by Cara Carnes
“It’s so quiet,” Rhea whispered. She tugged on the blue button-down blouse she wore, then ran her palms down her upper thighs, as if ironing out nonexistent wrinkles from her beige capris. Her long brunette hair curled around her face and accentuated her ivory skin.
Fallon grazed her cheek with the back of his fingers and smiled. “You ready?”
He sure as fuck wasn’t. Today wasn’t about taking Carlisle Industries down—not entirely. At least, not for Rhea. Although she’d rehearsed the conversation hundreds of time with him, his team, Edge, and the rest of the women, they hadn’t dug into the meaty subtext the conversation would likely hold.
Her relationship with Stan.
“We should’ve dug into the breakup, you and him together. What he’d have to say about that,” Fallon said, his voice low. “You won’t be ready for that.”
“I’m ready,” Rhea said. “I-I considered potential confrontation points and prepared potential responses.”
Fallon noted the slight tremble of her hands and the constant sweep of her gaze. “Donovan and I will both be within strike range, Doc. You aren’t alone. Jesse is on the com with you. So is Bree.”
Rhea nodded. “I know. It’ll be okay. I’ll rattle his cage.”
Right now, she was the one rattled, and Fallon had zero idea how to calm her down.
“Did you break it off, or him?” Donovan asked as he came to a halt beside them.
“I did.”
“Advantage.” Donovan grunted the word. “You’ve got the upper hand walking in there. You scraped him off. Knowing you, you were sweet about it.”
“I was polite.” The woman’s gaze narrowed.
“Right. He gets in your face, that’s your ammo,” Fallon said. “War isn’t polite, kind, or sweet.”
“I know, Fallon. The son of a bitch is going down,” Rhea spat angrily. Red rose in her cheeks.
He couldn’t help but chuckle. She was cute when she turned into a spitfire. Who was he kidding? She was gorgeous no matter what.
Donovan laughed outright.
“Z said she got through her kidnapping by asking ‘What would the Quillery Edge do?’” Rhea licked her lips and peered up at Fallon. “I ask myself what you and Addy would do.”
“He’d blow shit up,” Sanchez replied with a slap on Fallon’s back. “I’m moving into position, boss. Keep our girl safe.”
Fallon grunted his assent as the final player in today’s support team moved into position in the small coffee shop in the lobby of Carlisle Industries. “Let’s go, Doc.”
“Sanchez, Donovan, and Graves, you’re clear to disperse secondary countermeasures,” Jesse said.
“Secondary countermeasures?” Rhea asked.
“Not your concern. Stay focused on Stan. We’ll handle the rest,” Fallon said. He took her arm, but she grabbed his hand.
Heat arced between them as her eyes locked on his. “You don’t have to hide anything from me. I’m not a fragile figurine, you know.”
“No, you aren’t. But you’re about to face the bastard who did you wrong. You’ve been chewing yourself up because of him for weeks now. That’s enough for anyone to take on, so let us worry about the rest.” Fallon squeezed her hand. “You ready?”
“Let’s do this.”
Carlisle Industries was exactly what Rhea expected—a pretentious, pompous veneer with no substance. A security station cordoned off the back portion of the lobby and hindered visitor access to the organization itself. What an idiot.
The three body scanners wouldn’t keep men like Donovan and Fallon from doing whatever they wanted. Heck, Dallas and his entire team had walked right through. No way in hell they’d done so without weapons, which meant the so-called first level security wasn’t meant to keep groups like The Arsenal out.
Donovan had slipped by security with a fake badge Z created last night. The operative did a half-body turn and flashed a wicked grin before he headed toward the elevator bank. He paused at the trashcan and tossed something inside.
Oh boy.
The boys were playing with their toys again. Rhea rocked back on her heels, which leaned her deeper into Fallon’s hand at the small of her back. Unlike previous ops, Fallon was decked out in a dark gray suit which molded to his body as though tailored for his muscular frame. The deep crimson shirt added a dark edge to the lethal prowess he exuded.
Rhea studied the upper area of the lobby’s open ceiling. Security cameras covered the entire area from perches a good twenty feet up. Had Z and the girls started the hack yet? Was Cord in position?
The silent com tucked in her left ear unnerved her. She hadn’t completed Fallon’s new com because the tech within was too sophisticated to do without Bree. Tonight. It’d be the priority before anything else once the neutralizing agent was cooking.
Security personnel surged their direction, an indicator she’d been spotted. Rhea halted at the receptionist’s desk, offering a curt smile. “I’m here for Stan Carlisle.”
“Did you have an appointment?” The perky blonde flashed a wide, toothed smile and glanced at her monitor. “I’m afraid I don’t see anything booked on Mr. Carlisle’s calendar for this morning. Give me your name, and I’ll call up to his assistant.”
“Rhea Strathmore. And no, I don’t have an appointment, but it’s in his best interest to see me.” She smiled. “The longer I wait, the more media channels I’ll be contacting if I enact Plan B.”
The woman’s gaze widened as she punched keys on the wireless pad before her. She whispered low into the headset, but Rhea didn’t bother listening. Her pulse quickened when the guards formed a semi-circle between her and the metal detectors.
“Ms. Strathmore.” The brute in the middle of the five-man cluster stepped forward. “I’m…”
“Rick Walters,” Jesse offered. “Head of security.”
The two men spoke at the same time, but Rhea focused on the lethal operative in her ear. “I know. Rick Walters, supposed head of security. I assume he’s expecting me?”
“Of course.” Rick motioned. “Please, come with us. Your escort will need to remain down here.”
“That’s not happening,” Fallon muttered.
Rick’s jaw twitched, but a slight nod set Fallon into motion. He pushed at Rhea’s back. She continued forward despite the nervousness. Rehearsals hadn’t been this intense. Damn hormones. Her brain reasoned away each quickened breath, every nervous twitch and adrenaline dump.
The body was the most complex construction in existence for a reason. If you accepted its idiosyncrasies and fed its needs, it’d keep you alert. Safe.
Fallon guided her toward the first detector to the far left.
“Vi’s got control,” Jesse said. “Your com won’t be detectable.”
Right. She and Bree had run through at least thirty different possible materials for The Arsenal’s coms before enlisting the aid of a tech guru who owed Bree more than a few favors. The device was undetectable and virtually indestructible. She removed her shoes, put them on the conveyor belt, and stepped through the scanner.
Unlike the rickety excuses for detectors at the airports, the widened arc warned her it was a state-of-the-art, full-body model that’d be a full, three-dimensional scan that’d know her insides before she stepped on the other side.
She exited without incident and turned to face Fallon.
Walters and the five other goons closed in, hovering near him. He crossed both arms and sighed. With an arrogant grin, Fallon locked gazes with her. “This’ll take a while, Doc.”
Of course it would. That was likely part of the plan—one not shared with her. Intimidation from the second they entered the facility. Whatever Fallon was about to do would set the tone and have Carlisle’s army rattled before she faced the bastard down.
He removed his suit jacket and set it on the conveyor, followed by the loafers he’d already kicked off. He undid his belt buckle and slid the leather through the loops slowly.
“Jesus, boss. Rotate those
hips and we can get you a gig with those stripper dudes. Who are they?” Sanchez asked.
“Chippendales,” Jesse supplied. “Take the rest slow, Graves. Go for boredom. Amusement.”
“Should’ve supplied some dollar bills to our girl in there,” Spade commented. “Tell me we’ll get this on recording.”
Rhea’s pulse quickened at the heat within Fallon’s gaze when he removed the gun and its holster. It thudded to the conveyor behind the belt, shoes, and jacket—which had already disappeared into the device’s belly.
Unease crackled within the gathered guards as beeps and chimes sounded. Their wary gazes moved to their boss, who chuckled. “Carry on. You gonna give us a name?”
“If your system is as good as the one you stole its design from, it’ll know. Otherwise, fuck you.”
Real-time facial recognition wasn’t a part of Carlisle’s security designs or Donovan, Dallas, and his team would’ve been flagged. Rhea forced calm despite the frenetic energy rolling in her system. The adrenaline dump was far too early to help upstairs, which meant she needed to take deep, calming breaths and trust everyone on the op to handle whatever went down because they were the best.
“First through seventeenth floor are peppered,” Donovan said.
“I’m sure you’ll understand, but we need to keep the weapon here at the guard station. It’ll be returned when you leave,” one of the men said.
“It’s all yours.” Boredom echoed in Fallon’s voice as he rolled his eyes and dumped the contents of his pockets into a small basket and shoved it onto the conveyor.
Hands up above his head, he walked through the detector. A loud chime echoed as the arc flashed red. “Metal pin in my left leg and forearm.”
Fallon supplied the information as if everyone had pins in their body. Rhea let the shock roll through her. Had he gotten the injuries when he’d suffered the partial hearing loss and burns? His entire body was a roadmap for the brutal life that’d tried chewing him up.
But he’d won.
Walters and one of the other men broke away and arrived at the computer where three other guards were huddled. Their uneasy gazes slid from Fallon to their boss—whose jaw twitched, but he motioned him through.
“Whatever you’re doing here won’t work,” Walters warned. “We know you’re Arsenal. We know it was y’all in Tucson.”
Know? Unlikely. Suspected? Of course.
Fallon smirked as he gathered his belongings. He put everything into place and prowled to Rhea’s side. Hand on her hip, he steered her toward the elevator. “I hope your ex isn’t the bore you’d indicated.”
“Afraid he’s far worse than a bore,” she replied as they arrived at the elevator bay.
“Far left,” Jesse said, seconds before the ding chimed and the doors swished open.
“You know, we need better elevators,” Rhea said. “Carlisle can’t have better toys than us.”
“I’ll add that to the list,” Cord said. “We’re in, by the way.”
Anticipation zinged within her. Pulse quickened, breathing rapid, she shifted from her left foot to the right, then back again. It’d been years since she’d seen Stan. She’d assumed they’d broken it off amicably.
How could she have been so wrong?
She wallowed in the emotional rage, tore off a hunk of it and chewed as the elevator lifted them to the top floor. Walters motioned them to precede him and the five other men.
“They’ve got eleven men on security right now. Three remained downstairs,” Jesse said.
Which left three as potential problems for Cord. Rhea fought the worry creeping up. She had enough to manage without second-guessing the operatives she was with. They’d handle whatever problems came Cord’s way.
Rattle Stan’s cage. Stall.
The two tasks were simple enough.
Don’t project anger or hurt. Doctor Sinclair’s suggestion repeated in Rhea’s mind. The shrink had spent over an hour walking Rhea through tone inflection and what she called psychological warfare.
You’re amused he stole your crappy first-grade designs. Project amusement and pity. Incite his anger by questioning his intellect and manhood. An egomaniac like Stan Carlisle can’t resist taking the bait. Don’t react to whatever he throws at you. This is war. He’ll aim for a killshot. He’ll want you scared. Hurt. Reactive.
Don’t react.
Rhea entered the cavernous reception and passed Stan’s assistant. Glass walls divided the floor into two sections—a waiting area took up a small corner. The remainder was Stan’s. Arrogance stood on prominent display thanks to glass walls and doors, all edged with a crimson line flecked with gold.
Water gurgled from a pond to her right. Fish flitted around within the gathered crimson and gold tank, but it was the rapid descent of lighted water that drew her attention. If she peered closely, it flowed like blood. A shiver ran through her as she moved past the display.
She’d once considered Stan Carlisle the most handsome man she’d known. Her naive self had no idea what a real man was, not back then when she’d been lost in her research and spent more time studying test results and microscopes than socializing.
He stood with his back to them. Tall and wiry thin, hands in his pockets, he turned. Although he seemed unconcerned by her presence, Rhea noted the truth easily. Studying people’s idiosyncrasies and nuances became second nature thanks to one of her two minors at MIT. The tick in his left eye appeared when he turned, followed by the wandering gaze up to the corner near one of three entirely glass walls.
“We’ve got full control of surveillance,” Mary said. “You’ve got this, Rhea.”
She remained silent and waited for him to make the first move. She’d already set the tone when she’d entered calm, lethally quiet.
Channel your inner Addy.
Unleash your Fallon.
No. She didn’t have to unleash her pretend Fallon, not with the real man at her side.
“I can’t say this is a pleasant surprise,” Stan said. “Though, it wasn’t a surprise. You made quite a mess in Tucson. I’m disappointed, Rhea. You’re better than this.”
“You’re the disappointment, Stan.”
She stepped forward as Fallon took two steps backward, but deeper into the cavernous office. The desk and all surfaces were glass edged with crimson and gold flecks. A large meeting room loomed in the distance, but Rhea noticed a cordoned off section in Stan’s area. Two black walls with flecked gold were barely visible in the distance.
What was in there?
Was it important?
She kept her attention angled that direction for a few breaths and hoped the small camera she wore noted it. More importantly, she hoped someone on the other end of her com had.
“We’re on it, Rhea. Good job. Focus on Stan,” Jesse said.
“Did you think I wouldn’t know?” Rhea asked. She advanced until only his glass desk separated her from Stan. She hopped up on its surface and sighed heavily. “You need to stop.”
“Stop?” The man laughed. He halted with a drag of feet across the tile floor. “Why would I do a crazy thing like that? You have nothing to do with what I’ve built.”
“Right.” Doubt and amusement filled the word. She forced a chuckle and swung her legs. “Same old Comatose Carlisle. That’s what our chem lab called you, right? When you failed our first test and whined to the dean it was too hard?”
The man’s jaw twitched. “That was a long time ago. We were both different back then. At least I wasn’t an ice-cold bitch detached from the world because she couldn’t get over her daddy issues.”
Ouch. Rhea forced her limbs to remain loose despite the building tension. The foolish girl she’d once been had trusted Stan with everything—even the skeletons she’d hidden from everyone else.
“It doesn’t have to end bad, Stan.” Hair loss atop his head was partially masked by a poor combover attempt. Wrinkles spread from his eyes. “Turn over the tech you stole, and we’ll leave Carlisle Industries alone
.”
The flagrant lie hung between them. He turned, returning to the view of Boston sprawling before him. “I’m not sure how I stomached being with you for so long. Fucking a cold, boring fish was a pain in the ass, but you were the means to an end. Take the same courses, drift through the assignments on your back or one of those other geeks you befriended. Yeah, I guess I see how I stomached you for so long.”
“I wasn’t the cold, boring one,” Rhea said. She attempted amusement and indifference, but was pretty sure it fell short.
“No way in fuck you’re cold or boring, Doc,” Fallon commented from across the room. “Never slept as good as I do after you ride me all night. And that sweet mouth in the morning? The best damn wakeup call going.”
Red rose in Stan’s face. Jesse chuckled.
“Alrighty then,” Cord said.
“He doesn’t need to hear the details, babe. He knows it was all his problem.” Rhea slid her gaze southward and kept it there a beat. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Stan. Stealing my designs. Bree’s. Clever.”
“You had no fucking idea,” he laughed. “Made my first million within a year of us breaking up. And what the hell are you doing with yourself, Rhea? You’re pathetic. All that potential. Your dad was right, you know. We had long talks about your failure to thrive. He told me I could do better. I guess he was right.”
“You’re a lot like him. Blinded by the hunger for power. Prestige. Ambition only gets you so far when you’re a talentless hack.” Rhea hopped off the desk and moved behind it, running her fingertips along the surface. She lifted the mousepad.
A sticky note of jumbled letters, symbols and numbers didn’t surprise her. Once an idiot, always an idiot. “I see you’re still too lazy to learn things for yourself.”
“Damn. That’s awesome, sweetheart. Cord, sending you possible passwords,” Jesse said.
“We’re into his emails,” Zoey said. “You’re a genius, Rhea.”
“You want me to escort her out, sir?” Walters asked. He glanced at Fallon who was still wandering around, seemingly bored. “You need to come back over here.”
“I’m good here.” Fallon sat in a leather seat near the other wall. “This is a big empty space, a lot like your future, Carlisle. Doc here may not consider you a threat, I do. She said you were… what did you call him?”