by N. J. Croft
His gaze had clashed with hers, and she’d seen a flicker of interest. Again, was that good or bad? Could she use it?
Sara doubted she was his type. Eve had been blonde and beautiful. A typical English rose. Sara was anything but.
She tugged at the earring again. She’d never been nervous before, and the experience was new, unexpected, and not particularly pleasant.
She’d almost been on the verge of going forward and introducing herself…until the senator arrived.
In her high heels, the senator was not much shorter than Blakeley, and both had a presence. She was too far away to hear what they were saying and couldn’t tell whether they knew each other or not, but they both seemed at ease.
She wished she could hear their conversation.
With one last look, she headed back to where she’d parked her van. She’d just keep watching him until she decided if he was ready to hear the truth about his wife’s death.
Or whether he already knew.
Chapter Three
Noah came back from his run to chaos.
He’d rented an apartment in North London, less than a mile from the tube so he could get to work easily but also close to Hampstead Heath to give the kids some semblance of countryside.
Lucy was desperate for a puppy. Christ, this was his nightmare come true. A goddamn puppy. And three kids. And a job in the city.
He suspected the children hadn’t been entirely happy with leaving their grandparents’ house. Except, strangely, Harper, who claimed their granddad was a “bloated plutocrat” and that their grandmother was trying to turn her into a Princess Diana clone.
The girl was too smart for her own good.
He’d enrolled them in private schools not too far from their new home. At least he could afford to pay for it. With his new salary—about four times what he’d been earning as a major in the U.S. Army—he could probably afford to pay for boarding school. That was a tempting idea.
It was just as well his pay was good. Rent in London was astronomical, and he had to fork out for a live-in nanny. The one their grandparents had employed had agreed to come along, but he didn’t like the woman, and he suspected she liked him just as little. If he’d believed she was the best choice for the children, he would have put up with her, but she was too strict. He would pay her off and get someone younger once the children were more settled. Most nights, Lucy and Daniel still woke up crying for their mother.
As he opened the front door, a shrill scream filled the air. He broke into a run and charged through the door into the kitchen just as Ms. Pierson slapped Daniel across the face. Noah stopped abruptly, and everyone turned to face him.
“I think you should leave,” he said quietly.
“But I—”
“Just go. Now.” He waited until she had left the room then looked around him. “What happened?”
“Daniel wouldn’t eat his breakfast,” Lucy said. “And then he said he wouldn’t go to school. And then he screamed.”
“In Ms. Pierson’s defense,” Harper put in, “he was being really annoying. I might have slapped him myself if she hadn’t gotten there first.”
“You’re allowed to slap him. You’re his sister.”
“Really?” She sounded delighted. He had to start thinking before he said anything to Harper.
He closed the space between him and Danny and hunkered down close to the little boy. He was so goddamn cute. It was hard to believe he was Noah’s son. He was sucking his thumb, a habit Eve had told him he’d grown out of. Until Eve’s death. Now it was never out of his mouth. “You okay?”
Danny nodded.
“How about I take you to school?”
He nodded again.
Noah glanced at his watch. They should have left by now. They’d be late. He’d be late. For his first day at his new job. He blew out his breath and wished he was going somewhere he could shoot someone. “Give me one minute.”
In the end, he hadn’t had to think too hard about Senator Clayton’s proposition.
If he couldn’t go back in the army, then he figured this was as good as it got. Plus, he’d spoken to his uncle about the senator, and he had sung her praises. In fact, he’d never heard Peter sound so enthusiastic about anyone before.
His official title was Head of Security for Clayton Industries. That was the umbrella organization for the senator’s family business, a huge, multinational conglomerate with companies in every line and most countries. He hadn’t realized the senator was so wealthy. It didn’t show in her lifestyle, which was a plus in her favor. However, while he would eventually—once he had gotten up to speed—have an overall say in strategy for the company’s security division, his real job was threat analysis.
Apparently, the company had an information-gathering system set up. Intel flooded in from all corners of the globe, including information pertaining to terrorist organizations and terrorist acts either past or considered likely. He’d had a conference call with the senator. She’d explained her thinking on the matter, and it was so close to Noah’s, it was uncanny. She had also seen an escalating pattern, a coalescing of groups and actions, and believed there was a plan behind all the seemingly random acts of terror. And if there was a plan, then there was also a planner. Someone at the center of it all, pulling the strings.
Noah’s ultimate job was to identify the planner or planners. The senator believed it was a group of powerful people who had come together for a cause. Unravel the cause, the motivations, and that would lead to the people involved. In the meantime, he was to produce threat level reports for all the countries where Clayton Industries functioned. Which was just about them all.
They had a building in the city close to Liverpool street, a huge glass and steel structure. A uniformed doorman opened the glass doors as he approached and gave Noah a nod as he walked through. “Can I help you, sir?”
At a guess, the man was ex-military, and Noah’s appearance was somewhat different from the usual people passing though those doors. He hadn’t bothered with a suit; he wasn’t dealing with clients, and suits weren’t his thing. He was in dark pants and a white shirt. At least his hair had grown another half-inch, so it was now about the length it had been when he was on normal active duty.
He pulled his ID out of his pocket and handed it to the man whose name was Jerry, according to the badge on his chest. Noah gave him an easy smile—the man was just doing his job. “First day.”
He didn’t get a smile in return. “Follow me, sir.”
He followed to a desk with a security sign on the front. “Just a moment.” Jerry pulled out his phone and turned away.
Noah looked around. It was just after nine, making him half an hour late. Way to make a good first impression. The place was busy, lots of people in thousand-dollar suits—or he supposed thousand-pound suits here in London—looking busy and important. He leaned against the desk and folded his arms across his chest. Jerry turned back, his eyes wide, his lips pulled down in a frown. He shoved the phone back in his belt.
Noah supposed he was the man’s boss a long way up the chain. He was guessing Jerry had just found that out. He looked like he wanted to salute.
“Sir. I apologize for the delay, sir. I was told to expect you but…”
Noah took pity on the man. “But I’m not what you were expecting?”
“No, sir. I mean, yes…”
“At ease, soldier.”
“Yes, sir. Your assistant is on his way down, sir. He’ll sort out your security clearance.”
“What’s your background, Jerry?”
“Sergeant in the Paratroopers, sir. Injured out, sir.”
“Iraq?”
“Yes, sir.” A look of relief passed over his features. “There’s Mr. Shipley,” he said. “Your assistant.”
He hadn’t even known he had an assistant. Obviously, he had
a lot to learn. He studied the man hurrying toward them. Mid-twenties, tall, light brown hair cut short at the sides, longer on top. This one definitely wasn’t ex-military.
He stopped in front of them and held out his hand. Noah shook it.
“Pleased to meet you, major.”
“Not a major anymore. Call me Noah.”
“I’m Tom Shipley. I’ve been assigned to work with you, show you around, make sure you have everything you need. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your office.”
He led the way to an elevator around the corner. “This just serves the top two floors. All the senior management have their offices up there.” He flashed the card across a panel beside the elevator, and the doors slid open. “Your security card will access the elevator, but the doors on the top floor are all activated by retinal scan. We’ll get all that sorted for you later this morning.”
The security seemed a little excessive. What the hell were they doing up there? “Very high tech.”
“All the head offices are installed with retinal scans now.”
“Have you worked here long?” Noah asked as they stepped out of the elevator into what looked like another reception area. A man sat behind a desk in a security uniform. He nodded but didn’t speak as they went past. Tom lowered his head to the scanner by another door, and it opened, revealing a large corner office.
Noah whistled. “Who did you have to toss out to give me this?”
“It was used by the senator when she visited.”
So Clayton had given up her office for him. He walked across to the window and stared down at the city of London spread out below him. It was impressive, but he’d always preferred the wide-open spaces to the city. Back in the U.S., he had a cabin in the Virginia mountains that he always visited when he had down time. Here, he could feel the walls closing around him. He shook off the feeling. This was his new reality, at least for the foreseeable future. He had to make the best of it.
He blew out his breath and turned to survey his new office. It was just as impressive as the view. He sat in the big leather chair in front of the steel desk. The expanse was shiny and completely clear. No computer in sight.
“Do you have a security background, Tom?”
“No, sir. I’m a systems analyst and information technician. I’ll be getting you up to speed on the systems you’ll be using and making sure you have access to whatever you need.”
“Sounds good. Do I get a computer?”
Tom grinned. “Yes, sir.” He swiped a hand over the desk, and a screen rose up out of the steel. A smooth keyboard appeared on the flat surface. Tom leaned over the desk, pressed a key, and the screen came to life. He typed in a few words and then stepped back. “That gives you access to your work emails and so on. Again, it will be all protected by scans as soon as we’ve completed the procedure. I’ll go and check on that now. And leave you to…” He shrugged. “Whatever.” He waved a hand to a door at the back of the room. “Bathroom.” And then at the cabinet opposite. “Coffee. You want anything else, just call 100.”
“Tom,” Noah called out as the other man reached the door.
He turned. “Yes?”
“Is there a shooting range around here?”
Tom’s eyes widened, and Noah had to bite back a laugh. What the hell had they been told about him? He’d wait a few days before he asked.
“Actually, there’s one in the basement. I’ll make sure you have clearance for that as well.” And he was gone.
Noah sat back in the chair and surveyed his new domain. He got up and walked around, got a coffee—he hadn’t had time for one that morning—sat back at his desk, and felt a little lost. Noah wasn’t the type to sit around. He needed something to do. Something that would kickstart his stagnant mind. Problem was, while he knew the broad scope of what his job entailed and that there should be a wealth of information at his fingertips, he wasn’t yet sure how to go about doing anything.
There was an email icon on the screen, and he tapped on it. He had ten new emails.
The first one was from the senator, welcoming him and scheduling a call for the following day. Good. Maybe he could get started after he spoke to her. He scanned down the rest of the list and didn’t recognize any of the names. He’d read them in a moment, but his gaze snagged on an email halfway down. The subject line just said, “Eve.”
His gut tightened as he opened the email, then he sat staring at the screen.
Your wife did not die in an accident. She was murdered.
Chapter Four
What the fuck?
He read the email again, then his gaze flicked to the sender line. It was empty.
He sat back in his chair, his body going unnervingly numb. He’d blindly accepted Eve’s cause of death because, really, there was no reason not to believe his ex-wife had died in a freak accident. Eve didn’t live the kind of life he did. Even the kidnapping that had led to their initial meeting twelve years ago had not concerned her specifically. She’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. And as far as he knew, she had no enemies to speak of.
Could Eve have been murdered? And if so, why?
And why would someone send him an anonymous message about it now?
Was this some sort of warning? Or maybe a threat?
For the first time since Eve’s death, his brain clicked into gear, turning over the pieces, trying to find a pattern the way he’d always worked best.
And still, he came up with nothing.
Was someone trying to mess with his head?
If so, they were succeeding.
He wanted to punch something. Maybe he had spent too long with the Brothers if physical violence was his first inclination. Regardless, whether the email was true or not, there was a reason someone had contacted him. He needed to find out who and why.
He had contacts from his old life, IT experts, who could likely trace the sender. He’d start there.
Then he needed everything he could get on Eve’s accident. All Noah knew was that Eve had been on a private plane traveling from Irkutsk in Russia to Ulaanbaatar, the capital city of Mongolia. The plane had gone down only ten minutes into the journey. The brief report he’d seen had concluded that the most likely explanation was a bird crashing into one of the engines. The pilot had died along with his only passenger. Eve. There had to be more. Presumably the Russian police must have investigated and likely the Aviation Authority.
The fact that she was in Russia at all had niggled at his mind since he’d heard of her death. Something had changed, something so important that she had overcome her fears and left her children.
That thought brought him up short.
Could the children be in danger?
Jesus.
He needed to organize some security, but they were just getting back into a normal routine. How would he explain it?
Gather the intel, then make an informed decision.
But fast.
He was still staring at the email when Tom reappeared at the door. “Security is ready for you,” he said.
After one last look at the message, he swiped the screen to clear it and rose to his feet. “Tell me,” he said, “can someone send an anonymous email through the internal system?”
Tom gave him a strange look. “No. It’s not possible. All emails have a sender. As far as I’m aware, there’s no way to block it.”
Noah glanced down at the blank screen. He could have argued, but he didn’t know how much he wanted to reveal to Tom. Whether he trusted the other man. Or not.
They rode the elevator down to the security department in the basement, where they took his fingerprints, retinal scans, voice prints. There hadn’t been this much security in the army. Through it all, his mind kept returning to the anonymous email.
He returned to his office as soon as he was finished and reread the messag
e.
Why would anyone want to murder Eve? That’s where he was stuck. She’d been an archaeologist who spent her life teaching and searching for really old things that no one else cared about anymore. Certainly not enough to kill for. At least, that’s what he’d always believed, but then the past had never interested him. Just the present and the future.
Now, he needed to find out everything about her work and try and figure out why anyone would have taken her out. To stop her finding something?
He also couldn’t ignore the possibility that the email had nothing to do with Eve’s work and everything to do with his.
While his work with Project Arachnid had mainly been undercover, he had no doubt he’d made enemies over the years. Eve’s death might be some sort of revenge, though if that was the case, he would have expected whoever had done it to claim responsibility. Otherwise, what was the point? All the same, he would make a list of the groups and individuals he had worked with or against who might feel the need to make him suffer.
The only other possibility was that the email was nothing but a prank. Maybe someone didn’t like the idea of him taking this job, wanted to unsettle him. Or, worse, distract him. Was there something he wasn’t meant to find and someone feared he’d be able to do just that in his new position?
Drumming his fingers on the desk, he stared into space. Then, without giving himself time to think it was a bad idea, he picked up the phone and glanced at the time. It would be six o’clock in the morning in D.C. He punched in the number for Peter’s office. His uncle was usually at his desk by now, and sure enough, the man picked up on the second ring. “General Blakeley.”
“Peter, it’s Noah.”
“What is it?”
He hesitated as second thoughts crept through him. Maybe he should find out more before he involved anyone else.
“Noah?”
The fact was, Peter had access to information no longer available to him, and Noah needed answers fast. “Do you know of anything that might have suggested Eve’s death was not an accident?” By virtue of Noah’s position in Project Arachnid, any suspicious deaths close to him would have been routinely investigated.