In the Line of Fire Page 2

  Again, ignoring the cocky arrogance, he was pretty much perfect. But his job meant he was totally imperfect for her.

  Sam did not date, have affairs with, or flirt with men who had high-risk careers. Police officers, firemen, soldiers... She always avoided men who made a habit of running into situations normal people ran from. She’d had that once, she’d loved and lost a man who, thanks to his “rescue” gene, ran into trouble-filled situations. Pete had run into one chaotic situation too many and hadn’t made it back out again. At nineteen, she lost her first and only love and, to honor him, she counseled the family members of Pytheon operatives—and service men and women and emergency responders—who lost their lives while performing their duty.

  For years she had witnessed their pain. It had flowed from them to her; she’d watched families fall apart, wives shrink in on themselves, daughters and fiancées and girlfriends who tried anything and everything—from sex to drugs to self-harm—to run away from the pain. Sam tried to help, to patch them back together; some managed to walk back into the light, others never did.

  She was never putting herself in that position again. She had no intention of risking her heart on a man who could shatter her soul all over again. She’d stick to beta men, normal men, men who weren’t wired for danger.

  Warriors were her kryptonite and she’d, as God was her witness, avoid them.

  Unfortunately avoiding them meant that she’d never ever, and very sadly, know how good Jett’s very nice ass felt under her hands.

  Juggling her box and her bag, Sam turned to step out of the elevator when two strong hands gripped her biceps. Sam looked up and up and sighed when her eyes hit her brother’s face. His hair was a deep, rich auburn and his skin was two or three shades darker than her own shade of porcelain. His eyes were the color of rich, expensive whiskey and he, like the men he employed to retrieve items—people, information, weapons and precious objects—was big and badass.

  “So, I see you met JSJ.”

  Sam heard the amusement in his voice and narrowed her eyes at her brother. She tried to brush past him and Stone simply took the box from her arms and frowned at the weight.

  “What the hell is in here?” he asked, following her down the hallway that led to his spacious office.

  “Some files and my old stone collection; I’m giving it to Jackie’s son.”

  “That’s such a nice gesture, honey.” Stone’s smile softened his harsh features. “She told me it’s his latest craze. He’ll love it, Red.”

  Sam, glad that they weren’t discussing his newest agent, shrugged away his praise. Jackie was the second of Stone’s two PAs and worked directly under Mary, who had been her father’s PA before working for Stone. Jackie was younger, more energetic, and far more computer literate than Mary but Mary lived and breathed Pytheon International and was fiercely devoted to both the organization and to her and Stone. Both she and Stone knew they would have to move Mary from her office into her coffin and they could live with that since she’d been a part of their lives since their mother died over twenty years ago.

  Sam and Stone stepped into the last office at the end of the hall and Jackie, standing at the copy machine, turned around.

  “Hi, Sam, morning, Boss.”

  Sam smiled at her, liking her forthright manner. “Hey, Jackie. So, here’s my old stone collection I promised Miles.”

  Jackie squealed with excitement and as soon as Stone put the box down on Mary’s desk, she pulled the flaps open.

  Sam brushed off her thanks. Jackie was a single mom trying to raise a child with Asperger’s on her own and really, what was the point of the collection catching dust in Sam’s basement when Miles could enjoy it?

  “Where’s Mary?” Stone asked, looking around.

  “Not sure.” Jackie shrugged her shoulders.

  “Okay, tell her that we’re heading down to the incident room.” Stone gestured Sam toward the door and when they stepped into the corridor, he placed a hand between her shoulder blades.

  “I’m really glad you stopped by, I meant to call you earlier this morning and ask you come in. I need you at this strat meeting—”

  Strategy meeting, Sam automatically translated his words. She frowned, knowing how unusual it was for Stone to ask her to attend their highly classified meetings.

  “Who will be there?” Sam asked, seeing Jett’s cocky smile in her mind’s eye.

  “Seth and Jett... join us.”

  Sam shook her head, it was barely ten in the morning and she’d seen more than enough of Jett already. “No, that’s okay. You can just brief me later.”

  Stone wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Humor me.”

  It wasn’t a suggestion. She thought about refusing and then remembered her brother rarely asked anything of her and when he did, it was usually important. Sam pulled a face and allowed Stone to guide her back into the elevator.

  When they were inside, Stone looked at her and raised his dark eyebrows, his golden eyes glinting with laughter. “Did you really call JSJ an ass?”

  “Annie comparisons were made,” Sam muttered, knowing no more explanations were needed.

  Along with the red hair and the freckles, she’d also inherited their father’s legendary Irish temper and nothing set her off quicker than being teased about her resemblance to that cultural icon.

  Stone’s laughter rumbled over her. “And you didn’t break his nose? Kick him in the balls? Knock out a tooth?”

  Sam’s fist hitting his arm held all the power of a caterpillar’s sneeze. “He asked me if my hair was natural,” Sam muttered. “As if anyone in their right mind would dye their hair this color.”

  “Your hair is beautiful,” Stone said, as loyal as always.

  The hundreds of kids who’d called her carrot top and the red-hot-rocket, spot, and Strawberry Shortcake and later, God, eeww, fire crotch, called his statement into question. Sam didn’t reply; she was an adult and a psychologist and dumbass remarks from her childhood shouldn’t get to her, but hearing Smith-Jones flirting with Alex made her roll back twenty odd years to when she was a tween and so desperate to be a blue-eyed blonde.

  “And please tell me that you didn’t tell JSJ that you snacked on the souls of the unborn.”

  “He annoyed me,” Sam replied, lifting her nose. “He’s cocky and arrogant—”

  “Judging by your body language in the elevator, you think he’s hotter than the color of your hair.”

  Sam ignored his jab and sent him a look set to stun. “I do not think he’s hot!”

  Stone tapped her butt.

  “What are you doing?” Sam demanded, slapping his hand away.

  “Checking whether your pants are on fire,” Stone replied, amused.

  “Grrr.” Sam folded her arms and tapped her foot. “You’re the CEO of this organization, do you not have better things to do than look at elevator footage? And how the hell did you get it? We only met”—Sam glanced at her watch—“fifteen minutes ago.”

  The elevator stopped and Stone placed his hand on her back to guide her into the enormous incident room. “My guys monitoring security are easily entertained and sent me the clip.”

  “Who else did they send it to?” Sam demanded as Seth Halcott, Stone’s Chief of Operations approached them.

  When he reached them, Seth bent down to drop a kiss on her cheek. “Everyone has seen it, Samantha,” Seth said, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I would really appreciate it if you wouldn’t emasculate my agents on their first day in the office, honey.”

  Sam looked past Seth to where Jett stood against a wall, his big shoulders pushed into the wall, booted feet crossed at the ankles. He’d removed his jacket and wore an untucked black button down, cuffs rolled back. He folded his arms as he caught her eye, big bicep muscles straining the fabric of his shirt. His dark denim-blue eyes glinted with amusement and a hint of desire. His sexy mouth was tipped up at the corners.

  Emasculated, her ass.

  Chapter Two


  Sam took the mug of coffee Seth prepared for her and, although she’d visited this room a few times before, she couldn’t help thinking the incident room looked like a Hollywood action movie set. A massive wall was covered in screens, each showing a different news feed or transmitting video from God knew where. Cracker, Pytheon’s computer expert, AKA white-hat hacker, sat at the first desk in front of the bank of screens, his chair pushed back and his sneakers on his desk, his fingers flying across a small keyboard balanced across his knees.

  A long counter separated Cracker, and his desk, from the rest of the room. Around thirty Pytheon analysts sat at generic desks, all wearing headsets and intense expressions. Cracker was the only one looking like he was having any fun at all. But that could be because he was steadily making his way through a bumper packet of chocolate covered peanuts. Who could be unhappy with a fistful of candy in one’s hand?

  At the far end of the room was a ten-seater conference table and Sam sank into the seat Seth pulled out for her, conscious that Jett was still behind her, somewhere, hopefully not looking at her ass.

  Or, if he was, she really hoped he liked it. Not helpful, Samantha.

  Seth, holding his mug of coffee in his hand, tapped the built-in screen at the top of the conference table and the noise of the incident room disappeared. It was like invisible walls had fallen into the room, blocking the noise but not the view.

  Seth caught her surprise and shrugged. “Noise canceling technology. We can’t hear them, they can’t hear us.”

  “Cool,” Sam said, impressed.

  Stone took a seat next to her and Jett, damn him, dropped his long frame into the chair across the table from her, his expression lazy but his eyes alert. His gaze didn’t stop moving around the room. He was hyperaware, totally dialed in, ready, despite his indolent posture, to spring into action.

  And, damn, so hot.

  Seth cleared his throat and Sam pulled her eyes off Jett and blushed at Seth’s raised eyebrow. Rolling her eyes so hard she was in danger of giving herself a concussion, she mentally urged him to start the meeting so she could walk out of Pytheon and find herself a brain surgeon because she was, obviously, in need of a reboot or an upgrade to her operating system.

  You are not allowed to lust over, think about or date dangerous guys.

  Seth tapped the built-in monitor and a screen descended from the ceiling. A projector hidden God knows where tossed a photograph of a handcuffed man onto the screen. From the view behind him, Sam knew it was taken on top of Table Mountain, Cape Town, South Africa and that the cuffed man was there at the behest of The Recruiter. Five minutes before that photo was taken, he’d held a gun to Leah’s head but Seth, somehow, talked him into surrendering. How had Seth managed to remain calm while the person he adored was under threat? Oh, some of it was training but he had to be a certain type of person to stay cool and collected when life hurled him into a hurricane.

  They were warriors and she was normal. Well, relatively speaking.

  Seth used his cup to gesture to the screen. “Burt Frame, AKA Fake Ben, was found dead in his room at Valkenberg Psychiatric Hospital in Cape Town this morning.”

  Sam snapped her head around to look at Jett, who’d uttered an obscenity. His arms were now resting on the table and he was scowling at the screen, his eyes a bleak blue. “Dead how?”

  “Officially, he suffered a heart attack.”

  “Unofficially?” Jett demanded.

  Seth lifted one shoulder and held Jett’s hard look. “We all know that there are numerous drugs that can induce heart attacks, some of which are undetectable by a tox screen.”

  Sam’s eyes flicked from one hard face to another. “Are you suggesting that someone killed him?”

  “I’m suggesting that it’s a strong possibility,” Seth replied, placing his cup on the table.

  “But on the mountain, Frame said that he had no idea of The Recruiter’s identity and that they communicated via phone calls and online,” Stone commented.

  “He was still a loose end and The Recruiter doesn’t do loose ends,” Seth replied.

  “Is Fayed a loose end?” Stone asked.

  Fayed? Right, the radicalized teenager who’d left home thinking he was joining an Islamic terror cell but who’d actually been used as a pawn by The Recruiter to get Seth to Cape Town.

  “We have eyes on him but we don’t believe so,” Jett answered. “He definitely had no contact with The Recruiter so we think he’ll be okay though the little shithead is still, apparently, mouthing off about the evil West.”

  Sam wriggled in her seat. As interesting as this was, Sam had a busy day ahead of her. She had a consult with Ross—a forensic investigator she often worked with—at ten and she was expecting the crime scene photographs of a series of abductions of young woman in the Portland area.

  She had her own work to do but Stone and Seth—and Jett since he was also alpha and hard ass—wouldn’t think of that. Pytheon first and always.

  Jett looked from her and Stone and back again, his eyes serious. “Does she know about the photograph?”

  “She,” Sam said, her tone icy, “has a name. What photograph?”

  A black and white photograph materialized on the wide screen in front of her. It took her a minute to realize that the red Xs were their faces; that the photograph was taken at a restaurant in the village they’d dined at a few weeks ago. Sam pushed back her chair and stood up, her hands flat on the desk, squinting to read the message written over Daisy’s beautiful face.

  She had to read the sentence a few times before the words made sense. Her family was expendable but The Recruiter intended to sell Daisy, to some sick bastard a world away.

  Sam quivered with rage. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Damn straight it’s not,” Seth agreed. “Jed and Mac and the kids are already out of the country.”

  Sam nodded as her brain regained a measure of control over her fear. Jed would never let anything happen to his family.

  They were safe.

  Sam gestured to the photo. “When did this arrive?”

  “Stone and I received the photo via email this morning. Cracker tried to trace it but it was bounced through so many ISPs, the source of the email undetectable. This guy is good,” Seth answered her. “The photo was lifted from a social column; it was posted the morning after we ate at that restaurant. I spoke to the paparazzo who shot the picture, he only sold it to one publication and it hasn’t appeared on any other social media site.”

  “So anyone could’ve saved the image from the net?” Sam clarified.

  Jett nodded. “Pretty much.”

  Seth half sat on the table, his attention back on Jett. “Have you heard anything new on our favorite douche bag?”

  “Apart from that photo, sweet”—he glanced at Sam and swallowed the swear—“nothing. No new reports, no new chatter, nothing. He’s gone underground.”

  “That photo tells us that he’s focused on Pytheon and that he’s not going to give up or go away.” Jett pushed back from the table and paced the area next to his chair, one hand in the back pocket of his jeans. He pushed his messy hair off his face and sent Seth a half smile. “Your threat to hunt him down pissed him off, big time.”

  “It wasn’t a threat; it was a promise,” Seth growled.

  Sam was reminded this man, these men, were warriors and were not afraid to make the hard decisions, the tough decisions, the end someone’s life decisions. She didn’t know if she agreed with the whole “sometimes justice is found outside the law” argument but their decisions weighed heavily on them, and were never taken lightly.

  “My point is that he isn’t sitting in a corner shaking with fear. As this photo shows, he’s coming back and he’s swinging. He wants to see you, and Pytheon, destroyed.” Jett’s hard gaze swung around to land on her and Sam swallowed at his intensity. She forced herself to concentrate; she was Pytheon’s consultant psychologist and maybe it was time she earned the big retainer Stone pa
id her.

  Sam stood up and folded her arms, tapping her finger against her bicep. “I can’t disagree. Look, I’m making assumptions here because I have so little to work with but, at the very least, he’s a psychopath. Which means that he is utterly self-confident. You messed up his plans in Cape Town and that, because he believes that he is vastly superior to you, would’ve enraged him. The derailment of his plans would be utterly unacceptable and he will want to rebalance those scales. Not to prove to anyone else what a badass he is, but to reaffirm his superiority over you.” Sam bit her lip and looked at Seth. “Especially you, Seth. You seem to be his biggest target.”

  Seth pushed his hands into his hair and held his arms behind his head. He was a good-looking man but he didn’t rev her engine like the dark-haired man across the table did.

  Not that she’d allow him anywhere near her engine...oh, shut up, Stone!

  Concentrate.

  “I don’t think that’s true.” Seth yanked a chair back and dropped into it. “Look at that photograph...” Seth gestured to the screen, keeping his eyes on her face. “You and Stone are in the middle of the frame, you can only see half of my face and Leah isn’t in the picture at all. Jed is also only half there, Daisy is sitting on his lap and blocking him.”

  Sam scrutinized the photograph again. “The Xs slashing my and Stone’s face are deeper and redder, the Xs over the other faces are smaller, quickly done,” Sam agreed, trying to forget that she was talking about her face, her brother’s face. “Targeting Daisy was just to get a reaction.”

  “It freaking worked,” Seth muttered.

  “It would also give Jed a damn good reason to remove himself from the scene,” Jett mused. “The less help you have from people you trust, the more vulnerable you’ll be.”

  “Shit,” Stone muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “But why?” Sam demanded. “Does he know us? Have a beef against us?”

  Seth nodded. “Yes and yes.”