Rook Security Complete Series

by Camilla Blake

  There was a couch in there. She could relax there, he told himself. And that way he wouldn't have to come find her for their pre-lunch yoga. She’d be right there.

  They kissed for four, insanely hot minutes before he let her go settle in on the other side of his office. Sequence plugged himself into his work, but twice he had to get up from his desk and go to her, kneel beside the couch and kiss her breathless. Maybe having her in there wasn’t such a good idea after all.

  It was just before yoga time when she slid her hand around his shoulders and plunked herself into his lap. God, he loved how freaking affectionate she was. How could he have ever turned away from this? He pressed his cheek into her palm and rolled his eyes at himself. “You turn me into a damn house cat.”

  “No,” she laughed. “You’d never be so domesticated. Maybe you’re more like a feral tabby cat or something.”

  He laughed too. “I was expecting you to say I was like a lion or a jaguar or something.”

  “Fishing for compliments, are we? Oh. Why are you looking at a picture of Sarah?”

  Sequence frowned and realized that she’d turned in his arms to look at his computer screen. His blood suddenly went hot to cold, pumping ice in his veins.

  He cleared his throat and tried to speak calmly. “You know this woman?”

  Naomi turned back to him, her teeth pressing into her lip. “That’s an old picture, but yeah. That’s Sarah. She’s Bastone’s niece and lives at his house sometimes. But she couldn’t possibly be in on this whole stalking-me thing. She wouldn’t hurt a fly, I swear. I think she’s had a hard life. With some people you can just tell.”

  “You’ve seen her recently?”

  Naomi sucked her lip into her mouth and did some mental math. “Yeah, I mean, even the last time I was there, she was peeking out at me from her room right when I went through the X-ray machine. She didn’t say hi that time, but I waved.”

  Sequence tried to keep his hands from clamping down on her even though his blood was battery acid and the rage was rising within him. Rage for Bastone.

  Because the woman who Naomi had just identified was not named Sarah and she was certainly not Bastone’s niece. The woman in that photograph was Rachel Harris. The third woman. Blue Eyes’s lost love. The disappearing woman.

  She’d been missing for damn near three years. And apparently Bastone knew exactly where she was. Apparently he was holding her in his own house.

  He pulled up Rook’s number on his phone and didn’t let Naomi slide down off his lap.

  “What’s up,” Rook answered immediately.

  “Get Agent Randall here. ASAP.”

  “What? Why?”

  “He’s going to want to talk with Naomi. Trust me. We just got him everything he needs to put Bastone away.”

  When the conversation ended, Naomi was blinking at Sequence with wide eyes, as if she was completely perplexed as to what she’d just done that was so special.

  Sequence dropped his forehead to hers. Of course Naomi had had the answer the whole time. She always had the answer. She was perfect. She was everything. How many times would Sequence have to learn this lesson? All he had to do was turn to Naomi, lean in, and take what she was offering him.

  ***

  Naomi was very, very glad that Sequence had talked her into wearing flats. She loved her heels, so much, but this had, indeed, been a very long day.

  It felt strange to not be in the bunker. She’d spent so much time there that sitting across the river in Tribeca, in a ridiculously air-conditioned, windowless room, she couldn’t help but feel that she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  The doorknob turned and Naomi internally groaned. It was going to be yet another agent who was going to grill her on every tiny aspect of her story. Every moment of her interactions with Bastone and Sarah had had to be painfully and exhaustively relived. Naomi knew now, that Sarah was, in fact, Rachel. And she hadn’t been able to shake the guilt. If she’d thought to mention Sarah to Sequence four months ago, maybe the woman would be four months free.

  Naomi just prayed that nothing had happened to the woman in the time since she’d last seen her.

  The door swung open and Naomi let out an exaggeratedly relieved groan. It wasn’t another FBI agent come to grill her. It was her favorite person on the planet. Looking somber and relieved and irritated all at once. And he held a deli sandwich in one hand and an iced tea in the other.

  “Bless you, sir,” Naomi said in a terrible British accent. She held up her hands for the food in the universal sign for gimmegimme.

  Sequence went from tight and concerned to letting the corners of his mouth twitch with humor. “As soon as you eat, we can go.”

  “I can eat and walk,” Naomi said, rising from her chair and taking a humongous bite of her sandwich as she did so. “I wanna get back to the bunker, this place gives me the creeps.”

  Sequence frowned, as if he didn’t want her to eat and walk at the same time, but he didn’t argue with her, probably because he wanted to get her back to the bunker just as badly as she wanted to.

  She’d spent the day singing like a canary to the FBI, telling them everything she’d ever known about Rachel Harris. And Sequence happened to know that it had been enough for them to orchestrate a raid on Bastone’s house. In fact, it was most likely happening as they spoke. So. Yeah. He wanted her safe and behind the locked doors of the bunker ASAP.

  With any luck, Bastone would be tossed into police custody and Naomi would be safe from him for the foreseeable future.

  But never completely safe, Naomi knew. She’d made a powerful enemy today. There would be no way to keep it hidden from Bastone that she’d been the one to inform the FBI about Rachel. Even if he was sent to prison, there was every chance that he’d be able to employ someone to hurt her. Kill her.

  Personal security was going to be a way of life for her now. And for her baby. Her stomach clamped down on the sandwich she’d just devoured and she tried not to think about what she’d just done. She’d had to do it. A woman’s life was on the line. Naomi would never have forgiven herself if she’d ignored Rachel Harris’s fate just to keep herself safer.

  She had her head down as she felt Atlas and Geo flank her on either side. Sequence stepped in front of her and she knew, without having to look, that Cedric was behind her.

  They made it through the lobby of the FBI building and, finally, out into the setting sunlight. It was dusk in Manhattan when Naomi slid into the idling SUV, Rook in the passenger seat, speaking briskly into the phone.

  The team, sensing perhaps that Naomi was exhausted, barely spoke on their way back to the bunker. Or maybe because they knew that Bastone was being raided that very moment. Even Atlas was silent.

  They were just swinging through their neck of Red Hook when Rook’s phone rang again.

  “Rook. Yes. That’s great. Jesus. You’ve got to be kidding me.” His eyes went to Naomi’s in the rearview mirror. She had a front row seat to when his face hardened, his eyes narrowed, and he reared back to check to make sure they weren’t being followed. “We’ve got her. We’re not three minutes from the bunker. We get her in there and she’s fine. Yes. I will.”

  He hung up and Naomi could feel the tension rising off of Sequence like heat off a grill.

  “They’ve got Rachel,” Rook told the bone-silent car. “She’s all right, physically at least.”

  He paused, his eyes sweeping their surroundings.

  “And Bastone?” Atlas asked, one of his legs bouncing, jostling Naomi where she sat.

  “Escaped,” Rook answered brusquely, clearing his throat. “There was a firefight and he got out. Manhunt happening right now. They think he took a bullet, so he’s most likely injured.”

  When had that happened? Thirty minutes ago? An hour? They’d sat in traffic on the bridge. How long would it take for Bastone to make it from Queens to Brooklyn? Did he have a car? Would he waste time coming for her? Or would he go into hiding?

  She c
ould see the bunker far down at the end of the block. The blocks were long and sparsely populated here in the warehouse district of Red Hook. Though there were newly-built condos back the way they’d just come, development had yet to make it out toward the bunker. Old factories and warehouses with broken windows like missing teeth grinned down at their SUV from either side.

  One more minute and she’d be safe inside the gate of the bunker. Sequence, seeming to sense the same thing, hit the gas.

  He crossed fast into an abandoned intersection. None of them saw the car that smashed headlong into the back of the SUV, t-boning it hard.

  The crash dazed Naomi, loud and ringing in her ears. Dimly, she was aware of action and yelling around her. But her arms were clamped around her belly. Her vision swam and she realized that she must have hit her head.

  Sequence, she needed Sequence. She looked up to the front seat of the car only to find it empty.

  Three quick, deafening bangs had Naomi screaming and covering her ears. She had to find Sequence. She popped up and twirled, looking for him through the car windows but strong hands clamped the crown of her head and forced her down.

  Naomi was pressed hard to the floor of the SUV, curled on her side around the baby. Geo laid down on top of her. “Stay still, Naomi. Don’t fight me on this.”

  “Sequence,” she said frantically, trying to scramble up.

  “Stay down!”

  There were more bangs. And then more. She wasn’t so dazed that she didn’t know what gunshots sounded like. The noises had Naomi trembling, shaking, squeezing her eyes closed and praying.

  ***

  Sequence didn’t give himself more than three seconds to recover from the car crash. He had a strange clarity about the situation. He knew exactly what was happening. Actually, the moment that Rook had said that there was a manhunt for Bastone, Sequence had been ready. Bastone was coming for Naomi. To kill her or take her, it didn’t matter.

  Because Sequence would never let it happen.

  He’d stood outside Naomi’s door a month ago, praying for a second chance with her. And he’d known then that he would protect her with the last breath in his body. And that was before he’d known about their baby. Before he’d had a family to protect.

  It was with that thought in his head that had him slamming out of the SUV and rounding the hood, his gun drawn.

  Sure enough, there was Bastone, stumbling out of the driver’s seat, looking a hell of a lot worse for the wear.

  There was dried blood on his face and fresh blood trickling from his nose. He looked dazed and insane and yup. There was a gun in his hand.

  Seeing Sequence’s movement, Bastone swung the shiny gun in his direction and fired off three quick rounds.

  Sequence rolled. He had to get away from the car. Their SUV was built like a tank, but no way did he want random gunfire anywhere near Naomi’s direction.

  Sequence sprinted hard toward an old, burned out junker parked up the curb and fell behind it, hoping beyond hope that he’d drawn Bastone’s attention.

  Sequence heard yelling, his team communicating with one another. He poked his head around the edge of the junker quickly and saw Bastone hobbling toward the SUV, gun drawn.

  Sequence aimed and fired, a direct hit. Bastone howled and went down hard, clutching his leg.

  Sequence was aware of movement from the SUV, but he didn’t take his eyes off of Bastone.

  Bastone swung his gun around and fired off more rounds in Sequence’s direction. Then, when the clip was empty, he threw the gun away and pulled another from under his shirt. He swung the new gun back toward the SUV, back toward Naomi.

  Sequence couldn’t have that.

  He heard the SUV grinding into gear and he knew that one of his team was attempting to drive away. Good. Get her out of here.

  But Bastone seemed to realize the same thing. He rose up on his knees and aimed the gun.

  Bang. Sequence hit him again, this time with a gut shot. Bastone made a strangled, gurgling sound and jerked back with a shot in the shoulder. Sequence knew, without even having to look, that the second shot had come from Rook. The SUV jerked forward, lurching out of the intersection. The movement made Bastone desperate. He swiveled the gun toward the SUV and Sequence shot again.

  This time, Bastone had had enough. He pointed the gun at Sequence and squeezed off three rounds. Sequence felt the junker shake against him with the impact of the bullets. Something kicked hard into his shoulder and he knew he’d taken a bullet.

  He didn’t care. If anything, the blunt shock of it seemed to immunize him against the panic of the moment. Time slowed and went very, very clear. He was watching the slow motion, high-def reel of this moment. It was barely happening to him. Sequence twisted upward. The SUV was speeding fast down the road, tearing Naomi away from the scene, toward the bunker, toward safety.

  Sequence’s eyes narrowed on Bastone, lying on his side now, gasping for breath. But still, the man’s gun was lifted, trembling, pointing toward the SUV, toward Naomi, toward Sequence’s family.

  Sequence lifted his gun once more. And fired.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  One Year Later

  “We’re gonna be late if you keep doing that,” Sequence informed Naomi as she wiggled hard to squeeze into a red tube of a dress. Because if she kept working her hips like that he was going to tear that dress off of her, make love to her, and she was going to have to start all over again.

  “I’m fitting into this dress if I have to die trying,” she grunted, crowing in victory when she got the zipper all the way to the top. “Take that, baby weight.”

  Sequence smiled to himself. He’d actually really liked the baby weight. But he’d take Naomi any which way he could have her. And as it was, he was having a very difficult time keeping his tongue rolled into his mouth.

  His wife was utterly gorgeous, smiling to beat the band, and best of all, they had a babysitter in the next room.

  “I can’t believe that the first time I talk you into getting a babysitter, we waste it on a stupid wedding.”

  “This is not a stupid wedding,” she corrected him. “Rachel and Blue Eyes got their happy ending, okay? It would be bad karma to ignore that.”

  Yeah. They had. Rachel Harris had been rescued in that FBI raid. The same day that Frank “the Cockroach” Bastone had bled out on a Brooklyn street. He’d survived the ten minutes it took for the ambulances to arrive, but he’d lost consciousness and never regained it, dying on the way to the hospital.

  Did Sequence regret killing the man who’d tried to kill his wife? Not intellectually. Emotionally, he was definitely still processing having killed a man.

  Would he do it again in a heartbeat? Absolutely.

  Over the past year, Sequence had spent a hell of a lot of time with Dr. Waters. And he was grateful for every minute. Because every minute he spent in therapy was a minute where he learned to open himself up to his wife, his family, to life.

  Sequence was determined to see that the closed-off person he’d been was gone. He’d shed that version of himself layer by layer. There were still a hell of a lot of layers to shed, but Naomi didn’t mind. She’d told him so on their wedding day. She was down for the ride. As long as he was riding with her.

  They’d gotten married in a civil ceremony at the county clerk in Manhattan. Atlas and Naomi’s mother had been the witnesses, crying and clutching one another. Naomi had been hugely pregnant and had popped not a week later.

  Sequence leaned toward their bedroom mirror and gave himself one last once over. “Ready?”

  “Jeez,” Naomi groaned, dragging her hands down her face in an imitation of Munch’s The Scream. “I could watch you watch yourself in the mirror forever.”

  “What?” Sequence frowned at her through the reflection. “What are you talking about?”

  “You. Using the backs of your fingers to shape your beard. Running your tongue around your white teeth. Giving yourself those wolf eyes. It’s sexy as hell.”
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  She gave an exaggerated shiver and pretended to swoon.

  Sequence sucked his teeth and restrained his smile. “Show me how you do it, then.”

  He stepped aside and let her step up to the bedroom mirror. Naomi took his place and drew her fingers to a point in front of her face. She put on a hoity toity expression. “Okay, I have to get into character. Acting.”

  “The character is you,” he pointed out, crossing his ankles and side-eyeing her as he leaned against their bedroom wall. Sometimes it mystified him how he’d wound up with the feels for someone so dang goofy.

  She ignored him and eyed herself in the mirror. Getting into the game, she squinted her eyes and cocked her head to one side. Fluffing her hair with her fingers, she drew in her cheeks and leaned forward to pucker her lips. Naomi trailed a soft finger under her eye makeup and then pinched color into her cheeks. By the time she was kissing her lips into a pout, he’d already moved behind her.

  Sequence drew a line up the side of her neck with his nose and spoke softly into her ear. “You’re right. It’s sexy.”

  Sequence pressed a kiss to the new tattoo on Naomi’s shoulder. It was a small, perfect heart. It was in the same place where Sequence had been shot a year ago. The bullet had lodged in his shoulder blade. His bad shoulder. A fortunate side effect was that the physical therapy for the shoulder had helped heal his old injury as well. Every day, Sequence felt himself healing from his past, his father shrinking into the distance behind him.

  It had helped that he’d finally come clean to Atlas about their father. It was the first time he’d ever seen his brother struck completely dumb. They hadn’t talked about it much. But Sequence knew that Atlas didn’t blame him for what he’d done, and that was enough for now.

  Deeming themselves ready to go, they came out of the bedroom to see Geo flinging their baby into the air as hard as she could.

  “Geo!” Sequence barked, wildly protective of his kid.