I let out a long, submissive sigh.
Because after hearing him put it that way, I’d never do anything to cause him distress.
“Okay, fine,” I mutter as I pick up my fork and stab a noodle. “But what exactly does this ‘extra protection’ look like?”
“We’re going to have two men escort you to and from work each day,” Kynan answers for him. Of course, we’ll tweak our plan over the next twenty-four hours, and I suspect Bebe and our new hire, Dozer, will be involved as well. “Same at work… two men outside your lab at all times.”
“But my building is secure,” I say, feeling like I’m causing an awful lot of trouble and expense. “Anyone who goes inside has to have top-secret clearance and credentials to get in.”
“Nothing is foolproof,” Kynan replies, and I shoot a glance at Cruce. He’d finished eating, and he’s just silently watching the exchange. I wonder why he’s even here since he hasn’t said much. “People can be bought off. Money is a powerful influencer. It wouldn’t take much for someone to get into that building with the right type of planning.”
I incline my head in understanding. “Okay… that makes sense. And here at my home?”
“At night, two men will patrol outside,” Kynan replies before nodding his head at Cruce. “And he’ll always be with you—inside and out—when you aren’t at work.”
“What?” I exclaim, bolting upright in my chair, my fork clattering to my plate. “No. Absolutely not. This is my home—”
“And Cruce will be staying here with you,” Uncle Jonathan decries in a deep voice that is not to be trifled with. “In this world, he’s the person I’d trust the most with your life, Barrett. I’m not going to be swayed on it.”
My eyes cut to Cruce, and he stares right back. Not in defiance, but definitely not in understanding either. I can tell by his expression he’s already accepted the duty bestowed on him by my uncle.
I push up from my chair, sullen and sounding slightly bratty. “I’ll have to go change the sheets in the guest room.”
“Sit,” my uncle orders, and my ass hits the cushion of my kitchen chair. He gives me an understanding smile. “I know this is disruptive to you, Barrett, and how involved in your work you are. But your safety is paramount to any damn formula that will create fusion energy.”
“I understand,” I clip out, trying to be respectful to him as my uncle and my president. “But I don’t have to like it.”
Sighing, Uncle Jon reclines in his chair. “No, I don’t suppose you do.”
Silence ensues. Longingly, Uncle Jon stares at his empty plate while Kynan sips at his ice water. Cruce continues to stare, but I find it hard to meet his eyes.
“Don’t suppose you’d pack me some leftovers to take back with me?” my uncle asks hopefully.
I can’t help but snort, knowing even during the tense discussions we’ve had tonight, his priorities are my tuna noodle casserole. For a moment, I forget about my worries, pleased I could make him happy for a bit.
It’s not until I’ve got Uncle Jon loaded up with the leftover casserole and he steps out onto my porch with Kynan, leaving Cruce behind, that it becomes real to me. I now have a roommate whether I want one or not.
And to be clear… I do not. He’s way too intense and distracting.
Personally, I think everyone is overreacting. My work is theoretical, and it isn’t worth much until it can be tested. Which means I’m not all that valuable.
“Stay safe, Barrett,” Uncle Jon whispers as he hugs me, plastic Tupperware dish gripped hard in his other hand. “I’ll check in on you soon.”
“I love you,” I say, because I do, even though I’m not all that happy with him.
“Love you, too, kiddo,” he says.
I don’t wait for them to disappear into the motorcade. Instead, I shut the door softly, locking it behind me.
Turning to my guest, I nod up the stairs. “Come on. I’ll show you the guest room.”
Cruce is silent as he follows me. At the top, we turn right, the opposite way from my bedroom. The small guest room is sparsely furnished since I’m not big on guests to begin with. Pointing at the bed, I say, “I really don’t have to change the sheets. I’ve only got the one set, and no one has slept on them.”
“It’s fine,” he replies casually.
“Bathroom’s right out in the hall, and there are clean towels in the closet in there,” I add.
“Thank you,” he replies. Those blue eyes pierce through me, causing my eyes to drop. “Think I could borrow some of your shower stuff tonight?”
My head snaps up as images of him in my shower flash before me. Beneath that suit, there are hidden layers of muscle that would look nice in my shower.
Wait! What? Where in the world had that thought come from? I haven’t looked at a man like that in well… shit, I can’t remember the last time. And maybe it’s not those piercing blue eyes that have me disconcerted. Perhaps it’s the entire package.
Cruce Britton is tall, strong, and has the face of an angel. Plus, he’d saved my uncle’s life in an extremely dramatic fashion, making him the nation’s hero at the time. And now he’s in my house, wanting to use my shower.
“My stuff should be here tomorrow,” he provides, and I blink stupidly. I’m still trying to figure out why his muscles fascinate me. He dips his head to lock eyes with mine. “When I came to Washington, I didn’t know I’d be staying so I didn’t pack anything. But two of my teammates, Bebe and Dozer, are driving up tomorrow with my stuff.”
“It’ll take two teammates to bring your stuff?” I ask. “How long are you planning to stay?”
Laughing, Cruce tips his head back. “Just a suitcase for me, but they’re coming to help us do some strategy planning. In addition to protecting you, we’re going to try to find out who wants you before they make a move.”
“Oh,” I murmur, retreating toward the door. “I’m just going to go get some toiletries you can borrow to get you through the night. I’ll be right back.”
I whip around, needing to put some distance between us. He’s too damn magnetic, especially since I’ve let my mind wander places it shouldn’t have.
And hey… what do you know… I just went a whole three minutes without thinking about fusion reactions.
CHAPTER 4
Cruce
Dozer certainly made himself right at home. His suit jacket is off and shirt sleeves rolled up as he stands at Barrett’s stove. He’s making chicken marsala while sporting one of her aprons. It says “Let’s Get Chemical” on the front.
Kynan and Bebe sit at Barrett’s kitchen table. Bebe types furiously on her laptop as I lean against the wall, flipping a kitchen knife through my fingers. It helps me think.
Dozer and Bebe had arrived around noon and Barrett opened her house to us so we could strategize the best way to keep her safe. She went on to work, escorted by two Jameson members.
Kynan called in a total of eight people—six from Vegas and two from the new Pittsburgh office, not including me. Between the eight, she would have two men with her at work and two men on the outside when she’s home. I would be inside her home with her at night and protect her anywhere else outside of work hours. It’s going to be awfully expensive for Jonathan Alexander, but he’s sparing nothing to protect Barrett.
Past that… none of us really know what to do because of the lack of information we are dealing with. At this point, we’re not even sure there’s a credible threat.
It’s a point I bring up again as we hash things out. “A single mention of her name by two low-level arms dealers in Oman. It doesn’t make sense.”
“I did some reading on fusion energy,” Dozer says as he sautés chicken, seeming strangely in his element at the stove. The man has layers upon layers. “Nothing I’ve been able to find indicates Barrett’s research would apply to weapons. So couldn’t this just be a mistake?”
Sighing, Kynan leans back in his chair, his gaze going to the ceiling as he ponders aloud. “Typica
lly, chatter is evaluated by intelligence analysts by quality and volume. We have neither here besides a single mention of her name by people who seemingly have no ties to energy terrorism.”
“So why was she even flagged?” Bebe asks without taking her eyes from her screen.
“All members of the president’s family are on a watch list,” I say. “The minute one of their names is mentioned, it’s pushed up the chain for evaluation.”
“So pick up the two arms dealers and talk to them,” Dozer suggests, turning from the stove. “It’s your only lead.”
When Kynan and I exchange a glance, Dozer picks up on it.
“What?” he asks curiously. “Is ‘talk’ the wrong word in this business? Should I have said interrogate or torture?”
Kynan shakes his head. “Those men are our only lead, but it’s not as easy as you think to do what you’re suggesting. First, we’d have to locate them, but men like that move around. Chances are they’d be in a more dangerous location than Oman. In addition to the intricacies of nabbing these guys, we’d have to find a secure location to take them to for questioning.”
“Bottom line,” I say, summarizing the main problem. “It would take weeks to plan this.”
“Longer than what Barrett might have,” Dozer murmurs before swiveling back to the stove.
“But we will plan it,” Kynan declares as he pushes from his chair. He moves to the fridge and opens it, pulling out a bottle of water. “We don’t know when or if a move will be made, so, until then, we’ll arrange to go after the arms dealers. I’ve got Rachel putting together a team back in Vegas. Dozer… I’m going to send you there to help plan.”
“Got it,” he replies, pouring wine into the pan to deglaze it. I have to admit it smells damn good.
Bebe glances up from her laptop. “Well, the new security system for this house is online and working. The cameras are set to auto focus in on the faces of anyone who gets near the exterior, then run them through facial recognition software. I’ve programmed it to exclude the Jameson faces to cut down on redundancy.”
A long, shrill beep goes off on Bebe’s computer. She checks it, a slow smile coming to her face. “Barrett’s home.”
We hear the scrape of her key in the deadbolt lock, the front door opening, then soft steps walking toward the kitchen.
Barrett turns the corner, scanning the kitchen with uncertainty. I’d asked her to come home early so we could talk with her, and she wasn’t happy about it.
I push off the wall, set the knife on the counter, and make introductions to Dozer and Bebe. Barrett nods at them before putting her briefcase and purse down on the counter.
“Hope you’re hungry.” Dozer beams as he moves to pour Barrett a glass of wine he’d opened earlier so it could breathe. He hands it to her, and she accepts it quietly.
Then he takes her by the elbow and escorts her to the kitchen table, gallantly pulling a seat out for her. “You just relax, and I’ll dish you up the best chicken marsala you’ve ever tasted in your life.”
“Oh, I’m not hungry,” she replies, then pushes the glass of wine away. “And I’ve got a lot more work to do tonight, so—”
“You need to eat something,” I say, my voice a little hard and commanding. She looks like she’s ready to fall over. Face pale with dark circles under her eyes. Her hair is a mess. Most has fallen out of the band tying it back, and her bangs are shoved away from her forehead with a crookedly placed barrette. Oddly, despite how tired she looks, she’s also incredibly beautiful in a natural, just-rolled-out-of-bed kind of way.
But she’s clearly exhausted, and she no doubt needs nourishment. She only got about four hours of sleep last night, which I know because I patrolled the inside of her house several times in between light naps. She’d spent most of the night in her office, which is actually the living room of her small townhome.
Dozer is on the ball, sliding a plate of chicken marsala on the table before her. “Eat, pretty doctor lady,” he says… admittedly with a great deal of charm that seems to work as she gives a wan smile and picks up her utensils.
Dozer plates up food for everyone else, pouring wine for himself, Bebe, and Kynan. I decline since I’m on duty. Everyone eats at the table except me. I prefer to take my dinner at the counter so I can observe Barrett. She methodically eats in small bites while quietly listening.
“If it will take a while to find these dealers,” Dozer says as he cuts into his chicken, “we should focus our attentions on those most likely to benefit from Barrett’s research. I’d imagine foreign governments and private corporations, but my research last night seems to indicate the country making the most progress on this technology is China. Perhaps they want the final leg up.”
“Or perhaps the ones that don’t have any progress at all,” Bebe suggests.
Dozer then launches into a long-winded dissertation on the intricacies of testing this type of theoretical research. It involves a lot of long words, but it essentially helps to focus in on the biggest suspect on the list of potentials.
Clearly, Barrett is impressed by Dozer’s knowledge, which prompts her to add in her own theories. Soon, they’re off and running on tangents, speaking a dialect the rest of us don’t understand. Still, Bebe furiously types on her laptop, taking notes while ignoring her dinner.
“Is there any other help we can get from the government?” Bebe asks. “Any other agencies I can reach out to so I can cross reference this stuff?”
Kynan shakes his head. “It’s not been escalated as a high priority at this point. The president said there are no other resources available unless we can find something to push it forward.”
“So until then…” Kynan states with frustration. “We wait.”
“Barrett…” I say to get her attention. She shifts to face me, eyebrows raised. “Where are all the places you go besides home and work? You could have been watched while running errands, and Bebe has a certain knack for, let’s just say, hacking video feeds.”
Barrett seems to ponder my question before shrugging. “Nowhere really.”
I smile, understanding the need for patience. “Where do you grocery shop?”
“Online,” she replies as if that’s the only place to buy food. “And I have it delivered.”
“Clothing?”
“Online,” she replies.
“Pharmacy?”
“Online.”
“You’re quite the hermit,” Bebe says appreciatively, as she’s just the same. Always with her nose buried in her computer when she’s not spending time at home with her mother and son. Despite her new freedom from prison, Bebe doesn’t go anywhere. I know it’s because she’s always looking over her shoulder for the people who had forced her to steal the government codes.
“I work, and I sleep,” Barrett says stiffly. “But I find my life fulfilling even if others don’t understand it.”
“Oh, girl,” Bebe says, holding out her fist to Barrett, who awkwardly bumps it. “I feel you.”
Barrett seems to be a bit revived after eating. Pushing her chair back, she stands. A fond smile softens her face when she looks down at Dozer. Their matching intellects must have helped to solidify the bond the chicken marsala started. “Thank you for dinner and the genius ideas you threw out.”
She nods at Bebe and Kynan before turning to me. “I’m going to get some work done unless you still need me?”
“Thank you for letting us use your house today,” Kynan says as he stands as well. “We’ll be getting out of here soon.”
“Stay as long as you like,” she replies politely, although it’s obvious she doesn’t like having her privacy disrupted.
“Also,” he says a bit hesitantly, “don’t forget you have that State dinner at the White House in two days. I just wanted you to know you’ll have extra protection to and from, but Jameson isn’t allowed in—”
Barrett waves him off. “Oh, I’m not going to that. Hate those things, and I’ve got way too much—”
“You’re going,” I state. Snapping her head my way, she narrows her eyes. I ignore her expression. “We need you to go. The fact you don’t go anywhere and have a fairly predictable routine is going to make it difficult to identify your potential kidnappers. If your routine is disrupted a bit, we might get more chatter about you.”
“Fine,” she grits out, and there’s no hiding her frustration. “But I think this is stupid. My theories aren’t worth much. Despite what you think, this is all wasted time in my opinion.”
God, I really hope she’s right about that.
Barrett pivots, then marches out of the kitchen. I don’t think twice as I follow her down the hall, through the foyer, and into the living room she’d converted into a sparse office. Apparently, she doesn’t need much but her laptop and a large whiteboard, which she draws formulas on.
“You okay?” I ask as I stop at the entrance, leaning against the wall.
She plops down at her desk with a huff, pushing against bangs that aren’t there as they’re already clipped out of the way. A huge sigh escapes her, and she apologetically says, “Look… I don’t mean to be ungrateful. I just don’t operate well when my routine is messed up. Everything is a little stressful, and it’s impacting my focus. I had a bad day at work because I couldn’t concentrate, and I’m just not sure all this extra protection is needed.”
“I get it,” I say as I hesitantly step into the room. For some reason, it feels wrong to invade the sanctity of where her magic happens. “Your work is important to you.”
“Not just important,” she corrects. “It’s my life.”
“Like I said… I get it. Been there, done that. No judgment from me. But you have to understand that your life could be in danger. Your uncle is doing the right thing by making these efforts to protect you. Hopefully, it will turn out to be nothing. However, if it turns out to be something, I’ve got your back. Nothing will happen to you on my watch, I promise.”
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