Owen looked at Liam, off to his left. “As soon as our men were taken, all bets were on the table, anyway. By dragging Sam and her proposal into this, maybe they got exactly what they wanted.”
“They practically guaranteed the event.” Sam’s fingertips brushed across her lips as everything began to come together. “President Rydell now supports my proposal when he didn’t before.”
“Everyone knows President Rydell’s stubborn,” Asher said. “If someone tells him not to do something, he usually does the opposite.”
“POTUS also ordered more security for the event. A bunch of last-minute additions, and whoever planned this shit storm could now use that as a way to get his guys inside,” Owen pointed out.
Jessica slipped her glasses back on and began typing. “I’ll pull up a list of everyone recently added for security and see what I can find.”
“Why use the event to get everyone together, though?” Sam asked. “Why not just take everyone, like they did with your SEALs and the CIA officer?”
Owen wrapped a hand over her shoulder. “Because everyone else is heavily guarded all of the time. You can’t just grab the former president.”
“And I’m assuming Shaw, Robins, and Canton weren’t on the guest list for the event on Wednesday, right?” Liam asked.
“Whose idea was it to host this event?” Jessica asked.
“Mine. At the NATO Summit in July, my father and I got to talking to the CEO at the Sven Group, Viktor Gromov, and we realized not all Russians are opposed to Ukraine being in NATO, and so, the idea to host bilateral talks about border peace came into being. It’s been on the calendar for eight weeks now.”
“The timing doesn’t work, then.” Jessica glanced Owen’s way. “While you were gone, the NSA let us know they’d narrowed down the hack to a two-week window. Looks like JSOC was hit, but it was only five or six weeks ago.”
“So, whoever has our guys didn’t help orchestrate the event, but that doesn’t mean they’re not using it to get at our people,” Owen said.
“The attendee list is online.” Jessica whipped her long blonde braid to her back and shook her head. “And it looks like all the high-ups involved in the Teteruk op will be there.”
“Then this has to be it. Someone wants justice for what happened.” Knox pinched the skin on his throat.
“Samantha’s dad worked for General Douglas, and he worked for President Jones. It wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to pull together a list of who they deem guilty,” Owen said.
“And they could easily Google the name of the CIA director at the time,” Knox added.
Owen edged closer to his team, but Sam remained stuck in place, close to the door. She wouldn’t bolt and run like a coward—but she wanted to wake up tomorrow and discover this was some wicked, alcohol-induced dream.
The entire room was in jeans and tees, but she could see military carved into every inch of them, from the way they moved, to how they processed information—anyone could observe the wheels of their minds working at hyperspeed. There was something about them that gave Sam a sense of safety, a sense of hope that somehow everything would be okay and her nightmare would end.
Brad had worn the same aura. He’d been a decade older than her, and she’d thought maybe the age difference had made her feel such a commanding presence from him, but now she knew it was something more, something that each person in this room had inside of them. Maybe she couldn’t put a finger on what it was, but she sure as hell could feel it.
“Someone has been planning this for weeks. A month, maybe. Watching you and your father.” Owen’s words scattered her thoughts. “They waited to get Teteruk at the last minute.”
“And lucked the fuck out that he had blackmail on the U.S.—pictures that could ID the other operatives.” Asher sat back at his desk between Liam and Knox.
“But what are the chances that everyone involved in that op ten years ago would end up together in Russia?” Knox asked. “They couldn’t have just gotten that goddamn lucky.”
Owen turned to look at Sam, his face drawn tight. “How did you decide who to invite to the event?”
Sam inhaled sharply, trying to fight the sting of guilt. She inched closer to him and the group. “Viktor Gromov called me last month to discuss the honorary guest list. We were coordinating everything together.” She thought back to the call. “He said many of his guests would drop out if we didn’t have presidential support. He asked specifically for former President Jones.”
“Did you ask why?” Owen’s brows snapped together.
“I didn’t have to.” A slight tremble in her shoulders had her shaking her arms out at her sides. “He already knew President Rydell didn’t support my efforts in the region, and so I assumed he just wanted the next best thing.”
“Since we know you were working with Gromov before the hack, we have to assume someone was whispering in his ear about getting Jones there.” Faint lines appeared in Jessica’s forehead as she observed Sam. “Some important guest or a member of his own board, maybe.”
“How’d you get Jones to agree to come?” Luke asked.
She thought back to the conversation a month ago and exhaled a sharp breath. “General Douglas is a family friend since my dad used to be his attorney.” Her stomach knotted. “I called in a favor to see if he could convince President Jones to come.”
“Fuck,” Owen said under his breath.
“This is my fault.” She pressed both hands to her abdomen to try and quell the nausea.
“No. We’ve just all been played,” Owen said, a bitter bite to his tone. “We’ve been chess pieces on their damn board, and they’re planning on calling checkmate soon.”
“If this is about justice, someone wants everyone from the operation together, and in territory that’s not as friendly to the U.S.” Luke faced Owen.
“Someone wants to make a statement—to expose the truth about what happened ten years ago,” Owen added.
“And I’m betting their vengeance will end in a massacre,” Liam said and lifted his eyes skyward.
“This is exactly why Americans should start staying the fuck out of everyone else’s business. We try to stop a war, and now we’re going to look like the assholes.” Asher’s voice dragged her eyes to his.
“We’ll discuss the consequences of U.S. politics later,” Luke grumbled. “Let’s focus on who the hell wants to have a public execution.”
“When someone dies, who hurts the most?” Owen asked the room.
Sam’s lids dropped closed at his words, at his implication. “Enough to plan all of this? To kill?”
“We all thinking the same thing?” Liam asked.
“The scientist. Her family should be at the top of the list,” Asher replied.
“I looked at Tatyana Kozak’s file this morning,” Jessica said.
The tap, tap, tap of her fingers over the keys had Sam finally opening her eyes to face reality.
“Tatyana left a husband and son behind,” Jessica announced. “Her husband, Laszlo Kozak, retired from a low-level government position after she passed away, and he became a law professor in Moscow.”
“Last time I checked, teachers don’t make enough dough to—”
“He has money,” Jess cut off Knox. “He and his son inherited ten million dollars worth of Russian rubles when Tatyana died. She came from a wealthy family, but the Kozaks didn’t live like typical rich people.”
“What else do we know about the Kozaks?” Owen asked and then motioned for Sam to have a seat at the empty desk on the other side of Jessica.
She nodded and sat, staring in a daze at the screensaver, a little white cube bouncing around the screen like a ping-pong ball—basically, how her insides felt at the moment.
“Laszlo Kozak’s a do-gooder,” Jessica said. “He’s on multiple charity boards. He’s donated a ton of money and time to the fight against the Taliban and al-Qaeda.”
“Of course, he would,” Owen said. “He thought his wife died at the
hands of terrorists in Iraq.”
“And their son was eighteen when his mom died. He joined the Russian Armed Forces right after that,” Jessica added. “He fought in Syria just last year before he retired to work in the private sector.”
“It has to be them, right?” Knox asked. “Cheng tells them the last ten years of their lives have been a lie, and Ukraine and America are to blame for Tatyana’s death.” He lifted his shoulders and held his palms in the air. “They want payback.”
“Seems a bit extreme.” Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. “But if I learned my mother’s body was placed in another city and then purposefully blown up after . . .”
“We get the idea.” Knox glanced at Liam with wide eyes, warning him to stand down.
Owen’s stance became more rigid, and he looked to the ground.
Sam noticed Liam’s grimace, as if he’d forgotten for a moment that the same explosion had involved Owen’s brother.
“I’m sorry, man,” Liam said, starting to stand, but Owen patted the air, motioning for him to sit back down.
“It’s fine.” Owen glanced at Sam as if checking to see if she was okay, and she gave a slight nod. He couldn’t afford to be worrying about her at a time like this.
She did her best to stuff away her emotions—it was her specialty, after all—and refocused on the team.
“But what about the connection to the Sven Group?” Owen placed his hands back on his hips as if he didn’t know what the hell to do with them.
“You said Laszlo Kozak sits on charity boards, right?” Sam asked.
Jessica turned in her chair to look at Sam. “You’re thinking that’s Laszlo’s way into your event?”
“Maybe,” she said, and a new thought blew through her mind. “The date was changed.” Her hand rested on her stomach. “The event was going to be in October, but Gromov called and said we needed to move it up.” Her body tensed. “He requested for it to be last Saturday.”
“The anniversary.” Owen’s whispered words had the hairs on her arms standing.
“I couldn’t handle the idea of the party being that night, so I lied and said President Jones was tied up that day. We settled on Wednesday.”
“Motherfuckers,” Asher hissed.
“I need to cross-check the guest list and see if we can get a hit. The Kozaks have to be in attendance,” Jessica said.
Owen circled the desks to stand behind Jessica. His palm curved over the back of her chair as he observed her screen, but then his gaze swept to Sam, and the eye contact had her sucking in a breath.
The way he looked at her at that moment, it was as if the rest of the room fell away, and they were alone.
His eyes narrowed, and his lips parted a fraction as if words were dancing on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t bring himself to say them.
Once his team stopped the world from burning, they would have to face their feelings for each other—and they wouldn’t be able to blame anger or alcohol next time.
Chapter Seventeen
Owen’s body remained rigid, like a soldier outside Buckingham Palace. His gaze was as tight as his stance, and his eyes were glued to the rose on the inside of her wrist—a permanent reminder of the man she’d lost.
Sam had never revealed the truth about her tattoos before.
The day I’m ready to tell someone about Brad and the ink, that’s when I’ll know he’s the one, Sam had told Emily. It felt like yesterday when she’d said those words, although it’d actually been years.
She had opened up to Owen, though. So, did that mean . . .
She couldn’t let her mind wander in that direction, not when the world felt like it was crumbling. And besides, she barely knew Owen. They had a connection because of their loss, but that didn’t make him “the one”—even if every fiber of her being was shouting to give him a chance.
“I’m not sure how much longer I can wait.” Her hands were tucked beneath her thighs as she sat on the bed. “You don’t need to stay in here with me, though.”
Owen’s brows stitched together as his eyes fastened on hers. “I want to be in here.” He relaxed his stance a little, his arms loosening at his sides. “With you.”
“You just want to convince me not to go if POTUS decides he wants me in Russia.” Her head angled to the side as she tried to get a read on him. “But you should know trying to convince me to stand down is the same as my asking you not to kill Teteruk if you have the chance on Wednesday.”
He immediately dropped his eyes to the concrete floor. “You’d be at the center of it all, and something could go wrong.” He edged closer without lifting his eyes, as if he couldn’t stand to look at her. “I can’t let you get hurt.” He cradled his neck, his elbows meeting in front of him as he slowly dragged his gaze to her eyes.
She pulled her hands free and stood before him. Her fingers trailed up the back of his right arm, which had him lowering his hands to her hips.
“I’ve been lucky over the years, but my luck doesn’t always extend to the people around me. I’d rather you stay here.”
“If you’re sent to Russia, you’ll need me there, too, and you know it. How else will you all get into the event without raising red flags?” Her eyes squeezed closed, her chest tightening in terror at the idea she could be walking Owen and his team straight into some psycho’s trap.
“We can find another way,” he said with grit in his voice.
“No, you can’t,” she whispered. Peeling her eyes open, she found his hazel irises on her mouth.
His hand slipped up her side before greeting her chin. “I feel like . . . it took me ten years to find you; I can’t lose you now.”
She forced a smile, hoping to ease whatever burden of guilt he was feeling. “You didn’t even know you were looking for me.” Her shoulder lifted. “And I found you, by the way.”
“Because I was an idiot to walk away from you at the funeral and never look back.” He released his hold of her.
“I wouldn’t have been ready for you back then; and you wouldn’t have been, either,” she softly admitted.
The muscle in his jaw squeezed. “I meant as friends.”
Her stomach muscles banded tight at his words, at the suggestion. “Is that what you want now? I mean, after this is over, and we’re both okay come Thursday, do you really think we can be friends?”
He rubbed a hand over his jaw, his eyes steady on hers as he nodded. “I won’t be stupid this time. I promise.”
Friends. Friends with Owen York, a man she probably shouldn’t have slept with—but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to do it again.
“Sam?”
“Hm?” She dismissed her thoughts.
He brushed the pad of his thumb over her cheek. “I won’t let anything happen to you in Russia.” He gave a light nod, as if he needed to say it aloud to make it come true. “But if something goes sideways, and I don’t make—”
She pressed her finger to his lips, silencing him. “Don’t say that. I need a chance to get to know you when this is over.”
“Really?” He bit into his lip, studying her.
She nodded. “Yeah,” she whispered. “As friends.”
“As friends,” he echoed, and his face edged closer to hers. “Do friends kiss?” His brows rose, and the beautiful shade of his eyes captured her focus.
She smoothed a hand over his beard. “Not normally.” Her throat tightened. “No.”
“So,” he bent his head and brought his lips a fraction from hers, “if I kiss you right now, I’d be breaking all kinds of rules, right?”
There was so much more to his question, and they both knew it, but to hell with it. She met his lips, pressing her mouth to his as the blood rushed through her body.
He guided her legs up to wrap around his hips as his hands settled beneath her ass, holding her in place as his tongue dipped into her mouth.
He swallowed her moan with his lips and urged her body even closer to his, not that there was any space to fill
as she rubbed up against him.
The heavy metal door screeched across the floor, and the sound had Owen lowering her to the ground, breaking contact.
She pressed a hand to her shirt, smoothing it back in place before looking over at Knox in the doorframe.
“Sorry.” Knox scratched at the back of his neck and looked at Owen.
Owen expelled a deep breath and faced him. “What’s up?”
“POTUS is about to stream live on a secure feed.”
“Tell me you found something.” Owen strode closer to his friend.
He glanced over Owen’s shoulder to look at Sam. “We got the confirmation we needed to prove the scientist’s family is behind everything.” He tipped his head. “You guys need a minute?”
“No, we’re good.” Owen glanced back at Sam. “Let’s do this.”
They followed Knox down the hall a moment later, and the quiet walk gave her a chance to collect herself. She needed to shift gears before she faced Owen’s team and, apparently, the president.
“We have a few minutes before we’ll be live with POTUS.” Knox opened the door and stepped out of the way to allow Sam to walk through.
“Thanks.” She smiled at him and shifted her attention to the team assembled around the conference table.
“What do we have?” Owen pulled out a chair for Sam, then sat next to her.
Jessica was working on the laptop, maybe setting up the call with POTUS. “We got a hit on the deliveryman from that photo we pulled,” she said. “Gregoff Voyesky. He served in the Russian Armed Forces with Alexander Kozak, Laszlo’s son.”
“They work together now doing mercenary shit under the guise of a PI firm,” Liam said with a lopsided smile from across the table. “Ironic, right?”
“We also confirmed the transaction between Cheng and Laszlo Kozak,” Jessica said without looking up.
“Any connection between the Kozaks and the Sven Group?” Owen asked.
“Laszlo’s name isn’t officially on the list,” Jessica said, “but one of his charity houses is on the guest list, and they were a late addition. No names provided, just two guests attending to represent the charity.”
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