Trudging at a picked-up pace through the office, she was oblivious to the morning greetings from her co-workers as she replayed her early Saturday morning actions in her head. She had the bottle, filled it in the kitchen, drank from it, refilled it, and then...
Motherfucking hell.
She had set it down on the floor of the corridor when she went to retrieve her phone from her pocket to record what she saw. Yet…
“I never picked it up,” she said, releasing her held breath.
“What’s that, Nicky?”
Ryan stood smugly before her, blocking her way to her cube.
She shook him off. “Nothing. Just running through my to-do list.”
When she tried to round him, he stepped before her. “Want to do lunch today?”
She lifted her mouth into a half-smirk, more freaked out over her mental discovery and the thought of Mr. Fence Post eventually tracking her down than having to deal with Ryan’s inappropriate advances.
“Don’t make me file a complaint with the EEOC,” she quipped.
“Equal Opportunity? For what? We have plenty of female programmers here,” Ryan said.
“Sexual harassment, a hostile work environment,” she said flatly. “Shall I go on?”
Ryan tossed his head back and laughed. His sexy hair fell into his eyes, only making her more irritated by how gorgeous he was… and he knew it. “You’d never do that, Nicky. I take care of you.”
“Not really,” she mumbled. Nicole blew out a gust of air and forced a smile. “I’ve got to get to the project, Ryan.”
He stepped aside and swept his arm down, bowing to let her pass. “My lady…”
Blow it out your ass.
She wanted to laugh—at Ryan, out of nervousness, out of fear—but the emotion clogged in her throat, nearly causing her to stop breathing when she rounded the corner into her cubicle. The first thing she saw was Bob Worthington sitting in her chair, talking on her desk phone. The second things she saw was Mr. Fence Post with his arms crossed in front of him standing with his feet spread.
She mustered up the courage to speak and eked out, “Hey, Bob. What’s up?”
The larger, older man spun around to face her and said into the phone, “I’ll call you back later.” Then, he hung up the receiver, cleared his throat, and said, “Morning, Nicole. Good to see you. There are some folks here who need to speak with you in Doyle’s office.”
Doyle McDonough was the Senior Vice President and Director of Programming, a parallel position on the company’s org chart with Bob Worthington. Doyle’s brother, Randall, was the owner and CEO. He lived up in Puget Sound, so Doyle was about as high up one could get in this office.
Nicole had only ever spoken to Doyle McDonough one other time when the company rented out Candlestick Park for a team-building event. That time, she was awkwardly paired up with him for the three-legged race. Of course, they won, because who the fuck in their right mind would dare outrun the man in charge? He’d complimented her on her form and had given her a $30 gift certificate to Ghirardelli’s. That was the extent of their interaction… until now.
Ryan, who was lingering out of his own apparent curiosity, slid his eyes to meet Nicole’s. He seemed to beg her non-verbally not to give up the ghost that she’d been doing his work.
Nicole licked her lips uneasily. She didn’t want any of them to see the tension pulling across her shoulders like a vice grip.
“I-I-I don’t understand…” she managed to say.
“Ms. Hunt,” Mr. Fence Post said taking a step toward her. He lifted one of his monster-like, meat-hooked sized hands with his palm out to stop her from retreating or even moving into her cube. “We need you to come with us.
Spinning around to face Bob, she knew she must be wearing the most incredulous look on her face. “Bob?”
He chuckled the confident laugh of a man with a hefty 401(k), plenty of savings in the bank for the kids’ college, and a lifetime membership at The Olympic Country Club. He pointed forward to the main corridor leading to the executive offices and fell into step behind her, with one of his large hands placed gently on the middle of her back to guide her.
This was serious.
She resisted the urge to recoil from his touch and focused on putting one foot in front of the other without falling down and making a fool of herself. In no time at all, they stood outside the very board room where Nicole had witnessed whatever it was went down here Saturday morning.
“Here we are,” Bob said, pushing her ahead.
Mr. Fence Post knocked light on the door and announced “Gentlemen, Ms. Hunt is here.”
Nicole choked back the bile in her throat and forced a smile as she walked in. There sat Doyle, expressionless with his hands folded on the table. And, next to him was a man she’d never seen before and knew she’d regret meeting him, no matter what.
He narrowed his eyes at her until they were near slits and said, “Ms. Hunt. It seems we have a lot to talk about. Please join us.”
She heard the conference room door close and lock behind her.
Holy shit. God, help me.
Nick
Weihai, Shandong, China
Well, this is fucked up, mused Nick Taylor as he made his getaway.
Officials were already on the scene at the Port of Weihai in Shendong, China. Which wasn’t a huge problem, considering that Nick was able to easily slip out the back of the warehouse he’d set ablaze. He merged into the safety and anonymity of the crowd now gathered to watch the flames escape from the windows. At six-foot-four, Nick would stand out in this crowd and draw quite a bit of attention to himself. However, the crackling and sizzling inferno raging hard with the hues of white-hot yellows, oranges, and reds had everyone captivated.
Nick pulled the black hoodie up over his head to conceal his American features, blending in with the local onlookers and emergency responders. Firefighters were scrambling to contain the massive blaze, which had quickly spread to a storage area crammed with shipment crates full of cheaply made crap bound for the United States. He didn’t want to think about the poorly paid people who’d made all the stuffed animals, clothing, or other gift store items. This wasn’t the time to think about the little guy, or buy American or whatever. He’d had a job to do and would make sure it was done right.
Nick Taylor always followed orders to a tee. It was more than just his Army training. It was his ethics, his morals, and his own personal code. He knew right from wrong. He could sense the bad guy from a mile away. His gut always guided him and never led him astray.
Certainly not this time either.
He’d tracked his man, discovered what he needed, and performed the task he’d been hired to do.
Clean.
Simple.
Easy.
Okay, not exactly clean. Someone was going to have a serious cleanup and restoration effort to deal with once this warehouse finished searing.
The night sky was lit as if it were a rocket launch as the billowing clouds from the explosion rose over the many warehouse structures in the area. Nick smiled to himself in spite of the melee he’d caused. This was one of his best jobs yet. It was sure to make every international news outlet – what with all the camera crews, not to mention people with their cell phones capturing potentially viral videos of the inferno from every fucking angle. This outcome hadn’t been his intention, but shit happened sometimes. As long as his mission was completed to the company’s satisfaction, these consequences were more or less acceptable. Collateral damage and all that.
The bastard he’d nixed had it coming. Nasty sort of beast with his fingers in all sort of illegal pies, so to speak. Nick had no regrets or qualms about it. He’d taken out real shit heads before and slept just fine.
He heard a woman near him gasp and cry out in Chinese that she hoped no one was injured in this horrible fire. Nick shifted his eyes to the left corner of the warehouse where his mark now lay—charred remains, at best. He knew the only person injured in all of
this was the exact person who was meant to be exterminated. The casualty—one soul he had been hired to eliminate. And, Nick had set the blast as a final candle on the cake to celebrate the end of his current assignment. Maybe it was overkill, but it was exactly what was requested of him.
Whatever The Company wanted, The Company got.
Nick pretended to be horrified, just like the others around him, as the scene outside the warehouse went from concern to mayhem, with workers fleeing, motorists being turned away, and nearby buildings being evacuated. The streets were clogged with vehicles, mostly those getting out of their cars to do the Chinese equivalent of rubber necking – getting pictures and video and calling friends to tell them what was going on. Ironically, a disaster like this wasn’t simply an American fascination. It was worldwide.
Nick couldn’t help but snicker at how such an evil and maniacal prick like his target was unknowingly receiving such a celebratory and media spectacle goodbye. Wonders never ceased to amaze him. Yet, it was best these nice people surrounding him knew nothing of the despicable shit this man was dealing.
“How did it start?” one man near him asked frantically.
Nick could provide him with an answer, but it wasn’t necessary. He’d be long gone—a virtual ghost in the night—once investigators rifled through the remains to discover the cause of this. On the fourth floor of the warehouse, he had rigged a container with one particular industrial chemical. Long before the fire department arrived at the scene, the calcium carbide in the warehouse would eventually react with the water from the building’s internal sprinkler system. The slow-burn rigging cord Nick set up would take forty minutes to reach the first floor where the flammable chemicals were stored. In thirty-one minutes there would be a blast massive enough to ignite other chemicals stored in the warehouse, creating a chain reaction that would forever eliminate any evidence of the one casualty. And, anything else within the building.
The man’s own dentist won’t be able to ID him.
Nick knew that anywhere else in the world, such an explosion would result in hundreds of lives lost and near-apocalyptic damage. That was not possible here in Weihai as it was one of the most disciplined, regimented, emergency preparedness-focused economic zones in China. This building he chose had already been identified as an emergency response no-go zone. That meant first responders were instructed to erect a perimeter and evacuate the area, but couldn’t enter to fight fires or for any other type of emergency response. Which explained why the workers were now focused on crowd control instead of running in to tackle the blaze.
Still, Nick wasn’t hired to stick around and witness that part of it. So, he turned away and strutted across the street and away from the warehouse some ten blocks to where he had parked his black Yamaha FZ-09. Even though he’d stashed his rice rocket far enough away from the structure, he could still smell the pungent smoke filling the air. It was an odor he was familiar with in his line of work, one that his memories would never let him forget. Dressed in all black at this time of night and with so much going on, Nick knew he wouldn’t be noticed by authorities trying to control the flow of people and vehicles.
He sat astride the bike and fitted the black helmet to his head, covering his features for anyone who might notice the dark-haired-blue-eyed American. He snapped the mirrored visor into place over his face and revved the bike to start it up. He loved the sound of the roaring engine coming to power and sparking his excitement to drive and get the hell out of here. The thrust of kicking it into gear, peeling the tires off, and heading onto the road like he owned it. It was a freedom someone like Nick savored in a life of taking care of the needs of others over himself.
Even though he’d done what he’d been paid to do—as he always did—there was never a sense of victory in taking a life. As an Army vet with two tours in Afghanistan under his belt, as well as a few unmentionable secret op assignments that weren’t on his official Army records, he understood the necessity of combat, war, and conflict, but it didn’t mean he liked it. It was a bitch and a half, in fact, but it was what humanity did best, and now, he used those transferable skills to make as much money as he could now so he could one day escape it all for good.
He shook off the thoughts of his near future and settled into the seat of the crotch rocket. He steered the bike out onto the street and took off, making his way by the ruckus one more time before making tracks. As he drew closer, he could see the fire still raging and the lights from the police cars and fire trucks flashing all around, creating convenient shadows, and oddly beautiful dancing colors.
Nick was good at blending in. Residing in the shadows was his thing. So, he nodded once more at his handiwork and leaned into the handlebars as he gunned the bike to get out of there.
As soon as he was far enough away, Nick found a parking deck and drove up to the top to watch the final outcome. There was something about knowing that it was all done. Besides, he’d use the extra time to report his successful completion of the assignment.
He pulled the burner phone from his pocket and punched in the code to bring it to life. His fingers moved over the screen to message the code Y1 to his handler.
The reply that came up on the screen was a simple: 10-4.
Boom! Kaboom!
The immense explosion rocked the sky a moment after he received the text. Flames shot upward in a swirling, billowing manner, making a nuclear explosion of old almost look like child’s play. A large cloud rose from the fire, hanging low overhead and making it seem as if the sun had come out already. Nick actually cringed a bit when the sound reverberation made it all the way to his watching position.
“Damn, that was good,” he said, praising his work.
Nick
Another message came in, interrupting his self-satisfaction.
It read, N1SFO10800.
He pursed his lips and frowned as he deciphered the code. SFO was the code for the San Francisco International Airport. The company wanted him there immediately.
Instead of fucking with figuring out the encoding, he punched a couple of numbers into the burner phone and connected with his handler.
“What’s this all about?” he asked tersely.
“You know the drill. New assignment,” the man on the other end said.
“Goddammit, I literally just finished this one. It’ll take, at least, fifteen hours to get to San Fran from here,” Nick said. “That is, if I’m lucky enough to have no layover anywhere.”
“Your flight is taken care of, but you’ll have to change planes in Los Angeles.”
“Big plane?”
“Jesus, Taylor. I’m not AAA. It’s Air China, a Boeing 777. They don’t get much bigger than that.”
“It better be business or first class,” Nick said. “I’ve worked my ass off too hard these past three days to fold my six-foot body up in what feels like four inches of economy.”
“Fine. Upgrade. We’ll cover it.”
Nick fully intended to take every advantage of the accommodations, complimentary booze, and the fully reclining sleep pod so he could rest up for whatever The Company had in store for him in California. “So?”
The man continued. “You’ll arrive in San Francisco at Gate G93 in the international terminal. Go into the Coach store nearby and say you’re picking up a gift under the name ‘Sterling.’ Further instructions will be within the bag.”
Nick bit his bottom lip at starting all over again with a new target. “Can I have some 411 in the meantime? Just to prepare mentally?” Would he need explosives? His handgun? Other operatives to assist? What?
“The order is still coming in. All I know is the target is a female, 24, brunette, 5’6”, resides in San Francisco.”
Fuck me.
He’d never had to kill a woman before and swallowed hard at the instant knot in his throat over the prospect of it. He couldn’t imagine any female being as diabolical as the ass-wipe still barbecuing in the warehouse. His heart rate picked up, nearly deafening him. “A
woman you say?”
“Don’t get your panties in a wad, Sergeant Major. You’re to perform intel and intel only. No elimination. Repeat. No elimination.”
Remarkably, those words set Nick’s mind at ease. He didn’t dread this assignment as much now.
“For once,” he muttered. “Understood,” he said into the phone. Fine. He’d hop on a plane, sleep for fifteen hours, and then follow around—hopefully—a sexy chick and report to the upper crust of The Company. That was, unless the package awaiting Mr. Sterling at Coach said differently. “10-4,” he added.
Allowing himself a quick moment, Nick thought about the last time he’d held a woman in his arms. A real woman. Classy and charming and not some easy lay he’d picked up out of desperation and stress relief. Like the flight attendant who sucked him off in the elevator at the Four Seasons. Talk about a layover. Hell, he didn’t even know her name, only that her tongue and lips did things to him he should have had to pay to get. That was as far as it went, though. He hadn’t permitted himself to really get involved with anyone in his twenty-eight years. When one volunteers for the armed services, you become married to Lady Liberty with her dad, Uncle Sam, breathing down your throat at every turn. The military demanded everything and eighteen-year-old Nick was more than happy to make a pledge to it. After basic and three years of service, with his sight, agility, test scores, brains, and brawn, he easily moved into the role of Special Forces. The ultimate kick ass warrior among warriors. He was a fucking Green Beret bad-ass—one of the best ever. That was how he got recruited by The Company.
He’d left active duty a little over a year ago to take this job, intrigued by the opportunities, the travel, the lack of uniform and strict structure, but most of all the shit-ton of money. He’d do what he could a few years and then… disappear into the world he wanted where everything was beautiful, peaceful, and serene. Where he didn’t have to be bad-ass or carry a gun or watch over his shoulder constantly or… have to kill a woman.
Two Firefighters Next Door: A Bad Boy MFM Romance Page 17