by Tawny Weber
He, on the other hand, had grown up wondering what it would've been like to have been raised by his father. He'd thought following his biological father's path into the military would help him know the man whose blood ran through his veins.
But finding his father had cost him his humanity. Maybe had he known his father, clandestine military missions wouldn't have been so alluring. Maybe he'd have become a man more like his adopted father, Joe St. John, a man who laughed easily and loved freely…a family man.
"Robbie was put on probation, providing he didn't hack into anything else," Bliss said, pulling Jake's attention back to the present. "We eventually lost the house and moved into the brownstone in the city."
He'd done a background check on her. She could afford a better place, especially after the first Cooper book hit the best seller list and easily increased her income to six figures. Why had she stayed there? So her brother could find her if and when he decided to come back?
She'd given up a lot for this kid and, even though the kid's heart was in the right place regarding his hacking, Jake wasn't sure he liked this guy or not.
He read on.
Then, one day I returned to our hotel to find it crawling with la policia. They said we'd been robbed and let me in our room just long enough for me to catalogue what was missing. I kept asking where Munch was. Eventually they said he was dead and took me to their idea of a morgue so I could identify his body.
"Guess it wouldn't have made any difference if I had been able to track Munch down," she said. "He was dead before Robbie disappeared."
And knowing this would have made you all the more concerned for your brother's safety.
His hand rose toward her shoulder, as if to smooth away the tension from her shoulders. But he'd done that at her brother's place and been flooded with a need for much more.
No. He couldn't risk getting that close to her again. He had nothing to offer her beyond momentary comforting, and this woman would want more. He settled for clenching the back of her chair tighter as he read over her shoulder.
He was real banged up. La policia figured he'd tried to fight off the robbers. That didn't make sense to me. Munch was like me. A runner, not a fighter.
Jake eyed Bliss' shoulders, the back of her neck, searching for signs she was falling apart—that, in spite of his reluctance, he'd have to pull her together. What he saw was pale, creamy skin where her hair split away from her neck to fall over her shoulders.
He shook off the distraction and turned his attention back to the computer screen.
La Policia Capitán told me I couldn't stay at our place and to let him know where I'd be. Given how corrupt that bunch is, I told him I'd let him know when I found a place to stay.
"That was smart of him," Jake said.
"What?" Bliss asked, glancing up at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.
"Not telling the police where he was going."
"Oh, yeah," she said, dropping her face back toward the screen.
I texted Munch’s IE contact, the company that hired Munch, with my cell. Told them what happened. Told them, given all our equipment and research had been stolen, they might want to step up production of the game before the robbers figured out what they had and sold it to some other company. Told them I had backups of everything we'd researched and offered to build the game for them if they advanced me the money to buy the software I'd need.
They texted back for me to upload everything we had to them. That they'd have one of their in-house game builders see if he could put the game together from our research and that I should send them an address and they'd send me a check for my work.
Bliss lifted her face at him, her hair slipping back over her shoulder, dark, shiny tresses that promised to slide easily through his fingers. "See. It's all about the game. No reference to you or Saint Security at all."
"Maybe," he said, nodding at the screen—willing away the temptation to test the silkiness of her hair, lost for a reason why this woman had distracted him from the moment he saw her.
I went to our friend Garcia's place and used his computer to upload everything I had on my flash drive, even the stuff Munch and I had been debating about, letting IE in on it. Then I went out to buy myself another computer.
Jake snorted. "His friend's been murdered and he runs off to buy a computer?"
"He was in shock," she murmured, huddled over the keyboard. "And gamers live and die by their electronics. Being without a computer is like being without air."
"You defend him a lot."
"He's had a lot to deal with in his young life. Besides, he's my brother." She frowned at him. "Or aren't you the kind of guy who'd defend his brother?"
He bit back a retort. Telling her he'd defend any member of his family to the death would reveal too much, and she already knew more about his private life than most. Besides, this was about finding her brother and learning whether he was a threat to Saint Security.
Garcia called me on my cell and told me a couple thugs had shown up at his place. Roughed him up. Even broke a couple of his fingers before they believed he didn't know where I was. It made me think about Munch. I'd seen his hands. They were all bloody and his fingers didn't look right. That's when I realized they'd been broken and the bruises on his wrists could have been ligature marks. Spooked me enough I called IE and told them to lose my address and keep their money, sent you one last text on my cell, then destroyed the phone. Didn't want to leave any links to you, Sis.
Bliss went still.
Jake clenched his jaw, reluctant to tell her destroying his cell wouldn't have cut her out of the picture. Whoever was after Rob would have still been able to get their hands on his home address, her address—her phone—and a whole lot more through that laptop of his they'd stolen.
"Anything odd happen to you since your brother disappeared the first time?" he asked. "A break in? Someone following you? Calls with no one on the other end of the line?"
"There's always calls without anyone on the line." She glanced up at him, giving him a glimpse of something troubling lurking in her eyes before she turned back to the screen. "As for the first two… No break-ins. No sense of anyone following me—" her voice faded "—other than the usual paranoia about being watched."
In his line of work, a sixth sense was a welcome friend.
"You have a paranoia about being watched?"
"No. I just mean the feeling everybody gets once in a while." She looked up at him again. "Don't you…get those feeling sometimes?"
"Having lived most of my adult life as a SEAL, being alert to my surroundings is second nature. I can't say whether or not a dose of healthy paranoia comes naturally to civilians."
"So what are you saying? I have a heightened sense of awareness, or that I'm paranoid?"
She was scanning through her memories. He saw it in the sideways slant of her eyes. He didn't like what that implied, that she had enough paranoid moments she felt the need to search for a pattern. It made him want to reassure her. But he didn't believe in candy-coating reality and she'd proven herself as more than a little perceptive.
"After the greeting you gave me this morning, I think your senses are pretty sharp. I suspect you are more aware than the average civilian of their surroundings."
She didn't look totally convinced, and turned her attention back to the computer screen where she scrolled over the next paragraph.
They took Garcia's computer, too. The one I'd used to contact IE. He said not to come back to his place. Like I even considered that. So, I bought a cheap laptop, created a free Dropbox account under Cousin R's name, logged into my Cloud account, and transferred all my backup files to the new account.
"Who's Cousin R?" Jake asked.
"A cousin on my mother's side who lives out east somewhere. Robert Burns."
So the kid had thought things out—had a plan. Jake filed away the fact that Rob Burns might have learned some valuable lessons from his game playing…or hanging around the team.
>
"This cousin, is he close to Rob's age?" he asked.
"A couple years older. Why?"
"Your brother stole your cousin's identity."
"He wouldn't—"
Jake raised a silencing eyebrow at her. "He was desperate. Desperate people do what they have to do to survive. Frankly, taking on his cousin's identity was a pretty smart move for someone I suspect didn't have the cash to buy a new identity."
"Not having the means to buy a new identity has to tell you he wasn't working for anybody wanting him to infiltrate Saint Security or they'd have bought one for him."
Her point was valid, but…
"You realize if you convince me your brother's disappearance has nothing to do with my company, I'll have no reason to keep searching for him."
She paled. "I could hire you to keep looking for him."
"I'm pricy."
"I can afford you."
Jake smirked. "Yeah, I know."
She huffed. "Checked me out, huh?"
"Of course."
She leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms high over her chest. "So, how do I go about hiring you?"
"First, I'd have to decide if this is a job worth my time."
Color blossomed up her throat like it had the day when she'd seen him walk onto the talk show stage, a lovely pink glow that he bet would show itself in the midst of lovemaking.
Her tight lipped, "You will at least hook me up with a company who can do the job," jolted him from his meanderings.
"I never said I couldn't do the job," he shot back, earning a dark look from her.
Why the hell couldn't he just have let her comment slide and given her the name of another security company that did extractions, if that's what it turned out they were dealing with here?
Because he didn't like the idea of handing her off to anyone else—didn't like the idea of some other testosterone laden paramilitary group getting their hands on her.
Didn't like the idea of some other guy seeing that pink glow flushing up her throat in the midst of passion.
"And," he said through clenched teeth, "I'm still not totally convinced Rob's first disappearing act didn't lead to his infiltrating Saint Security."
"But you don't buy that what he encountered was a simple burglary gone wrong, either, do you?"
He shrugged. "Gamers buy into conspiracy theories. They can get paranoid."
"Paranoid." She snorted. "Munch was tortured before he was murdered and Garcia was tortured to give up Robbie's whereabouts. They were after Robbie. Doesn't it make sense his running has something to do with the game he and Munch were working on?"
"A game two years old, even if they had finished it," Jake contended. "What if they were after Rob for his hacking abilities?"
"He wasn't that good at it. He got caught his first time doing it."
"Are you so sure the bank was his first?"
A hint of doubt crossed her eyes.
"And we know he continued doing it," he said. "Hell, I wouldn't be surprised to learn he'd done it here. He was exceptionally good at digging up information we needed."
She opened her mouth, no doubt to protest. He cut her off. "He wrote that he got the idea for the game by hacking into the developer's account."
She scowled, her folded arms tightening across her chest which only pressed her breasts together in the V-neck of her shirt, giving him a nice eyeful of cleavage.
He lifted his gaze to her tight lips. "Which brings us back to the possibility of his infiltrating my company."
She shook her head. "How could anyone think he'd be a good source as an inside man?"
"He was a hacker."
"Then why not just use him to hack into your system?"
She had him there. But…
"And the timing of him running now when his place is broken into," she went on. "Doesn't that suggest he wasn't a plant, that whoever is after him happened to catch up to him while he was working for you?"
He saw the pleading look in her eyes. She wanted to believe her brother wouldn't do anything to hurt anyone—wanted for him to buy her line of reasoning. He could. It made sense. But there were still options he needed to rule out before he could believe Rob's latest disappearing act was coincidental.
"There's any number of reasons why a competitor or terrorist cell would want a man inside my operation. I can't ignore the possibility they got to him the first time he ran and gave him the choice to infiltrate Saint Security or die?"
"Then why would he run now?"
"Maybe a competitor found him. Maybe he wasn't doing his job."
She shook her head. "I might be able to buy your second theory, but I still doubt he was any kind of a plant." She swiveled the chair toward the keyboard. "There're likely files in his Dropbox account that aren't on his hard drive. Maybe we'll find proof this has nothing to do with Saint Security."
Jake caught her by the wrist, stopped her from opening another file. "Finish his letter first."
Two days later, I hear about IE getting blown up and I know this is all connected and I better get out of town before these guys hunt me down.
That's why the name had stood out to Jake. The explosion of the startup Denver gaming headquarters had made international news. Something about it had always struck him odd, even after the explosion had been blamed on a leaking gas line. But he'd dismissed it as one of those rare times when his gut instinct was wrong. Maybe Bliss was on to something after all.
She gaped up at him. "Isn't that proof enough he was running from something connected to that game—that this has nothing to do with your business?"
He met her determined gaze, close to believing but not yet convinced the facts added up to a game being the reason behind the kid running. "In any case," Jake said, "whoever is after him tracked him to my business and that puts me and my men in jeopardy."
Chapter 6
Jake St. John wasn't completely on board with her theory, but he was on board with finding her brother. Bliss could work with that for now.
She listened as he called Dozer and Fitch on their cells with the same question. "You and your team dig up anything new on the kid?"
He shook his head at her, either reading her unspoken question or anticipating it. Into the phone he said, "I'm coming back to town. We need to reevaluate our options. Where are you?"
Flicking off his cell, he headed for the door, calling out his orders. "Ash, you're on security. Bliss, you go through Rob's files."
"I want to come with," she said, trotting after him.
"The streets I'll be driving aren't friendly," he said, not slowing his pace.
"But I want to help find my brother."
He stopped in the doorway, filling it with his height and broad shoulders, his voice low, raspy. "And what exactly do you think you could do in the city? Flash his picture around? Ask if anyone's seen him? Do you even speak the language?"
She stepped into the slim wedge of light squeezing past his body. "I speak enough Spanish to ask the questions I need to ask."
He snorted. "No one around here is going to talk to you."
"But—"
"You can help best by going through your brother's files," he said, stepping out into the late-morning sunlight.
She watched him stride across the compound to the nearest SUV, long, purposeful strides like Nick Savage would have taken. But Jake St. John was no fictional character. He was the real thing. Military through and through. Used to giving orders and having them followed. Even the buffed Asher who favored one leg, hadn't argued when Jake had put him on desk duty. Asher had wordlessly stowed his gear and taken his post in front of the security screens.
Hours later, after staring at a computer screen—reading through Robbie's text files without finding anything useful—she was beginning to think her Midwestern roots had misguided her. That she'd played too nice and given in too easily to Jake's delegation of duties. She rolled her shoulders.
Asher called to her from the opposite end of the
long console of computer screens. "Take a break. I can see the glaze in your eyes from here."
"What about you?" she asked, noticing he stood rubbing his hip while still watching several screens. "You haven't moved in hours, either."
"I'm just scanning for movement. Besides, I'm used to it."
No complaint about being stiff or sore. Not a word about an obvious injury. She shook her head. "That's right. SEALs have super powers."
He chuckled. "Fresh eyes catch things tired eyes don't."
"Right," she said, rising and stretching the kinks from her muscles. "I'm getting myself something cold to drink. You want anything?"
"What goes in must come out and that would take me away from my task."
She rolled her eyes and headed across the common room for the kitchen. "Doesn't the same apply to you about tired eyes?"
"I've been trained not to get tired eyes," he called after her. "Hooyah."
"SEALs," she muttered, passing the door to Jake's quarters off the back of the kitchen, quarters she'd learned the original owners had built for a live-in maid.
She opened the fridge and reached for the pitcher of ice tea, but paused. There wasn't much for options inside the appliance. A big container of what appeared to be cooked, ground meat of undeterminable source, some kind of reddish sausage, probably chorizo, a big basket of eggs, and a few blocks of cheese. Added to the proteins was an assortment of peppers, onions, hot sauce, a gigantic bottle of ketchup, and beer. Is this all these guys ate?
Searching through the cupboards for a glass, she discovered their secret. Packages of rations, the kind SEALs subsisted on when in the field. She shook her head. Didn't these guys know they weren't in the military anymore?
In spite of the monotone hue of the cans and envelope goods, her stomach rumbled. She was hungry. Her breakfast had landed on the floor this morning, which might have been a good thing considering she guessed that unidentifiable meat was among the contents of the breakfast burrito. Though Jake had given her a protein bar on the ride to Robbie's.
