “You don’t need me for the rest.” Gideon threw on his jacket, covering his holstered Maxim 9, and shoved through the door before bickering kicked up over the remaining targets.

  The sooner he proved Willow’s innocence, whittling down the list of suspects, the better.

  Muted blue partitions, beige walls, and pale-gray carpet gave the interior offices a serene atmosphere. News chatter flowed from nine large screen TVs lining the main wall of Intel. Gideon glimpsed a report on a tropical depression over the Bahamas as he skirted the periphery of the open layout, bypassing small talk with the others. Only Willow was on his radar.

  He spotted her nestled in a remote corner, facing the wall. She was typing on her dual-monitor workstation, automatic-fire keystrokes. A sleek, chocolate-brown bun with never a hair out of place showcased her slender neck and sophisticated string of pearls. But the vulnerability of her position—her six exposed and earbuds in—grated on his operational wiring.

  Worst of all, the angle at which she sat deprived him of seeing her face as he approached.

  Whenever he set eyes on her, he smiled, even if he didn’t show it on the outside.

  He hesitated behind her, within arm’s reach. Her long, unpainted fingernails clicked keys in a blur. Lines of source code materialized. Interrupting her would be like disturbing Picasso.

  In the screen’s reflection, her gaze darted up to his. She swiveled, giving him her profile, and yanked out an earbud. A lithe leg extended from her pencil skirt.

  She wasn’t a classic knockout, but her haunting beauty knocked him on his heels.

  “Yes?” Her surprised look read pure professional. “Did you need something?”

  Now to turn on the charm. Too bad he didn’t have any. “Hey, I was wondering, would you maybe like to get a drink with me after work?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Ouch. He blinked like a dumbstruck idiot. Willow had little reason to be interested in him. She was demure, brainy, better than he deserved, and most of all, she knew what he really was, but he hadn’t expected such a rapid shootdown.

  He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets, regrouping. “I was impressed with your work on the last op, hacking the cell phone. You helped us find Maddox. Means a lot. Can I buy you dinner as thanks? Or a cup of coffee? I know a cozy café. Good music. Great espressos.”

  She stared at him with those enigmatic hazel eyes, the barest flush to her porcelain skin, looking sweet enough to eat. “No need to thank me. I was doing my job. That’s why I get paid.”

  Damn, she intrigued him. The sensation was unfamiliar. But at this rate, he’d have better luck playing Russian roulette than finessing his way past her defenses.

  Chapter 03

  Gray Box Headquarters, Northern Virginia

  Thursday, July 4, 6:21 p.m. EDT

  Willow sat at her desk, stunned. Gideon Stone was talking to her and not about a mission.

  Sometimes she overheard people call him pretty, but she didn’t understand why. There was a brutality to everything about him. From his black ops call sign—Reaper—down to his ferocious good looks: a lean face, sharp angles, bold features, and a tumble of hair the color of sunshine glinting off ice. Even his eyes were a severe blue—the palest shade, so arresting she never dared look too long for fear of staring.

  Not staring was a rule she’d learned not to break, since it made people uncomfortable.

  The bridge of his once-broken nose was millimeters flatter than it should’ve been. A slight crook hinted at the violence in his life, but the flaw added character to his face.

  Humanized him.

  Whenever she ventured close to Gideon, caution drummed inside her. The kind smart people heeded, and she had a genius-level IQ. She was likely to say the wrong thing, while he never seemed to want to say anything to her at all.

  “No drinks. No dinner. No coffee,” he said, his brows drawing together in a look of concentration.

  What was wrong with him? Nothing ever rattled his iceberg composure.

  She was the one with social issues.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have said no, but she didn’t drink alcohol, didn’t exceed four cups of coffee a day unless working overtime, and it was absurd to thank her for doing her job. Right?

  Did he really want to have dinner with her? Why? She’d smiled at him once, after taking a class on how to make friends, and a scowl had darkened his face in return.

  “What are you listening to?” He pointed to her earbuds.

  She pulled the other one out, tossing them on her desk. “Nothing.” The always-on TVs and chatter from her colleagues clogged her thoughts. The high-fidelity earplugs lowered the decibels of the environment to a natural sound—clean and clear—allowing her to focus.

  Gideon traded his typical grimace for a feral sort of grin. At least, she hoped it was a grin. His mouth curved up, lifting his incredible cheekbones, but the rest of his face had a strained expression disturbingly similar to the one her dad got when constipated.

  “What type of code are you working on?” He gestured with his chin at her computer.

  “Something new.” Eager to discuss anything that wouldn’t trip her up, she turned, pointing at one monitor. Source code was safe.

  Whenever she talked too long, it was evident the motherboard of her
brain was wired differently. People called her odd, peculiar. Her sisters preferred the term dweeb.

  “I call it the Pandora Program. It’ll detect and flag any internal security vulnerabilities in our operations, so I can mitigate the possibility of us being compromised from the inside.”

  He stepped up behind her, resting a hand on the back of her chair. The unexpected heat from his body tickled her spine. He always looked too removed to touch, glacier-cold, but the warmth radiating from him now was undeniable.

  Clenching her thighs, she was tempted to brush against his arm for the barest contact but scooted to the edge of her seat instead. “I’m about forty-six working hours from testing it.”

  “Wow. The program will be ready in a week?”

  “Less. Three point two-eight days. I’ve been putting in extra hours.” It still wasn’t enough. They had a traitor in the unit, as everyone knew after the debacle with the dead guy. The program needed to be ready yesterday.

  “You’re amazing,” Gideon said.

  “It’s just a program.” Her computer alarm beeped. Six thirty already? “I have to go.”

  She silenced the chime, saved her work, and logged off, removing her ID badge from the card reader. As she slipped on her heels, she spun the miniature globe designed out of binary digits that sat on her desk—the last thing she always did in her routine.

  If only the world were as simple as the two-symbol coding system.

  Snagging her purse, she stood and turned around.

  Gideon’s expression went slack, his eyes growing wide. “What happened to your face?” He closed in, swallowing her comfort zone like a black hole.

  She staggered back, bumping into her desk, and touched the cut on her cheek near her left ear. “It’s just a nick. He threw a dish and the broken pieces went flying. It was an accident.”

  “Who?” Gideon reached for her cheek, and she sidestepped him. “Your boyfriend?”

  Boyfriend? She’d only have one of those in her dreams. Unfortunately, she never dreamed.

  “I-I’m going to be late.” She scrambled into the aisle, avoiding him. “I have to go.”