by S. M. Butler
“You’re Nathan, I’m guessing.” Abigail didn’t really need him to confirm, but he briefly inclined his head. Familiarity spread over her as she watched the man on the screen. He was more familiar than she liked. She stole a quick look at Chris, who had set his jaw tight. He looked angry. It didn’t seem like he cared for his boss all that much.
“We’ve had four bombings in the last forty-eight hours. Someone has been trying to send a message. We just hadn’t been able to figure out what the message was or who it was being sent to.” Jack was saying.
“Or who it’s from.” Jordan’s jaw set in vicious determination. She found him more approachable than the others before but seeing that face, it sent cold shivers down her spine. He wasn’t a man to cross.
None of them were, she realized as she watched them talk. Each of them held themselves in confident, battle-ready positions, even as they lounged in completely unprofessional ways. Scott barely looked up from his screen, but she could see the way his eyes watched the room like he was sure to be attacked at any moment. Jack made no secret of his menace. It emanated from him in waves. Jordan’s easy-going nature had jagged edges, brief pictures of violence promised to anyone who’d hurt another. Even the woman, Bea, stood with hips straight, her ebony eyes scanning the room constantly.
And then there was Chris.
Beside her, he looked relaxed at first glance, but his body stood ready to defend at a second’s notice. Muscles tensed at small moments, his glance continually swept the room in a regular pattern. If someone were to try to attack her, she could see him tackling her to the floor before she even knew what was happening.
“These bombings aren’t random,” Jack continued. “All these locations, there’s one common denominator.”
“What’s that?” Bea asked. She leaned forward, viciously baring her teeth in a smile. “All places were you, unfortunately, weren’t?”
“Close, babycakes,” he replied. “They’re all places Senator Lewis had been in the last two days… without her.” He pointed at Abigail. “They started hours after she left Galveston.”
“You think I’m bombing my dad?”
“No. I’m not done yet,” Jack said. He glanced at the screen with Nathan on it. “You want me to tell them here? Now?”
Nathan nodded.
Abigail’s heart pounded as a picture of Jean Giroux filled the middle screen. No.
“This is the man responsible for the bombs. C4 matches his particular setup, and uses his custom detonators.”
“Giroux,” Chris spat out. His hand went to his chest. He probably didn’t even realize he’d done it, she thought. “We knew about the C4, though. It all matched up on the first two bombs.”
“I did some more digging. The question we had was why he would target a United States Senator. He doesn’t deal in the US usually, and he’s a French national.”
The color drained from her face as the next picture hit the screen. It was a child, playing on a playground, with carrot red hair, smiling and laughing. She’d never seen that picture before, but it was definitely her. Every one of Chris’s team was staring at her. She could feel them spearing her, like a hundred different wounds opening at the same time, but she couldn’t look away from that picture.
“This is you, isn’t it, Miss Lewis? 2002ish?” She tore herself away from the picture, glaring at Jack Allen as he matched her with an accusing scowl.
Did he expect her to deny it? There were enough pictures of her when she was that age that there was no point. Her adoption had made national news. Her earliest memories were of camera flashes and reporters yelling questions. Her breath shuddered out of her and she inclined her head in a half-hearted nod. “It’s me.”
“Please continue, Mr. Allen,” Nathan said from the screen. His voice was flat, dangerous. But when Abigail looked up at him, she found his eyes sailing past her to Chris. Something else was going on here. Chris’s body had tightened, the tension coiling around his muscles and squeezing tightly. He wasn’t quite there yet, but he was smart. He was about the connect the dots to her best-kept secret, the reason why she needed to leave the country.
“Why are we looking at baby pictures?” Jordan asked.
“This picture is from our files on Jean Giroux.”
Chris’s back snapped straight as the dots aligned in his head and the answer slammed into his mind. It was clear as a Texas summer day as it happened. Abigail sunk in her seat.
“It seems our little kitten here has Giroux roots.” Jack met her eyes with a dangerous grin. “But you already knew that, didn’t you, kitten?”
The lie was on the tip of her tongue. She wanted to deny it, more for her own sanity than protection from them. But when she glanced at Chris, the man who’d promised to protect her over and over again, the man who had just kissed her the night before like a man who’d been starved to the brink of death, he looked at her like a stranger. She didn’t need any of their fancy gizmos to see the knowledge hurt him. She nodded. “Yes.”
“I arranged for Miss Lewis to join us so she can help us,” Nathan said on the screen. No one else spoke at first. “She has intimate knowledge of the way the senator works, and she can ferret out Giroux for us.”
“Arranged?” Abigail’s heart skipped a beat. “The car was you.”
Nathan’s lips twitched with knowing knowledge. Chris sometimes did that same maneuver, when he knew more than he let on.
Scott was the first to speak. “We don’t deal with politicians, Nathan. We should just hand her over and be done with it. The bombings will stop. Giroux won’t hurt her.”
“And how many more in the world will Giroux hurt? We’ve been looking for a way to get into his organization for months. We’ve got a golden ticket right here.” Bea said flatly.
“It wouldn’t take much to create a new identity so she could travel,” Jordan said. “We could float her right through customs.”
“No,” Chris said, simply.
The entire room stopped when he spoke. If Abigail had ever thought for a second that Chris wasn’t a leader in his own right, that moment would have stopped that thought process cold. Nathan leaned forward on the screen. “You have thoughts, Mr. Hardy?”
“We’re not turning her over to Lewis.” He replied, his voice low and flat. “Letting her go to Giroux isn’t an option. It’s too dangerous.”
“Then what do you propose?”
“She stays with us,” Chris said. “We can protect her better here.”
“Protect her?” Scott frowned. “We’re not bodyguards. Our mission is to stop the bombs from continuing. People are dying. We should use her to do it. By giving her back to her father.”
“At what price? At the price of her freedom?” Jordan asked. “Or her life?”
“The bottom line is Giroux needs to be stopped. We need to do something.” Bea said.
“We aren’t turning her over,” Chris stated. His tone didn’t invite arguing.
“Can I say something?” Abigail asked, raising her hand.
“Put your hand down,” Chris said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not a school.”
She lowered her hand. “I appreciate the discussion, but I know how to stop this. You have to use me.”
“Abigail…”
“Not for Lewis. Daniel Lewis… He’s got no leverage without me. I don’t know why he held it over Jean Giroux, but he did. For years. Giroux is far more dangerous right now. He’s angry and he finally has an outlet for that anger because I’m no longer with Lewis. I can get close to Giroux. I’m the only one that can. If I go…”
“He still won’t have any reason to not to continue to target Lewis. We’re talking about years of resentment and anger built up over losing his child.” Chris shook his head. “It won’t work.”
“He knows me, though. He’s watched me my whole life, as some other man claimed me as his daughter to the world, paraded me on camera like a prized show dog. I can get close to him.”
“Are you s
uggesting you work as our asset, Miss Lewis?” Nathan asked on the screen. Curiosity filled his expression. Was he fascinated by her? Maybe he had expected this to go differently, for her not to want to put herself into harm’s way.
“I’m the reason this all started. People are dying because of me.” She swallowed, her heart thumping so hard against her ribcage it physically hurt with every beat. “I can be the one to finish it.”
“No, this is a stupid move,” Chris said. “She’s not trained for that, Nathan. It’s safer if she stays here and we do a surgical strike.”
“On an arms dealer?” Jack stared at him. “You want to mount an assault on an arms dealer?”
“Miss Lewis is correct, though.” Nathan smiled, cold and calculating. “She can get right into the belly of the beast without even a shot fired.”
“This is a bad idea,” Chris ground out. “It’s not safe.”
“Mr. Levi, work your magic and create a new identity set for our guest, yourself, and for Mr. Hardy. She’s going home.”
“Nathan—”
“I’m well aware of your history with Giroux, Mr. Hardy. You’ll be running the brains on the ground. Jordan can go in with Miss Lewis.”
“Nathan!”
“That will be all, Mr. Hardy.”
Abigail had never seen Chris get shut down so quickly as the screen went dark. Chris was furious, his rage tainting the air like sour milk. He clenched his fists tightly as the rest of the team got to work.
Daniel Lewis had known all her life who she was. He’d kept her a prisoner in his house, paraded her around like she was his daughter, told her how he loved her and was so proud of the woman she’d become. That was… until she’d found an entire file on her in her father’s safe. Pictures of her with a blonde woman, and a dark-haired man. No, not just pictures. Surveillance pictures. Birth records, shot records… all pointed to a girl like her, but not her. Abigail Emilia Giroux. He’d even perversely kept her first name.
But even as betrayed as she’d felt, it didn’t come close to the lost and hurt look on Chris’s face as he turned toward her.
“Chris—”
“Well, that was a doozy of a secret you had,” he said.
“Chris, I didn’t know who to trust.”
“You didn’t tell me. Why?”
“Chris, I barely know you. And then last night, you told me he shot you. You’ve got your own history with the man. How would you have felt if you’d found out then that you not only met his daughter but saved her life twice?” She swallowed. Not to mention kissed the hell out of her. But bringing that up was a bit like twisting the knife she’d already lodged into his gut.
“She’s got you there, man,” Jordan said. Chris glared at him and Jordan threw up his hands in surrender. “I got some work to do in the lab. Abigail, come see me in a few for a photo shoot. We’ll get you all set up.”
She didn’t reply to Jordan, only managed to nod as he left the room. Jack smirked as he walked by, looking smug and proud of himself. Bea and Scott were discussing something on the laptop, but they quickly cleared out as soon as they realized the other two had left.
Which left her alone with a man that couldn’t even look at her now.
Chapter Fourteen
Jean Giroux’s daughter. Of all the fucking men Daniel Lewis would want leverage over, he had to kidnap Jean Giroux’s daughter. He’d have never guessed it. She shared none of the Giroux similarities. Alex and Jean had the same oval eye shape and dark hair and Romanesque noses. She had none of those qualities. When he looked at Abigail, he saw wide, round blue eyes and smooth skin peppered with freckles. It was so difficult to believe that she came from those monsters.
She took one step toward him, tentative and light. He faced away from her already, but her watchful gaze burned into his back.
“Chris?”
“You don’t owe me anything, Abigail. It’s okay.” It so wasn’t okay, but he’d make it so. He just needed a minute.
“I owe you everything. I wouldn’t be standing here without you. I would have died a long time ago.”
“That was a different life.” One that now he wished he had cut ties with.
“And yesterday? Was that a different life too?”
He shook his head and turned to face her. Instantly, seeing the fear in her eyes, he regretted turning, regretted meeting her eyes. He took a breath, trying to cleanse away the anger that churned inside him. It wasn’t working. “That… It was a mistake.”
“Was it?”
“Yes.” God, he despised the way the hurt filled her eyes. No, he longed to soothe that hurt. He despised himself for saying the words.
“Then maybe I should go.”
“No.” The word barked out of his mouth before he knew he was speaking. Her eyes widened. “I mean, we’re going to protect you. We’re going to stop your father. It’ll be fine.”
“And us?”
He drew in a long, labored breath and exhaled. “I’m capable of being professional.”
The hurt in her eyes turned painful to watch, but her expression didn’t change. She was trying to hide the way she felt from him, but she couldn’t. Her every emotion plastered itself over her face, marring the perfection of each gentle curve of it.
But instead of backing away, instead of showing the fear he saw in her, she tilted her head up, matched him stare for stare, and took a step closer to him. She was so close the soft scent of pomegranate slid over him like a warm blanket.
Her bright eyes bore into him. Long moments of silence passed between them, neither of them breaking contact. She searched through him, digging deep like she could rummage out all of the secrets about himself that he kept buried.
Finally, when he thought he could take no more, she blinked and looked away. “Professional, it is.” She let out a breath. He hadn’t even realized she’d been holding it.
“We should go see Jordan,” he replied, his voice rough against his throat.
Her eyes swept over him, but now they were cold and closed off to him, their shine diminished by his words. “Yes. Please. The sooner this is over, the better.”
~*~*~
At the end of the day, Abigail was exhausted. Jordan had taken her picture and forged a whole new identity for her, for Chris, and for himself. The team had gone into full mission mode, completely focused on planning how to get her from Jubilee to France.
Jean Giroux had a villa somewhere in the south of France. She wasn’t sure where, but they apparently knew. Hell, they had learned more about her birth family in the last twelve hours than she’d ever been able to learn in the last year since she’d found out who she really was.
She’d stood back and watched them work for a while. She was completely forgotten. They were so different from each other. They made fun of each other, threatened to kill each other on occasion, but they worked as one cohesive unit just the same. Tension rolled through the room in waves, every time they realized they disliked each other, then they’d forget it when something new about the mission popped into their view.
It gave her time to sit back and contemplate what the hell she was doing. Running from her father was mostly instinct and survival. It was a matter of time before Daniel Lewis found a way to capitalize on her death. She couldn’t have stayed there forever. At the same time, she knew practically nothing about Jean Giroux except for the fact that he was a criminal and murderer. And somehow, it was safer to go to him than to let Lewis find her.
She was so damn curious about her birth father. What kind of person would she be if she’d stayed with him, if he’d raised her? Would he have loved her? Would she have loved him like she had Lewis? She sunk into the empty chair, looking around at the empty briefing room. Everyone was working except her. She had nothing to do. She was just the key that opened a locked door. After that, she’d be useless to them too.
She grabbed the laptop that was sitting near her and pulled it closer. Opening the browser up, she let it load and then typed “Jean Gi
roux” into the search bar.
Millions of results filled the screen. She clicked the News tab and glanced through the headlines. Most of them involved terms like “alleged arms dealer” and “French criminal underworld” and so many more that scared the beejeebies out of her. She’d never had the courage to read them before.
The one encounter she wanted to know about, she knew she’d never find on Google. Chris Hardy was a highly classified secret of the United States government, and the mission where he’d encountered Jean Giroux wouldn’t be public knowledge. But still, she wanted to know and she didn’t think he would tell her now.
“If you keep frowning like that, your face is gonna stick like that.”
She shot her gaze up to the man that had spoken, her heart almost lifting when his big bulk filled the doorway. “I was reading.” She closed the browser window and pushed the laptop closed. “Do you need me?”
“Now that’s a loaded question,” Chris replied, not even cracking a sliver of a smile. “I thought maybe you might be hungry.”
She glanced at her watch. Nearly nine. It was hard to watch time when there were no windows, but she’d been in this room for hours. She arched an eyebrow. “Do you serve your bait special meals?”
His face turned impassive, completely drained of emotion. He stepped into the room and she swore the walls shrunk around them in response. “For the record, I opposed this plan.”
“And I didn’t,” she replied. “But my question still stands.”
“We don’t have food down here. We can go to the diner again, or I can make you dinner.”
“You cook?”
He shrugged. “When necessary. I’m not great at it.”
He was giving her an out. Dinner at Pete’s Diner, nice and safe. Or dinner alone with him, where touching was a dangerous sport. Was it a challenge? A test to see which option she’d pick? She’d played the last year safely, letting her father boss her around, yank on her leash whenever he wanted. All her life her decisions were carefully crafted and presented for her, and she, the dutiful daughter, had always delivered the way she was expected.