Harvard’s hands curled into fists inside his pockets as he visualized the damage one good right hook would do to the man. “Just going from this conversation, I’d say people are already laughing at you.”
Charles’ face turned a strange shade of purple. “I don’t understand what Rachel could possibly see in you. You’re obviously only out to get your hands on her money, and I intend to make her aware of that at the very first opportunity.”
“You do that.” Harvard pushed the button for the elevator. “But you might want to invest in a bulletproof vest first; she carries a gun in her purse, and she’s quite the shot. She’ll shoot your balls off at twenty paces. She’s that good. Even a target that small won’t faze her.”
“Well, I never,” Charles blustered.
The elevator doors opened, and Harvard stepped inside. He turned to face good old Uncle Charles. “And another thing. While I was in the CIA, I learned a thing or two about torture and body disposal. You might want to keep that in mind the next time you spew racist shit in my direction.”
The doors closed before Charles had a chance to reply.
Chapter Six
The first thought Rachel had when she opened her desk drawer and saw the photo sitting in it was that she should have waited at her apartment for Harvard. Not because she needed a man to protect her, but because she would have been too busy dealing with him to get her office ready. But no, she’d just had to mess with him and come in early. Which meant boredom had led her to organizing. And organizing had led her to open the drawer.
She should have come to work with Harvard.
But then, who knew how long that photo would have sat there, waiting for anyone to find it…
Rachel was aware her thoughts were muddled and somewhat inane, but that couldn’t be helped. Her inner voice rambled as her mind struggled to comprehend what she was looking at. Which was stupid in itself, because she’d been expecting this.
As soon as she’d known she was returning to TayFor, she’d been waiting for something to happen. She just hadn’t been as prepared for it as she’d thought she was. But then, how did you prepare for suddenly coming across the photographic evidence of an attack you only remembered in fragments of broken dreams? Was that even possible?
And now that she thought about it, was she supposed to feel shame when she saw the image? Was she supposed to run and hide? It had been ten years since it was taken. She wasn’t the same person anymore. She’d learned a lot since then. Grown up. Become stronger. Now she knew the photo didn’t show her shame. It showed the indignity of her attackers.
The victims didn’t own the shame.
It wasn’t theirs to carry.
Ever.
“Victim,” she whispered, trying the word. Trying to imagine it as describing her. It tasted alien on her tongue.
Stretching a surprisingly steady hand toward the Polaroid, she hesitated to touch it. As though, somehow, confirming that the photo was real would make what happened more concrete too. But then, when the memory of your assault was a blank, a photo of it was the only reality left.
As Rachel’s fingertips touched the edge of the Polaroid, her office suddenly disappeared. She no longer stood beside her ugly desk. Instead, she was back there. On the floor of that hotel room. Naked. Alone. Hurting. And desperately wishing…
A flash of memory slammed into her, ripping her open.
Hands around her throat. A body heavy on top of her. Moving inside of her. The thick, sickening scent of incense. And laughter. So. Much. Laughter.
None of it hers.
As past and present merged, the walls pressed in on her. Was she in her office? Was she back at the hotel? The floor beneath her feet wobbled and roiled until she felt dizzy. The air became thick with the cloying fragrance of incense, making it hard to breathe. Or maybe it was the pressure on her chest that cut her oxygen. The weight crushing her as the body moved over her…
“No,” she moaned.
She had to get out of there, had to escape. But even without the hands holding her down, her legs were too weak to carry her. She needed a plan. She needed to think. But the world wouldn’t stop spinning long enough to allow her to have one single coherent thought. Just one. All she needed was one.
“Rachel?” a voice snapped. “Rachel? You with me?”
She blinked rapidly, the hotel room beginning to fade. Dragging air into her lungs, she forced herself to stay still. Very still. Until she knew she was safe. The light became brighter, and the floor stopped moving beneath her feet. Slowly, her office came back into focus, and the thick, pungent aroma filling her senses dispersed from the air. But her heart felt like it was trying to break out through her rib cage, and her legs were weak.
“Rachel, you okay?” As a deep voice rumbled, she tore her gaze from the photo to focus on the person talking to her.
Harvard. It was Harvard.
His massive frame filled the doorway, dressed from top to toe in black and looking every inch the deadly assassin he’d trained to be. She reached for her water bottle and took a sip, her heart still hammering inside her, making her feel nauseous. But she kept her gaze on the man watching her so intently.
“Rachel,” he said again, “is everything okay?”
As casually as she was able, she slid the drawer closed. “Why wouldn’t it be?” Slowly, she lowered herself to the seat behind her desk.
Okay, that was weird. She hadn’t lost herself like that before. The brief flashes of memory she did have usually turned up in her sleep. Taking a slow breath so that Harvard wouldn’t notice her fighting the urge to hyperventilate, she let it out carefully. Once. Twice. On the third breath, her sense of control returned.
“Is there something you wanted?” she asked, relieved to hear her voice sound as cool and even as usual. She took stock of her body. Her legs had stopped shivering, her heart was beating steadily, and her mind was clear. Everything was back to normal, meaning the moment had passed.
Harvard closed the door behind him and leaned back against it, folding his arms casually as he blocked her only exit. “What just happened?”
“Nothing.” She waved a hand at him. “If you have nothing to discuss, you may leave. I’m rather busy.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, making it clear that he was only dropping the topic of her mini-meltdown because he chose to. “Yeah, I have something to discuss. How about you dodging me this morning? That’s twice you’ve dumped me and run. It won’t happen again.”
Rachel frowned at him, feeling more herself with each passing second. “That’s a bit presumptuous, given that I don’t answer to you.”
“For the duration of this undercover assignment, you do.”
Now that was just irritating. “I said I’d do this job for you; I didn’t say I’d do everything you told me to.”
Harvard wasn’t like the other men at Benson Security. They tended to get loud and over-emotional when she confronted them. Not Harvard. He was just as calm as usual. There was no throbbing vein on his forehead, no clenched jaw, no dark frown. There were only those piercing brown eyes of his, boring straight through her. It was disconcerting, and she wasn’t quite sure how to handle him yet. All she knew was that she never felt threatened by him, and he definitely didn’t feel threatened by her. Which was such a shame.
“A lot of people are depending on you to do your part in this investigation. And to do it professionally. You’re part of a team, whether you like it or not, and we can’t function properly unless we can rely on each other.” He arched an eyebrow at her. “Can I rely on you, Rachel?”
For some reason, those words said in that gentle tone of his felt like more of a reprimand than anything he could have shouted at her. A strange sensation stole over her, and it took her a second to realize she felt shame at disappointing him. It wasn’t a feeling she was used to nor one she enjoyed.
“I’m playing my part in this team,” she objected.
She was in the damn office, wasn’t she? She�
��d stood at his side while being ambushed by her mother’s attempt at telling the world they were a couple. What else did he want from her?
“Are you playing your part? Can you honestly say that? A security operation is about trust. As team leader, I need to know you’re where I tell you to be, doing what I tell you to do. Lives could depend on it.”
She rolled her eyes. “We’re here to find a thief; we aren’t taking on the Taliban.”
“It doesn’t matter what the assignment is, Rachel. It’s about team trust. We don’t know where this job will lead. Hopefully, it’ll be a safe, easy walk in the park for all of us. But if it goes south, if the shit really hits the fan, your team needs to know you have their backs.” He held her eye. “Right now, the only person whose back you’re covering is your own.”
His words shouldn’t have mattered to her, but they did. They felt like a slap. And she couldn’t understand why. “Is this because I wouldn’t take you home with me on Saturday night? Or because I came to the office on my own this morning? Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”
“No. I don’t. This isn’t a game for me. It isn’t something I’m doing reluctantly, putting in the minimum effort. This is my profession, and I take pride in doing it to the best of my ability. I need a functioning team that also behaves professionally at my back. You’re a partner in the business you’re representing. How you behave, what you do as part of this team, reflects on Benson Security and on me. And, your family is relying on you to get the job done for them. So, no. I don’t think I’m overreacting. I think I’m dealing with a woman who’s acting out because she didn’t get her own way.”
She would not let him see the blow his words had been. “I care very much about resolving this for my family and ensuring Benson Security performs as a company at the top of its field should. I resent your comments.”
“Then change your behavior, so I won’t have to make them. Work with your team instead of against us. Treat your undercover role with the same dedication you treat every other aspect of your business life. I’ve seen how you work. You push yourself to attain the highest standard in everything you do and expect us to do the same. Why is this assignment any different?”
Because she didn’t want to be there.
Which meant he was right.
It was a knife to her stomach.
If there’d been any challenge in his demeanor, any anger in his voice, she would have fought him on the issue—even though she knew she was wrong. But he hadn’t given her even a sliver of a reason to keep on arguing. Her only saving grace was that there was no one around to watch her concede. But holy Yves Saint Laurent, it was hard to get the words out of her mouth.
Studying him carefully, watching for any sign of amusement or gloating, she postponed the inevitable. But there was no avoiding it. She had to say the words he needed to hear and hope he didn’t hold them over her forever.
Rachel cleared her throat and said, “I apologize. I will make every effort to perform as part of this team from now on.”
She was going to be sick. Bile actually raced to her mouth. This was hell.
The air in her office felt electrically charged as she waited for Harvard’s reaction. Would he rub her face in her apology? Would he continue to lecture her and explain things endlessly as men were wont to do? Would he laugh at her?
“Thanks,” he said as he pushed away from the door. “You want a coffee? I need one.”
That was it? That was all he had to say?
She shook her head. “No, thank you.”
He nodded and left, closing the door quietly behind him.
Hesitantly, Rachel opened the drawer and took out the photo. Calmer now that she knew she wasn’t alone. That Harvard was there if she needed him. Not that she would, but the knowledge helped.
She stared at the photo as though looking at an image of someone else. It showed a woman being held down by one man while being raped by another. The only face in the photo was her own. And there were tears on her cheeks.
Fury burned white hot at the sight of the tears.
The bastards had made her cry.
And Rachel never cried.
It was tempting to shred the photo and flush it, but she’d done that once before. And she wouldn’t do it again. She wasn’t that scared girl anymore. So, instead, she dropped it into the side pocket of her handbag and zipped it tight. She’d figure out what to do about it later. Because there was no doubt in her mind that she’d have to deal with it eventually. There was no ignoring the photo this time, nor the message scrawled across the bottom.
The one that said, You shouldn’t be here.
As soon as he’d closed the door behind him, Harvard pulled out his phone and stepped into the outer office. He dialed Ryan, who answered immediately. “I need cameras inside Rachel’s office. Today.” He kept his voice low, so Rachel couldn’t overhear.
“What happened?” As usual, when it came to work, Ryan was completely professional. No hint of amusement in his voice at all.
Harvard flicked on the coffee machine that sat on the counter against the far wall. While it did its thing, he turned and leaned back against the counter, facing Rachel’s office. “If I had to guess, I’d say some sort of flashback.”
“Who had a flashback?” Ryan sounded confused.
“Rachel.” He shook his head. It didn’t make any sense. Her history was clear of trauma—unless it was from something that’d happened since she joined Benson Security. The team hadn’t exactly lived nice, safe lives these past few years. “Has she had any counseling? Treatment for PTSD? Any help with processing the stuff that happened in Peru?”
“What stuff? You mean when her dad’s plane was blown up and we got into a gunfight with the cartel?”
“Yeah, that stuff.” He kept his eye on the door to Rachel’s office. It was silent inside.
“We all had counseling. We were all cleared. Are you sure you saw what you did? Rachel doesn’t suffer trauma; she causes it.”
“I know a flashback when I see one.” Hell, he’d had enough himself to recognize them. “Has she ever spaced out at the office? Started sweating, closed down, looked like she might pass out?”
“Not that I know of, and if she had done something like that, the word would spread fast. The general consensus is that nothing affects Rachel.”
“Then it has to have been triggered by coming back here.” Which put a whole different slant on her argument not to be involved in the investigation.
“Harvard, my man, are you sure you aren’t just overreacting because you’ve got the hots for her? Maybe she hasn’t woken up properly yet. Or maybe she was just thinking about something else. There doesn’t have to be a sinister reason for her checking out for a minute.”
“She said the word no.” He closed his eyes tight at the memory. “Never gonna forget how she said it. Like she was pleading. Like she’d given up and it was hopeless.”
“Well, hell.”
That about summed it up. “I’ll get Elle to dig deeper into her background. In the meantime, you get surveillance up and running in her office.”
“I’m happy to do that, but I need to ask—is investigating Rachel’s past the best use of Elle’s time right now? We’re in the middle of an investigation. You sure you want to derail it by making this a priority? It’s only happened one time. Maybe you should try talking to Rachel before you go crazy.”
Harvard barked out a laugh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Have you ever tried talking to Rachel about anything? If she doesn’t want to tell you, it ain’t getting told.”
“Then we need to hope she tells you sooner rather than later, because we’re up to our ears in this investigation, and we can’t stretch our resources too thin.”
He let out a sigh. Ryan was right. “Okay, just install cameras for now. I’ll bring in Elle if it happens again. But I have a bad feeling about this whole thing, and I’m beginning to regret making Rachel come back here.”
�
�She isn’t alone,” Ryan said. “We’ve got her back. She might use us for target practice if she finds out we’re looking out for her, but she’s still one of ours.”
“Yeah. You’re right.”
“Wait,” Ryan said. “Can you say that again? I need to hit record first.”
Harvard hung up and turned to fix his coffee. There was no denying something was going on with Rachel. Something that might affect the job they were on. And Harvard didn’t want his team to be blindsided by whatever she was hiding, which meant he had to talk to her about it.
It would be easier to squeeze blood from a stone.
Chapter Seven
Just before lunch, when Rachel had given up on her PA ever turning up for work, she bounced through the door to her office.
“Should I have knocked?” Elle Roberts, Benson Security’s resident hacker, said. “Do PAs knock when it’s their own boss’s office? I’ve never been a secretary before. Guess I’ll have to make it up as I go. How do I look?” She held her arms out and twirled. “I’m calling this outfit Office Minnie.”
She was dressed in a full red skirt, à la nineteen fifty. It was covered in white polka dots and teamed with a short-sleeved black cardigan that fit her like a glove. She’d buttoned it right up and wore it as a top, with a silver Minnie Mouse brooch pinned to it. There was a black and white polka dot bow in her bright red hair, which, if Rachel wasn’t mistaken, was a wig. To finish the outfit off, Elle wore reading glasses with cat-eye-shaped frames.
“I thought the glasses made me look more secretarial.” Elle was obviously proud of herself.
“I would never in a million years hire a PA who came to work dressed like that,” Rachel said.
“I know.” Elle looked particularly pleased. “It will help our cover. We aren’t supposed to get on. People will take one look at you in your boring black Gucci dress and me in this awesome outfit and instantly know that there’s no way we’re best buds.” She grinned at Harvard, who’d gotten out of the seat he’d been parked in all morning to offer it to Elle. “I rock,” she told him as she plopped into the vacated chair.
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