Hidden

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Mal eyed Nari in the far doorway as she studied the doorframe. “Yeah. So?”

  “Nothing.” Brigid turned to go paint.

  Mal grasped her arm. “Hey. You can be anybody you want to be, you know?” He’d never had a sister, but this team was turning into a family, so what the hell. “Brigid?”

  “Right,” she scoffed. “No problem.”

  “Yeah.” He released her. “Believe me. You can become anybody you want to be. You want to look like a put-together nosy shrink? I can help you.”

  She bit her lip. “I don’t want to look like a shrink, but I wouldn’t mind looking like a professional.” Her gaze slid to Raider and then back, while pink flushed across her cheeks. “And not an escaped convict.”

  Mal grinned. “You don’t look like an escaped convict.”

  “Huh. Tell him that.” She jerked her head toward Raider and then visibly shook herself out of it. “I’ll take the help, Malcolm. After we paint.” She patted his arm and left a paint mark before heading over to work near Pippa.

  Mal sighed.

  Wolfe glanced at him. “I’m thinking of painting my house next. You in?”

  Mal blinked. He’d moved in with Pippa, and Wolfe had instantly claimed the house next door. “I didn’t even paint it when I was there.”

  “You weren’t there very long,” Wolfe said reasonably. “I’m getting something called slipcovers for the furniture, too. Pippa showed me how to find them on the internet. Maybe I should have a housewarming party.” He reached up and ran a strip of paint above his head. “People have to bring gifts to those, right?”

  “I think so,” Malcolm said. He’d never been to a housewarming party. “What kind of gift would you like?”

  Wolfe thought it over. “I could use a new SIG.”

  Pippa walked their way, her hips swaying beneath the old jeans. “Are you going to just stand there or help?” Her smile made her pretty blue eyes sparkle.

  He wiped a smattering of paint off her chin, enjoying the feeling of her soft skin. “Wolfe is going to have a housewarming party.”

  “That’s a great idea.” She nearly hopped. “You need some plants, Wolfe. And probably wineglasses and a painting or two.”

  So much for the SIG.

  Wolfe nodded, like he knew what she was talking about. “Yeah. That’s what I was thinking.”

  Mal shook his head. “All right. Where should I start painting?”

  Pippa looked up at him, peace on her face. “Next to me. Always.”

  Now that was a plan.

  Read on for an excerpt from

  Rebecca Zanetti’s next Requisition novel,

  FALLEN,

  coming soon!

  The damn man took up all the space in the dilapidated elevator as it descended. All the oxygen as well. Brigid studied the six-foot-two government agent from beneath her lashes, trying once again to figure Raider Tanaka out.

  Jet-black hair, thick and a bit wavy, showcased a hard-looking and symmetrical face. His eyes were somehow even darker than his hair, and they often seemed to look right through her. His lean physique was muscular, and he moved with the grace of a swimmer. A swimmer who could kick your ass if necessary. The guy probably had an exercise regimen he practiced religiously. He seemed like the type.

  He returned the survey, not beneath his lashes. The man had no problem keeping an eye on her.

  That was part of his job, of course.

  “Stop looking at me,” she murmured.

  “You’re looking at me,” he returned easily as the elevator stopped abruptly and jumped twice. The door didn’t open. He frowned. “This thing can’t be safe.”

  No doubt. Brigid pushed her unruly hair away from her face and forced thoughts of small spaces out of her head. Kind of. “Why were we called in on a Saturday?”

  Raider shrugged. “We finished painting the offices last weekend, so I figured we’d have some time off. Guess not.” His tone remained unconcerned, and he appeared relaxed. Yet a tension, a promise that he would leap into action in a nanosecond, always emanated from him. It both fascinated and irritated the heck out of her.

  Brigid bit her lip and stared at the closed elevator door. “Shouldn’t this be opening about now?”

  “Yes,” he said, leaning back against the scarred faux wood wall. On his day off, he wore faded jeans and a dark leather jacket instead of his normal suit. In the casual wear, he somehow appeared even deadlier than usual. “The door will open soon. Probably. Who knows? It’s ancient.”

  Wonderful. Being stuck in a rickety elevator with Raider was the last place on earth she wanted to be. Well, the second to last place. Prison had sucked—royally. “You didn’t have to come with me today, you know. Angus called me in. Not you.”

  Angus Force led the small unit of the Homeland Defense Department that was hidden in the basement of this crappy building.

  Raider didn’t answer.

  Irritation clawed up Brigid’s neck. “I said you’re not needed.”

  He lowered his chin, his gaze more than a little direct. Oddly so. “I’m your handler. Where you go, I go.”

  Handler. The way he said it, or maybe the way she heard it, sent sparkling tingles through her that she so did not need. Not at all. It was crazy, insane actually, to look at Raider as anything other than another government drone put on earth to make her life more difficult.

  Yet there was something about him, a respect or just politeness when he dealt with her that she simply couldn’t figure out. She was a former con—at least he thought she was—and he was an HDD agent. But never once had he been unkind. Not once. She could tell, though. He didn’t appreciate convicts being free, and he really didn’t like being her handler. No doubt it was a huge step down for him. “Why are you here?” she whispered.

  He looked at the closed door, as if contemplating what to do with it. The elevator was so old that there wasn’t even a phone inside. Or an emergency button. “I told you.”

  “No.” The walls were starting to close in on her, and she took a deep breath. “Come on, Raider. I can tell you’re used to action.” Even when relaxed, he was way too alert. Sure, she’d heard he’d gotten into trouble by sleeping with his boss’s wife without knowing who she was, but something told Brigid that Raider could’ve fought being demoted. “Why are you stuck babysitting me?”

  “You’re a threat.” He said the words simply, his gaze meeting hers again. “Your ability with computers, with hacking and coding, make you incredibly dangerous to this country and everything I believe in. Watching you, making sure you don’t create a disaster, is an important job.” He scrubbed a hand through his thick hair. “Keeping you safe is just as important.”

  Her eyebrows lifted of their own accord. “Keeping me safe? I’m not in danger.”

  He gave her that look then. The one she’d seen more than a dozen times in the last two weeks since they’d met. The look that said he thought she was slightly nuts. “You’re one of the best. You’ve been able to hack into systems that are unhackable.”

  “Nothing, no system, is ever unhackable,” she returned without thinking.

  “Exactly. You’re known now. After being arrested and incarcerated, your name is known worldwide. Do you have any idea what a foreign enemy would do to get their hands on you?” he asked, his voice soft.

  Yeah. That was the whole point, actually. “You’re overestimating me.”

  “Not even close, Irish.”

  She blinked. He’d started calling her by that nickname the first day they’d met, and every time she heard the sobriquet in his deep voice, something warmed deep inside her. “My accent isn’t strong enough to warrant the nickname,” she muttered. Her mother had been Irish, her father Bostonian, and her speech pattern held slight, very slight, hints of both. That was all. She grew up on a farm in the USA, for Pete’s sake.

  “I think it does.” Raider moved toward the doors and placed his hand in the middle, digging his fingers between them. Or rather, he tried to do
so.

  Nothing happened.

  Brigid’s breath quickened. That quickly, she was back in a cell. Her lungs hurt. Her vision narrowed from the outside, making her eyes sting. Were they even on the basement level? Or did they have farther to fall? God, she had to get out of there. She sucked in air.

  He turned then, narrowing his focus on her again. “Whoa.” Stepping in, he grasped her chin and lifted her face enough to meet his eyes. “Take a deep breath.”

  She couldn’t breathe.

  “Now, Brigid.” The command in his voice shot through her panicked mind.

  She instinctively heeded it and pulled in air, filling her lungs.

  “Now let it out. Slowly.” He waited until she did so. “Again.”

  She obeyed his order, and her heart rate slowed down. Then she started to notice something other than the suffocatingly small space. His size. His scent of male and musk. His nearness and warmth.

  Her heart kicked back in along with her libido. Heat flushed through her, igniting nerves, softening something deep inside her. His grip remained gentle yet firm on her chin. If he lowered his head, his mouth could be on hers.

  Where the heck had that thought come from? Heat burst into her face, no doubt turning her a very unappealing crimson.

  “It’s okay,” he murmured, his tone deep and reassuring. “The door will open.”

  The door? What door? She coughed. “You don’t like me.” The words blurted out. Was she reminding him or herself?

  Both of his dark eyebrows rose. “That’s not true.” He released her and stepped back.

  “Yes, it is.” She wanted to cross her arms but forced herself to remain still and in control.

  “No. I just haven’t figured you out.” He turned to the door again.

  She frowned at his broad back. “So?”

  “I figure everyone out.” He smacked his palm against the door. “Open, darn it.”

  The door hitched open.

  Humor bubbled through the unwelcome desire in Brigid. “You’re magic.”

  He looked over his shoulder. “You have no idea, Irish.” Then he crossed into the small and dimly lit vestibule of the basement offices.

  Had he just flirted with her? For Pete’s sake. She moved out of the too-small space on wobbly legs. Enough of that silliness. Reaching the wide-open room, she sighed. The fresh paint had brightened the office a bit, but the myriad of desks was still old and scarred, the overhead lights old, yellow, and buzzing.

  Raider looked down at the cracked concrete floor and grimaced.

  “We’re supposed to paint that next,” Brigid said, coming up on his side. Wasn’t that the plan? “And I think there’s art coming, or screens that show outside scenes.” The basement headquarters were a step down from depressing, even with the fresh paint. The big room was eerily silent as well.

  Three doors led to an office and two conference rooms, while one more door, a closet for the shrink, was over to the west.

  A German shepherd padded out of the far office, munching contentedly on something bright red. It coated his mouth and stained the lighter fur around his chin.

  “Roscoe,” Brigid breathed, her entire body finally relaxing. Animals and computer code, she knew. It was people who threw her.

  The dog seemed to grin and bounded toward her, his tail wagging wildly. She ducked to pet him. “What in the world do you have?” This close she could see that the stuff was thick and matted in his fur. She frowned and tried to force open his mouth. “Roscoe?”

  As if on cue, Angus Force stepped out of the second conference room, also known as case room two. “Hey, you two. Thanks for coming in.”

  Brigid looked up. “Roscoe has something.”

  “Damn it.” Angus made it through the desks in record time. “Is it Jack Daniel’s?”

  Brigid smiled. “No. It’s red.” The dog had a drinking problem?

  Angus glared at his dog. “Drop it. Now.” The command in his voice would’ve made Brigid drop anything she was carrying.

  The dog sighed and spit out a gold-plated lipstick.

  Brigid winced. “That looks expensive.”

  The dog licked his lips.

  Angus sighed. “I told everyone not to leave makeup around. He likes the taste.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Brigid countered.

  Angus pierced her with a look. “Well, I meant to. Roscoe, get back to the office. Now.”

  The dog gave her a what-a-butthead type of look and turned to slink back to Angus’s office.

  “You two, come with me.” Angus turned and headed back to the case room, no doubt expecting them to follow.

  Raider motioned her ahead of him. Yeah. Like she’d return to that death trap of an elevator. Though it was preferable to dealing with Angus Force. The former FBI profiler now headed up this division of the HDD, and he seemed almost able to read people’s minds. Was he reading hers? Did he have one clue that she wasn’t who she was supposed to be? How much had he guessed?

  She crossed into the case room to face a whiteboard across from a conference table. Several pictures of men, some older and some quite young, were taped evenly across the expanse. “New case?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Angus gestured for them to sit.

  She was the computer expert in the small unit, so she was involved in every case. Her fingers actually itched to get back to her keyboard. The last case they’d worked on had involved a cult planting bombs at a rally. They’d saved hundreds of people that day. Curiosity took her as she sat down, with Raider sitting next to her.

  Angus moved around to the board. “New case kicked to us by the HDD. They think it’s crap, and I think it has merit. Either that, or somebody is messing with us.”

  Raider stiffened just enough that Brigid could feel his tension. “How so?”

  “While the Irish mob no longer exists in Boston, there are criminals, past associates of the mob that have risen in the ranks and become threats recently,” Angus said, standing big and broad on the other side of the table.

  Brigid settled more comfortably in her seat. She had no problem hacking into criminal affairs.

  “How so?” Raider asked, all business.

  “Instead of working within the usual, or rather former, hierarchy of the mob, these guys are outsourcing work to incredibly skilled computer criminals,” Angus said.

  “Like me,” Brigid said quietly.

  Angus nodded. “Exactly. We have a line on a group using a site on the dark web. We think they’re running drugs for sure, but we don’t know what else.”

  The dark web was nearly impossible to hack. “I can’t find a site without knowing where it is,” Brigid said. “The key to bringing down somebody on the dark web is—”

  “Getting them to meet you in person,” Raider said. “Guess that’s my part of this Op.”

  “Partially,” Angus said, eyeing them both. “There’s more.”

  Warning ticked through Brigid. Why, she didn’t know. But her instincts rose instantly, and she stiffened. “What?”

  “We think this might be one of the key players.” Angus turned and taped one more picture to the board.

  Brigid stopped breathing. She stared at the picture. He had aged. His skin was leathery, his nose broken more than once, and his hair now all gray.

  Raider glanced at her. “Who is that?”

  “My father,” she whispered. The man she hadn’t seen or talked to in nearly eight years. She coughed. “You’re crazy. He’s a farmer. Always has been.”

  Angus winced. “No. He was involved with the mob for years. Formative ones. Then he supposedly got out, but now we think he’s back in.”

  That couldn’t be true. No way. Brigid rapidly shook her head. “You’re wrong.”

  “Prove it,” Angus said mildly. “You and Raider go talk to him and prove I’m wrong. But be prepared to be incorrect about this.”

  Brigid shook her head. “You want me to take an obvious government agent to my father’s farm and what? Just as
k him if he’s involved in cybercrime?” No way. “Believe me. My dad wouldn’t talk to a fed if he was dying.”

  Angus’s smile didn’t provide reassurance. “No. You’re going home to reconcile with your father because you’ve finally found your way in life with the upstanding, calm, and boring man next to you. Who you want to introduce to your father before you marry.”

  “Marry?” Brigid blurted out, her mind spinning wildly. “Are you nuts?” She turned to the straitlaced hottie next to her. “Tell him this won’t work.”

  Raider hadn’t moved. “This is important, Force?”

  “Crucial,” Angus affirmed. “There’s more going on here than drugs. I just know it.”

  Raider turned and studied her with those deep and way too dark eyes. “Well, Irish. Looks like we’re engaged.” His smile sent butterflies winging through her abdomen. “This is going to be interesting. Now that you’re mine, I’ll finally figure you out.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  New York Times and USA Today Bestselling Author REBECCA ZANETTI has worked as an art curator, Senate aide, lawyer, college professor, and a hearing examiner—only to culminate it all in stories about alpha males and the women who claim them. She writes contemporary romances, dark paranormal romances, and romantic suspense novels.

  Growing up amid the glorious backdrops and winter wonderlands of the Pacific Northwest has given Rebecca fantastic scenery and adventures to weave into her stories. She resides in the wild north with her husband, children, and extended family who inspire her every day—or at the very least give her plenty of characters to write about.

  Please visit Rebecca at:

  www.rebeccazanetti.com

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  www.facebook.com/RebeccaZanetti.books

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  www.twitter.com/RebeccaZanetti