by Juno Rushdan
If he had to guess, he’d wager those two had slept together.
They looked like a couple. The bright smiles and show of affection. Handsome Mendoza with his shaggy, dark hippie hair and lean swimmer’s build next to Kit’s edgy elegance. A picture-perfect fit.
Castle refused to acknowledge the tightening in his chest. He was no possessive Neanderthal without a past. It didn’t matter to him who she’d slept with before. Or so he told himself as he unclenched his fists and approached the pair with Alistair at his side.
Mendoza was speaking quickly to her in Spanish. Castle caught the gist. The professor was elated to see her and hadn’t thought he would again, since she hadn’t returned his calls after their last night together.
Castle’s gut twisted at the thought of Kit wrapped around Mendoza, breathless and naked, calling his name as she came. A silly, testosterone-driven reflex. He didn’t like his reaction and knew Alistair was paying close attention to everything. Best for him to focus on the point of this excursion. Business.
“Excuse me, Professor. We’re with Homeland Security and need to discuss an urgent matter with you.”
“What’s this all about?” Mendoza released Kit from the hug but kept an arm wrapped tight around her shoulder and her tucked at his side.
Castle had only known Kit two days, but it took every drop of restraint he had not to yank her away from the professor and claim her.
Stay on point. Don’t get derailed.
“I’m with them,” Kit said, easing away from Mendoza, and stood beside Castle. “We need your help. I mailed you something very important for safekeeping. It’s vital to national security that we get it back.”
“Anything for you, Kit,” Mendoza said. “I’m so sorry about that argument we had. I wish you had returned my calls.”
She tightened her smile. “It’s forgotten.” But from the hurt glimmer in her eye and the little lip nibble, it wasn’t.
“What do you need me to do?” Mendoza asked.
“Ms. Westcott had the package addressed to you at the Electrical Engineering and Computer Science Department,” Castle said. “We’ll go with you to your office and wait for the package to be delivered if it’s not there already.”
“All mail gets delivered to the receiving facility,” Mendoza said. “My TA, Natalie, picks it up and brings it with her.”
“Can you call her and see if she has it?” asked Alistair.
“Sure.” He took out his cell and dialed. His brows creased. He hung up and tried again. “Hi, Nat, when you get this message, give me a call as soon as possible. It’s an emergency.” Mendoza put his phone away. “She’s not answering. Nat always picks up for me.”
“I remember how you like to have your TAs at your beck and call.” Kit’s eyes narrowed, but that fake smile stayed on.
The professor lowered his head, a blush rising to his cheeks. “The receiving facility is just on the other side of the court in the Stata Center.”
“How big is the center?” Alistair asked.
“I don’t know exactly,” Mendoza said. “About seven hundred thousand square feet, spans almost three acres.”
Castle exchanged a quick glance with Alistair. “We need comms.”
They went back to the Hummer parked nearby. Castle fished out the communications gear from the trunk and thumbed the case open. He tossed an earpiece to Alistair and inserted his own.
Holding up a third one, he gave Kit a crash course. “Wireless, Bluetooth comms device. To talk, touch this button.” He showed her the tiny spot. “We’ll be able to hear everything you say until you tap it again. Got it?”
Kit placed the flesh-colored communications device in her right ear. “If you’re going to be with me, why is this necessary?”
“Just a precaution in case things go sideways.” Castle closed his trunk and bent down, pulling out his Beretta 21A Bobcat from a holster strapped around his ankle. At twelve ounces with a two-and-a-half-inch barrel, it was comparable in size to a smartphone as well as reliable, accurate, and ultra-concealable. “Take this too.” He handed her the weapon he hoped she wouldn’t need. “Put it in your bag.”
“Will this baby-sized gun pack a punch?” She stuffed the Beretta inside her satchel beside the encrypted laptop they’d taken from his place.
“Most definitely,” Castle said.
“Excuse me, is there some danger I need to be aware of?” Mendoza asked.
“Nothing for you to worry about,” Alistair said, his tone jovial and dismissive. “The bad guys only want her and the package.”
Taken at face value with all the jokes, Alistair didn’t seem worth his weight in salt. But when it came to killing, he was one of the most lethal operatives in the Gray Box.
Mendoza blanched. “Maybe we should call the police. Let them handle this.”
“They’re better than the police.” Kit put a reassuring hand on Mendoza’s shoulder, but his qualms didn’t appear to subside.
He pulled her off to the side, still within easy earshot. “When did you start working with federal agents?” he asked in Spanish. “The Kit Westcott I know would sooner swallow her own tongue. And she would rather chop off her own hand than hold a gun.”
Castle’s gut twisted at the look that settled on Kit’s face. Pure shame.
24
“Are you under duress?” Lenny asked in fluent Castilian.
“No. I’m cooperating of my own free will. Now. It’s a long story.”
“How well do you know these men?”
Kit wasn’t sure how to answer. On the car ride to campus, Castle had urged her not to divulge any of what had happened.
“As well as you know me?” Lenny clasped both her shoulders, kneading her muscles as he’d done when they’d been lovers, trying to bend her to his will. “Let’s at least call campus security.”
“I trust Castle with my life.” She moved out of his grasp and gave a docile, saccharine smile. One so sweet it’d make your teeth ache. That was what Lenny liked. Something Kit could never truly be. Funny, every smile she’d given Castle had been genuine. “They have good reasons for the way they work. If we listen to them, you’ll be done with this in a few minutes. Please, Lenny. As a favor to me.”
God knew, the bastard owed her. Six years ago, Kyle had just committed suicide, his body not yet cold in the ground, when Lenny had seduced her, taking advantage of her grief. He’d wanted Kit to speak to her mother about making a large donation to the EECS Department, in Kyle’s name of course. The short-lived affair ended the moment Kit had discovered he was still sleeping with both of his TAs at the time. Thankfully, before a check had been written.
No wonder he never had any energy with Kit, giving her his sloppy leftovers. It was apparently hard work sleeping with three different women and swimming sixty laps every day.
Castle was a finer man by a mile. Last night in his bedroom, she’d thrown herself at him, in desperate need of comfort. He could’ve slept with her but hadn’t. Instead, he’d been the first guy to put on the brakes when she’d been ready to go.
In hindsight, doing so would’ve made his job easier. Not that he would’ve known it. Every time she slept with a guy, she ended up lowering her defenses, tripping over her libido, and falling for his ruse. Like an idiot.
She should be a cynic. Life’s brutal lessons were a testament that the butterflies-in-your-belly kind of love didn’t exist, but she didn’t know how to relinquish her idealism. Deep down, she was a hopeless romantic with a healthy sexual appetite.
Her gaze locked onto Castle. His Today is a good day to die T-shirt—written in Klingon—stretched tight over the muscular plane of his broad chest, his tawny skin, multiracial features, and size making him stand out in any crowd. Gorgeous, a force to be reckoned with, and a Trekkie. What a breathtaking combination.
He spoke to Alistair, pointing at
buildings, no doubt devising a plan to keep her safe. The only man who’d ever cared to try. A flutter went through her chest.
“Okay,” Lenny said, but she was still staring at Castle. “But only if you really have forgiven me for what happened.”
What happened? He was taking no responsibility, as usual, and pushing a subject she’d rather not discuss.
She looked back at Lenny and realized how little he mattered to her. What they’d shared had been brief and, honestly, hollow. His transgression was a lifetime ago. She refused to carry the weight of caring a second longer.
Maybe it was the pervasive danger smelting her down and forging her anew. Maybe it was Castle, his perspective, opening her eyes to see the world differently.
She took Lenny’s hands in hers. “I forgive you.” And she meant it. “For being such a narcissistic douchebag.” Although there wasn’t an exact translation in Spanish.
“Kit,” Castle said in her ear through the communications device, drawing her attention to him. His gaze lowered, homing in on her holding Lenny’s hands, and his jaw hardened, the muscle working so hard he was going to get TMJ.
Was he jealous?
If only he knew how little there was to envy.
“Ready?” Castle growled.
Letting Lenny go, she nodded.
The four of them headed up the stairs of the amphitheater to the upper court. The sprawling Stata Center came into sight, its striking complex comprised of forty-seven unique elements. The tilting towers, angled walls, and whimsical shapes made from a mix of brick, glass, and reflective metals looked like something plucked from the pages of a modern-day Alice in Wonderland or designed by Dr. Seuss.
This had always been one of Kit’s and her brother’s favorite spots on campus when she had visited.
A pang cut through her. The only thing worse than her grief was her guilt. Guilt that still gnawed at her every day.
“Is it just me,” Alistair said, “or does this place look like Godzilla’s playpen?”
Castle grunted. “The design is impractical. Do you know how hard it’ll be for us to—”
Whatever Castle was about to say evaporated on his lips.
“I see them,” Alistair said, low.
“Who?” Kit asked, her pulse ramping up.
“Three o’clock and nine o’clock. Perimeter sweep,” Castle said, putting a hand on her lower back, keeping her moving.
Kit scanned both directions. The campus was quiet and uncongested at this hour, except for a few students passing by. Nothing stood out, no sign of Bravo and his men. But then she pinpointed a man to her right, tall with a buzzcut, wearing a blazer and jeans, loitering as if he was waiting for something or someone. The same on the left next to the garden, only it was a woman, dressed similarly with her hair in a tight bun. They both had a fierce intensity to their eyes, a hard set to their mouths, and athletic builds.
“How do you know they’re threats?” Kit asked. “Neither of them was at the loft.”
“Shoes. Earpieces,” Castle said.
Kit noticed they wore utilitarian black boots made for running and kicking down doors. Similar to what Alistair and Castle had on.
“Bulges on the side of their jackets,” Alistair added.
“We don’t know who they are and what we’re dealing with,” Castle said to Alistair, “and we don’t want to leave a mess we can’t clean up. Immobilize only unless faced with deadly force.”
“I’m a believer in kill or be killed,” Alistair said, “but if you insist.”
Lenny’s phone rang and he answered. “Nat, are you okay? Where are you?” He listened for a moment. “All right, I forgot about your SoulCycle class, baby. Don’t worry about the mail. I’m doing it now. Don’t go to the office. Go to campus security and stay there. Tell them to send guards to the Stata Center and call the police.” Lenny disconnected and met Castle’s glare. “I’d like to survive doing this favor.”
The man and woman caught sight of them. Both took out something from their inner jacket pockets, a piece of paper or a picture, looked at it, and then headed in their direction. The man lifted his cuff to his mouth and started talking.
Alistair clapped his hands, rubbing his palms together, a smile brimming on his face. “This party is about to get bigger.”
“What?” Kit asked with honest confusion.
“They just called for backup,” Castle said.
“That’s not a good thing.” Was she missing something? “Why is he happy about it?”
“Because he’s fucking crazy,” Castle said.
Alistair peeled off toward the garden in the woman’s direction. Castle forced Kit to quicken her step, passing the empty outdoor tables of the café as Buzzcut closed in.
Behind her, she heard Alistair say, “Excuse me, luv, do you have the time?”
Sounds of a scuffle followed.
Kit glanced over her shoulder. Alistair emerged from behind a bush. Alone. There was no sign of the woman. Was he Houdini?
“Where is the mail room?” Castle asked.
“Upstairs, but packages have to be collected at the loading dock in the basement of this tower first.” Lenny pointed to the building closest to them.
“Keep going,” Castle said. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Before Kit spat out the question on the tip of her tongue, Castle pivoted one hundred eighty degrees so fast she did a double take. She stayed with Lenny, hurrying to the building, but kept Castle in her sights to make sure nothing happened to him.
Castle swooped in front of Buzzcut and threw a fist to his throat that made the man choke. A knee to the stomach sent Buzzcut doubling over. Castle slammed his head into a cast iron table, knocking him unconscious.
The entire thing unfolded in a flash. If she hadn’t witnessed it, she never would’ve believed it was possible to move so violently so quickly.
With shocking nonchalance, Castle settled the man in a chair, propped his arms on the table, and tipped his head down, making him appear as if he were taking a nap. Then Castle swiped his earpiece, wiped it off, and inserted it.
One, two, three, four. Kit regulated her breathing and maintained a steady pace.
Lenny held the door open and ushered her inside the building. She barely cast a glance at the fire hydrant attached to the water fountain as they passed it.
A heartbeat later, Castle and Alistair were with them.
“Shit, they’re everywhere,” Castle said. “Someone named Wheeler is in charge. They’re converging on this location.”
Who was Wheeler and why was he after the package? How did anyone even know about it? She’d been so careful. Avoiding surveillance cameras, living on the street, sleeping on the subway like a hobo for God’s sake.
“Two more are upstairs by a mailroom,” Castle said, listening to the second earpiece. “One is headed down now.”
“I’ll handle it,” Alistair said.
They hustled along the wide, airy corridor that was flooded with light from the five-story atrium. There must’ve been miles of hallway. Fortunately, it only took a minute until they came across the first stairwell.
“That’s the fastest way to access the mailroom,” Lenny said. “Third level. Mailroom is in the middle of the floor. There’s another stairwell on the opposite side.”
Alistair gave a two-finger salute and bolted up, taking the steps three at a time.
“Basement stairwell is over here.” Lenny led them past the café, offices, and numerous nooks and crannies buzzing with students set up with their laptops and engrossed in conversations. “Here.” He indicated another stairwell tucked in an alcove that would’ve been easy to miss.
They followed him down a dimly lit black staircase.
“Are you okay?” Castle asked Kit. “Ticker’s good?”
Thanks to the cocktail of me
ds she’d taken in the car, she gave a confident nod. “But feel free to carry me.”
“Sure you wouldn’t prefer to crawl?” Castle flashed a half grin.
“Positive.”
They hit the bottom landing. “The dock is this way.”
Passing a darkened corner, they walked down a hall and pressed on through double doors. Receiving was a flurry of activity, full of trucks unloading, boxes being stacked and piled on dollies. At least four workers stayed in constant motion.
Lenny went up to the pickup window and addressed the clerk. “Hi. Professor Mendoza.” He flashed his MIT ID. “I’m expecting a package. Should’ve been delivered this morning.”
“Sure thing. Gimme a sec.” The clerk moseyed over to a stack of packages and started checking them.
“Shit,” Castle said low, where only she and Alistair could hear. “Wheeler is sending two more this way from outside, in through the dock.”
Kit turned toward the open bay, peering in between the vehicles.
“Mendoza,” Castle said. “Hurry it up.”
“What do you want me to do? Put a gun to the guy’s head?” Lenny snapped, drawing a wary glance from the clerk. “Figure of speech. Sorry.”
“Two down upstairs,” Alistair said over comms.
One good thing at least. But how many more were there?
“I found ID,” Alistair continued. “They’re from Zanteon. Contractors.”
Contractors? Hired to do what exactly? And by whom?
“Sweep the first floor for other threats,” Castle ordered, “and clear an exit.”
“Always so demanding,” Alistair said. “Do this, do that. How about a thank you every now and again?”
“Are you feeling unappreciated?” Castle asked.
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“Boo-hoo. Get to work.”
How did they juggle banter with riding-the-edge-of-death covert operative stuff? Kit could barely think straight much less come up with a witty retort. Maybe it was their warped way of dealing with things.