by Juno Rushdan
After Kelli’s death, he let her parents take what they wanted of hers, and Maddox had helped him sort through the rest of Kelli’s things. But he’d kept her Jeep exactly as she’d left it. Guilt plagued him for not giving her the life she’d expected. She never wanted to live in the Beltway with the oppressive traffic, hitched to a civil servant. Never even wanted the Jeep.
He parked in front of the climate-controlled storage facility. Musty air circulated inside the dim corridors. His unit sat at the intersection of two rows in the middle of the building, giving him two routes to access it.
Motion-activated lights flickered on as he passed. He punched in the code to the lock, opened his unit, and slid the metal door closed behind him.
He hadn’t been here in months. Since her death, each visit stung a little less. He rifled through reams of folders in boxes until he found the right one and fished out the police report.
Willow’s accident nagged at him. One way or another, he was going to get to the bottom of it. With the file in hand, he locked up and drove home.
Inside his townhouse, he pulled off his boots and grabbed a German beer from the wide assortment lined up in the fridge. Most nights since Kelli died, he needed an Ambien to sleep. One pill equaled three hours, four if he also knocked back a couple of beers.
His job never kept him up at night; compartmentalization was the key. But seeing how much Kelli had despised what he stood for, how far she’d gone to disrespect him, and knowing if he’d only let her go—or never married her—she’d still be alive…that denied him peace of mind.
Crossing into the living room, he eyed the metronome sitting dead center on the bookshelf. A memento of his past, keeping him rooted in purpose.
Taking a swig of ice-cold hefeweizen, he plopped on the sofa and opened the police file. No Ambien tonight. He needed to be up early, and before hitting the sack, he wanted to get through this and research the autism spectrum disorder to learn more.
Gritty details and graphic pictures in the file chipped away at old wounds, making his gut burn. Kelli and her lover’s blood alcohol count indicated they’d had drinks but weren’t inebriated. His truck’s antilock braking system light and brake warning lights had both engaged, but the vehicle had never been examined for a mechanical malfunction. At the time, the initial ugly facts had spelled out what’d happened, and he’d been shredded by the news. But if he’d scanned the report, maybe he would’ve had the vehicle inspected and discovered something far more nefarious. Now there was no way to know.
If someone had tampered with his vehicle after the Daedalus op, the same person might’ve sabotaged Willow’s.
He was overlooking a vital detail about that mission, something bigger than a flash drive he’d failed to recover. Once he figured out what it was, things might make more sense.
Chapter 08
Wolf Trap, Virginia
Friday, July 5, 7:55 a.m. EDT
Willow sat on the front stoop, waiting for Gideon, too restless to enjoy the tepid breeze. Anxiety ticked through her over the hours wasted when she should’ve been working.
Gray Box field officers lazed in around nine and drifted out no later than three when not on an assignment. During missions, they worked as long and hard as necessary, sometimes around the clock. It was an unspoken rule that’d taken her a while to learn.
Understanding the rules, particularly social ones, and remembering them was a hundred times harder than learning how to write code. Ivy had assured her after high school, everything would get easier. But it’d only gotten more challenging.
By sixteen, she’d tested out of high school early, and at Princeton, it’d taken her two months to have a conversation that lasted longer than two minutes with her roommate, Hayley. She’d been nice, did most of the chatting, and Willow didn’t mind doing her math assignments. Hayley dragged her to parties, where the music had always been too loud and Willow lurked in the corner, examining gestures, dissecting what others talked about so she didn’t do or say the wrong thing. It had been exhausting.
The first time she’d pretended she was like the other girls at a frat party, Michael Dutton had noticed her. He’d lured her into a bedroom. She’d managed to get him off her, but he’d left bruises. The kind of bruises people saw on her body. The kind she carried deep inside years later.
She told her father everything over Christmas break. He thought it best if she transferred to Georgetown and lived at home. The suggestion had been a great relief.
Willow opened her eyes. The breeze brushed her skin, and she imagined it was Gideon touching her, making sensation flare. The kiss replayed on a loop, as it had the better part of the night. His hands spanning her hips, pressing her against the wall with his heavy, delicious weight. His mouth hot and sure on hers, the intimate tangle of their tongues…obscene and addictive and nothing eel-like about it. She’d remember it until the day she died.
But she’d done or said something wrong, missed some rule, a behavioral cue. If she fixed the problem, maybe he’d want to see her room again. Better yet, he might show her his place.
She fiddled with her fingers, longing to know what had thrown things off.
Gideon pulled up, and her heart fluttered. She stood, grabbing the chicken salad packed in her insulated bag and the Tupperware container of scones she’d baked earlier. Stomach tightening, she opened the door and hoisted herself into the Jeep, determined to get answers.
“Good morning.” Gideon extended a hand.
She put her palm on his, letting him help her inside. “Thank you. I appreciate the ride.” She shut the door, and he pulled off.
“I hope you weren’t waiting long.”
After he’d stirred so many different sensations in her, she hadn’t fallen asleep until two in the morning. Her eyes opened at four before her alarm went off, body vibrating with anticipation. She’d made her dad a huge breakfast, baked scones for Gideon, and waited.
“Two and a half hours.” Smiling, she wondered if she should ease into the discussion. Her sisters hated when she blurted stuff out, but she didn’t know how to talk around things.
“Coffee?” He handed her a paper cup with a plastic lid. “Splash of cream, two sugars.”
Taken aback, she accepted the cup. “How do you know how I take my coffee?”
“I paid attention during our ops whenever you made a cup in the conference room.”
Warm flutters stroked her insides, like she’d swallowed a swarm of sun-soaked butterflies. “Gideon, I enjoyed the way you touched me in my room yesterday.”
His head snapped forward, his body stiffening ramrod straight.
“I’m sorry if I said or did something wrong,” she said.
His face was a blank slate as he sipped his coffee.
“I’d like to be friends.” She put her hand on his thigh, and his muscles tensed. “I want to have sex with you.”
Gideon choked, spewing coffee on the steering wheel as the car swerved. He went to set his cup in the beverage holder without looking and fumbled. Hot liquid splashed on the console.
“Shit.” The car swerved again.
She reeled her hand away from his thigh and back into her lap.
“It’s not a good idea for us to be friends. I crossed the line yesterday. I shouldn’t have touched you like that. I’m sorry.”
“Why? I enjoyed it. I thought you did too.” There was no mistaking he’d been aroused.
“It’s not you, Willow. It’s me. I’m not the right type of guy for you.”
A weight settled in her chest along with the true meaning of his words. She wasn’t the right type of girl for him. He could have anyone. A gorgeous woman with beauty queen potential who’d mastered the sexual techniques those magazines outlined.
Willow was simple, nothing fancy, nothing stunning. She struggled through briefings, with her stomach twisting into knots. Wh
at would she be like on a date?
Gideon probably socialized a lot. He was always at Rocky’s bar with the rest of Black Ops and wouldn’t want an awkward misfit hiding in the corner, or worse, embarrassing him. He wouldn’t waste his time on her, but why had he initiated anything in the first place?
A dull ache swelled inside. Misinterpreting things said, misreading cues, led her to make mistakes that ballooned into shame. This was the type of humiliation she was desperate to avoid.
Safer and easier to keep to herself.
Gideon cleared his throat. “Your car was inspected. I swung by the auto garage this morning. My mechanic said your cruise control cable was stuck, and the linkage in the manifold vacuum from the servo to the throttle was sticky. Which can happen in an older car, short-circuiting the cruise control. But he’s never seen a brake line shredded and rusted like yours. He couldn’t be certain, due the age of your car, but something about the corrosion and tears seemed off to him. It’s possible someone tampered with your brakes.”
“Why would someone mess with my car?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s the new program you’re creating. Pandora. Maybe the mole thinks your program will expose him.”
The information rattled her mind. She stroked her pearls, willing her off-beat pulse to steady. Someone wanted to kill her? Over a computer program? Sounded like a plotline from one of the TV shows her dad watched. What if they tried again? Was the Gray Box safe?
But she had to go to work. Her job and her new program just became more important, if someone wanted to kill her because of it. Her stomach soured, and bile coated her tongue.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Finish the program while we work to find the leak. I’ll ask Maddox to give you a ride home after work, if that’s okay.”
Someone trying to kill her was the only thing that mattered in her head, but she cringed at the idea of Gideon pawning her off onto Maddox. If she earned a bigger paycheck, she would’ve insisted on taking a taxi. But a thirty-minute cab ride in the Beltway would cost a fortune.
Who was she kidding anyway? Willow being with a guy like him was as statistically likely as hitting the lottery. She was the quiet girl no one noticed, who lived with her daddy.
At least she didn’t have cats.
“Please, let Maddox know I’d appreciate a ride.”
Chapter 09
Gray Box Headquarters, Northern Virginia
Friday, July 5, 8:35 a.m. EDT
Quiet settled in the car like a rancid smell in the air. Gideon turned on the radio, but music didn’t ease the strained silence. Willow’s blunt words, declaring what she wanted, had shocked the shit out of him. Nothing about her was disingenuous, making her even more appealing. He admired her chutzpah and wished things were different.
Wished he was different.
He parked in the closest spot, relieved to be at work. They hopped out of the Jeep and walked to the building without exchanging a word. He held the door open for Willow, letting her walk ahead, and waved hello to Stewart and Peter, the armed plainclothes security guards on duty behind the solid marble desk. There was an additional sniper positioned on the top landing, overlooking the entire main floor. Gideon always looked but never found him.
Avoiding the elevator ride with Willow by striking up small talk with the guards would’ve been easy but a chickenshit play. Besides, he enjoyed looking at her, talking to her, listening to her gentle voice.
Being near her sparked a strange desire for a simple connection, an insane longing for something he couldn’t explain, and it was testing him in a way he hadn’t imagined possible.
After a retinal scan, the elevator doors opened. They stepped in. Green lasers scanned them for unregistered devices that transmitted a signal, such as bugs or cell phones. Ridiculous how movies and TV shows had operatives in classified facilities with freaking personal cell phones. Nothing would ever stay classified if that was the real world. The green lights died and the elevator engaged, descending to the sixth sublevel.
The awkward tension in the confined space was worse, heavy and thick, static electricity a breath away from igniting the molecules between them. She stared at the illuminated numbers, making no attempt at idle chitchat. He hated when people spoke without purpose or a point.
With a chime, the elevator doors opened, and they strode off together.
“Thank you.” Willow stared at the floor as if she couldn’t bear the sight of him. “For yesterday. For everything.”
Finally, her gaze lifted and settled on his face. The hurt and disappointment reflected in her eyes plowed through the defenses he’d spent the elevator ride building.
Willow was exposing his emotional soft spots better left locked in his vault. The woman was…whatever you’d call the opposite of the apple in the Garden of Eden. Instead of tempting him to sin, she made him long to be a better man.
For a moment, he couldn’t tell the difference between what he was fighting for and defending against. “You’re welcome. My pleasure to help.”
“These are for you.” She handed him a Tupperware container, and he took it. “They’re blueberry scones with a lemon glaze. My mother’s recipe.”
She turned, hurrying to the Intelligence section before he could thank her. A foreign sensation erupted in his chest, dark and brutal. He couldn’t shake the sense he was losing something important. He fucking hated losing.
Daniel Cutter—a real fast-burner who used others for fuel—intercepted her. “You’re late.” He cut in front of Willow, bringing her to a jerky halt. “I need your status on the Pandora program for the weekly situation report to send to the chief.”
Built like a boxer, Cutter had a stellar reputation with the Marine Force Recon before joining the Gray Box, but his busy nose was in almost every mission.
“The program will be finished in less than three days.” Willow sidestepped him, clutching her purse and pressing forward.
The douchebag maneuvered into her path, walking backward, peering into her face as if trying to force eye contact. “Once the program is done, I should check it before Sanborn sees it. Ensure there are no bugs.”
Recoiling, Willow skirted around him. “I’ll check for flaws before I send it to the chief.”
“Another set of eyes would be better to catch hiccups. Just want to help.”
Daniel Cutter MO 101. He offered to help with legwork no one else wanted to do, provide an extra set of eyes, anything to weasel his way in, and ride the coattails of others.
“Danny,” Amanda said, stepping into the hall, “let Willow settle in and catch her breath before you start harassing her. We have plenty of time to send the report.”
Amanda had softened after she became a mother, cutting everyone slack, including herself, and Gideon noted this wasn’t the first time she’d looked out for Willow.
“It took months to convince you to finally let me handle some extra duties, and I want to make sure the PowerPoint slides are perfect,” Cutter said. “I’m not going to blow it because she’s late.” He circled Willow like a damn vulture and had the gumption to block her again.
Something protective and predatory stirred inside Gideon. He was ready to knock Cutter out of her way, but Willow stopped and raised a hand, steering the guy out of her personal space.
“Daniel, is there anything else you need?” Her voice was firm, and her chin was high.
Amanda came up alongside her in either a show of solidarity or as backup.
Pinching his lips, Cutter shook his head no.
“Then I need to get to work.” Willow walked off as Amanda laid into Cutter about toning down his enthusiasm.
Gideon smiled with pride at how Willow had handled Cutter. She was tougher than he’d expected.
He strode down the main walkway and pulled off the lid of the container she’d given him. A heavenly
aroma greeted him. He bit into a scone, and the crumbly biscuit melted in his mouth. Sweetness from ripe blueberries mixed with the tartness of lemon, creating a medley of flavors. There was good, and then there was culinary greatness. This was perfection.
He crammed a second one into his mouth like a starving caveman and licked his fingers.
“Good morning,” Janet said. “They’re gathered in the conference room.”
“What’s up?”
“Big meeting with the forensic accountants. They’ve already gotten started.”
Quickening his stride, Gideon ate another scone, imagining how it’d taste warm.
The conference room door opened, and Parker sashayed out. Sanborn followed, looking sharp and tireless in a fresh suit, despite the fact that the guy lived at the office.
Gideon checked the clocks on the wall, a row of different time zones from Washington, DC, to Tokyo. 8:50. The original plan had been to convene at 9:30, but with the tension radiating from their rigid bodies and frosty gazes, he gathered he’d missed something important.
Sanborn shut the door and faced Parker. “Sybil, stay the fuck out of my conference room.”
Gideon had never heard the chief curse. If something had gotten under Sanborn’s skin enough to make him sully his tongue with profanity, Gideon damn sure wanted to know what the hell it was.
Chapter 10
Gray Box Headquarters, Northern Virginia
Friday, July 5, 8:55 p.m. EDT
Sanborn glimpsed Gideon “Reaper” Stone duck out of sight fifteen feet away but sensed the man lingering within earshot. Wonderful.
His first choice wasn’t to hash things out with Sybil in front of his subordinates. There was no dignity in the leadership airing their dirty laundry. So he’d stepped into the hall to talk, but this couldn’t wait until they were behind the closed door of his office.