“I have been involved in several very interesting ventures since leaving active duty, Zander. Every time I come up against a new one, I confess I find myself wishing we had more young men like you.”
Zander eyed Jackson over the rim of his cup of lemonade. His mom made the stuff in such a way that it might as well be crack cocaine. He figured he’d have a sugar rush for the rest of the week, but it was worth it to see her smile every time he went back for more. “What type of work do you do?” he asked, determined to be polite.
“Contractor—specifically related to security, more specifically related to the defense of army intelligence,” Jackson said, as if he were discussing the latest string of car washes he’d just opened. “You could say that we protect the people who protect the People.”
That got Zander’s attention. “Private security for military operations?”
“Not exactly,” Jackson said smoothly. “There are a few more layers than that, and the lines are clearly drawn. But any time the military and civilian worlds intersect, you’re going to have security concerns. We help ensure those concerns are…minimized. Managed. For the best possible outcome for all parties involved. And because we’re private, we have a little more leeway to position our teams in such a way as to favorably impact those outcomes.”
“And you’re telling me this…”
“Because the work is hard, it’s intense, and it’s more than a little dangerous. And I find myself thinking about the kind of soldier who might be well suited for work like this, every time we expand our operations. You fit the bill.”
Zander stiffened. “I’m home because of the funeral, Mr. Jackson, and for no other reason. I’ll be returning to my unit at the end of these two weeks, and I will be re-upping at that point. If you’re recruiting me, I appreciate the compliment. But my loyalty is to my unit and to the work I’m doing now.”
Jackson’s smile was easy. “I understand that,” he said. “Even more, I firmly respect that. Since you’ll be home for a little while, though, would you be open to training with our newest team? Group of guys I think you’ll like. We’re prepping for some work that will involve the controlled detonation—or, preferably, the disarming—of a series of incendiary devices. When I read the write-up on your past work with this specific area of expertise, I thought it might be wise for us to learn from a soldier fresh out of the field.”
Zander hesitated. “As long as we’re clear. This isn’t about you trying me on to see how well I work with the team, and hoping that somehow equates to me terminating my military career. Because that is not at all on the table here.”
“Understood and agreed,” Jackson said, his smile not dimming one bit. As if he’d expected Zander to follow his line of thinking and cut him off. “Just consider coming out to the facility to take a look around. If you like what you see, maybe we can find a way to utilize your skills while you’re stateside, and ensure you get back to your unit in fighting trim.”
Zander grinned. “You’re not worried about me blowing everyone up?”
“Not at all, son,” Jackson said. He clapped Zander on the shoulder, his words as final as the movement. “There are certain individuals that I just don’t worry about, period. I either have read about them, or heard about them, or met them face-to-face. After that, even though I’m sending them into danger, I know they can manage the risk. You’re that type of soldier, Zander. I’ve read about you and heard about you, and now I’ve met you face-to-face. If you work with us over the next several days, you will be challenged, certainly. But you won’t be in any danger.”
Zander just nodded, waiting for the rest of the story to play out.
“Just think about it, son,” Jackson said. He held up a business card, handed it to Zander. “Call me if you want to see how we handle things on the civilian side. We have an open slot for you for the next two weeks—or, really, however long your find yourself stateside.”
Zander lifted his brows at the not-so-subtle push. “Mr. Jackson—”
“You know, for the right person to come join us, we’re in the position to be very generous. Security is big business, and we pay premium for people we trust.”
Premium. Zander’s lips twisted, knowing bait when he saw it but unable to keep himself from asking. “And what is premium these days?”
“Six figures,” Jackson said, shocking Zander to his toes. “And that’s just the signing bonus.” Jackson’s sharp eyes didn’t miss Zander’s reaction. Did he know about the Viper, somehow? A six-figure signing bonus would more than halfway pay for that baby.
Slowly, Zander shook his head. “Sir, I appreciate the information, but—”
Laughing, Jackson waved him off. “Just call me. I’d like to be a part of whatever you decide to do while you’re home.” His smile was confident. “And remember, it’s Glenn.”
He moved off with a loose, rolling gait. Zander stared after him, even as he recognized another person at his side, filling the space that Jackson had just left as if she couldn’t help herself anymore. He shifted his gaze down. And grinned despite himself.
Just like it had before, the sight of Erin Connelly hit him like a physical blow. It shouldn’t—she was so small, with none of the lush curves of the women he’d been talking to just a few minutes ago, or even the clean, athletic angles of the women he’d known throughout the years of his deployment. He’d spent the first year or so of that time trying to forget Erin Connelly, and another year trying to fill the hole she’d left behind. After that, he’d just sort of disconnected from the need for anyone in his life who could have any sort of real effect on him.
But now, seeing Erin here, that need was back—hot and real, and bigger than he’d remembered it being. It made him feel on edge, out of control. And that surprised him, even if the woman in question had no idea of the firebomb she was lighting inside him right now.
A firebomb he was going to defuse, once and for all.
Because Jackson was right about his particular skill set. Zander had made himself sort of an expert in incendiary devices over the past few years—the more potent, the better, no matter the packaging. So he had a pretty good idea of the kind of explosion it was going to take to burn off all the unexpected need he was feeling. And whether he was ready for it or not, it involved him, and Erin, and some significant alone time. Alone time where he had her in his arms again, wrapped up tight. Where he could feel her breath on his skin, his mouth on her lips, their bodies tangled together so close that it was impossible to tell where one of them stopped and the other one began. He wanted Erin naked, her eyes wide and her hair wild and her lips exactly like they were right now, parted and waiting, her breath rushing out in quick, panting gasps, too fast, too hot, too—
Heat punched hard through Zander’s veins, making him almost lightheaded with desire. With hunger. The four years that they’d been apart seemed to vanish like rain in the desert, leaving him with a craving so strong that he was practically coming out of his damned skin. He was going to have her—even if it killed him. Which it probably would.
“So, Zander,” Erin said before he could speak, her words breathless and tight. As if she was every bit as wound up as he was, with a hell of a lot less idea of what to do about it. “Is now a good time?”
Zander grinned and ratcheted his need down to a slow burn. “I suppose that depends on what you define as a good time.”
Chapter 4
Erin forced herself to smile. This is just the same old Zander, pulling your chain. Play this cool, play this right. “Well, I appreciate you giving me a few minutes. I know—well, I suspect this has to be hard for you.”
She didn’t miss his sharp glance, even as he gestured toward her glass with his own. “Looks like we’re both empty. How about a refill?” He moved in closer to her body as they turned, and Erin almost swallowed her tongue. How many times had he done that when they were dating, with an unconscious need to touch her every time they were close? He must have noticed it as well, because he in
stantly shifted back, giving her space as they walked across the lawn. She felt everyone’s eyes on them both, and she straightened her shoulders. She had every right to be here. The family had asked—
“So, you going to get to the point?”
At Zander’s words, Erin glanced up, startled, as they reached the long table with its carafes of water and lemonade. “The point?” she asked, busying herself with cups and napkins.
“Why you’re here,” Zander said, with exaggerated patience. “You had something to ask.”
“Oh. Of course.” Erin pulled it back together. By now they were standing off to the edge of the gathering, in the shade of the fringe of trees. No one was paying attention to them now, she didn’t think, at least not overtly. She took a nervous sip of her lemonade, hoping the sugar would carry her through. Everything she’d wanted to say to Zander about her mother sounded stupid now, in her head. Hell, this wasn’t even just about her mother, but her mother and her mom’s latest random boyfriend, whom Erin had never even met—both of them stuck in some hotel room in Mexico, depending on her. But she wasn’t going to get into all of that, no way. Zander didn’t know the truth about her parents. She’d always shut him down when he’d tried to pry, and, guy that he was, he’d never pried all that hard. They’d always had…other things to distract them.
Another flush crawled up her cheeks, and Erin lifted her chin. Just get this over with.
“Um, okay. I do have a few questions,” she said, pleased with how firm her voice sounded. “The first is this: If someone with no experience with a gun suddenly, you know, found themselves in a bad situation, would it be better to have a gun even though they don’t possess a ton of experience firing it, or to not have one, knowing that it’ll probably just get taken away and all of that.” She just felt so naked, thinking about taking all that money into some strange and creepy-sounding border town. Why couldn’t they just meet her on the Texas side? Why did it have to actually be in Mexico?
But the silence between them was lengthening, and she glanced up at Zander. His eyes had gone flat, his face impassive. “What?”
“What happened, Erin?” he asked. “Who’s threatening you?”
She blinked at him. Huh? “Oh!” she said, her brain scrambling for an intelligent response. “It’s not that, not really. I just—um, I was walking home from my studio space the other day, alone, and it occurred to me that it wasn’t the safest neighborhood and—”
“Bullshit.” Zander’s word was sharp, percussive, and it stunned her into silence. “But to answer your question, if you don’t know how to use a gun, and you don’t have time to learn—and learn well—before you carry it into, as you say, a ‘bad situation,’ then no. You’re better off without one. Pepper spray, a whistle around your neck, and a good attack dog would be a better bet. Though none of them will help you a hell of a lot if whoever you’re with in that situation does have a gun. So I’m going to ask you again. Who’s threatening you?”
“No one is threatening me, Zander,” Erin said, letting her irritation show. And, technically, this was true enough. It was her mother in trouble, not her. “But thank you. That’s helpful.” She hadn’t thought about a dog. But the other stuff—pepper spray, a whistle. That could be good. A phone set to dial the police might not be a bad idea either, except of course she wasn’t supposed to involve them. “Okay, next question.” She paused, trying to figure out how to word this one. “So, say you have to move something hidden in a vehicle. You can’t run the risk of anyone figuring out what you have, but you look pretty innocent, if that helps.”
Zander cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t really have a lot of experience with looking innocent.”
“Well, this isn’t about you,” she said. “Do you have a suggestion or not?”
“Sure,” Zander said, blowing out a breath. “If you’re evading the cops but you look innocent, then all of the usual hiding places are possible. Compartments built into the car, behind the license plate. You can put whatever you’re trying to conceal anywhere.”
“Hmm. And if it’s just your standard rental vehicle? Could you just tuck the item into the cushions or bury it in the glove compartment and drive right through a police checkpoint or whatever?”
“If you’re a pretty, young, upper-middle-class girl who doesn’t look like she’s carrying contraband? Sure. They might not even slow you down. Stupid, but it’s true. What’s this about?”
“It’s not about anything, and that’s super helpful. Just one more?” Erin asked. She knew she was pushing it, but she already felt so much better, having a plan—any sort of plan, actually. Even the idea that there could be a plan.
Zander’s lips thinned, but he nodded at her.
She smiled brightly. “So, when you—I mean, since you’ve been in the army, have you ever had to, you know…negotiate with bad people?”
“Erin…,” Zander growled.
“I’m serious!” Erin gripped her lemonade cup and forced herself to meet Zander’s gaze. His eyes were openly hostile now, but also curious. He wanted to tell her, she realized. He wanted to share the knowledge that was so hard-won, even though he didn’t trust her, even though she was pushing some sort of “protector” button for him. A button that simply hadn’t been on the old Zander model. “I really need to know, and I just thought that maybe you’d had an opportunity to go in and talk with the enemy at some point.”
“In my unit, we don’t generally make a habit of talking with the enemy,” Zander said, and she could hear the pride ringing in his voice, pride and defiance. He clearly loved what he did—being in the middle of danger, on the front lines. He was suited for it, every muscle in his body primed to deliver explosive power whenever needed. “But, no. In my experience, ‘bad people’ don’t negotiate. They’ve already set up in their minds what they’re going to do. If they’re going to screw you, you’re screwed, unless you’ve got something they want and they can’t get it from you except on your terms.”
“Ohhhh,” Erin said, nodding. “But what kind of ‘something’ would they want in that scenario?”
“Generally speaking, either a lot more of what you were originally offering—or something completely different and better,” Zander said. His eyes were still on her, intent and focused. “I’m going to ask you again, Erin—”
“No, no, this is really good.” Erin’s mind was racing now, and she half-turned from Zander, focusing on her lemonade. She could totally do that. She could bring more ransom money than she’d promised, but then hide it somewhere close by, and give the men (Man? Family of twelve?) the location of her hidden stash, but only after they’d let her mother and Mike, the boyfriend, go. She could call them with the location, maybe, or shout it from the car window as she was driving off. Of course, they could just torture the information out of her, too. So maybe that wouldn’t work so well…
“Erin.” Zander’s voice was right at her ear, his breath barely fanning her hair. A chill snaked down her neck and she shivered despite herself, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Zander didn’t wait for her to compose herself. His mouth shifted closer to her earlobe, his lips brushing against the delicate skin as his words continued, pitched low so only she could hear. “Erin, you’re lying to me. You’re not even lying well. And everything you’ve said is leading me to making my own call to the police this afternoon, the moment you get out of here.”
“The police!” Erin would have jerked away, except Zander reached out his hand and anchored her arm down tightly, forcing her to stay pressed up against him, unable to move, with nowhere to run. Her breathing went instantly shallow, her entire body on fire.
“The police,” Zander said again. “I won’t even have to give them much information. Just that I suspect a young woman to be carrying contraband, maybe an unlicensed gun, and quite definitely expressing the intent to engage in some illegal transaction, so could they possibly just question her, investigate her, just to make sure she’s no immediate threat to herself or anyone els
e? Maybe keep her on ice for oh, say, the next five days or so?”
“You can’t do that! I have to go!” Erin wrenched herself so violently that Zander had to shift hard to keep a hold on her, but he didn’t relax his grip. She stared up into his implacable eyes and a slow, hard smile spread across his lean face.
He nodded at her, once. “Then maybe you should tell me what the fuck is going on, Erin. Because I can assure you, you’re not going anywhere until you do.”
—
Zander eased his grip off of Erin’s wrist, knowing she wouldn’t try to bolt. She was sweating, even in the shade, her skin pale, her lips trembling. Her eyes were huge and she had that haunted look again, even as her glance darted to the crowd behind him, to the trees, and finally back to him. He’d give her that, at least: she wasn’t trying to avoid his gaze as she struggled with how much to tell him, and how to say it. He felt energized, on point. He didn’t think he was going to like what Erin spilled, but he could handle whatever it was. Shut her down cold and tell her to call the cops, most likely.
Finally she drew in a deep, shuddering breath. Held it. And started talking. The words that came out of her mouth were absolutely the last thing he expected, though.
“It’s, um, my parents,” she said. “They—they’ve been abducted. In Mexico.”
“Your parents.” God bless army training, enabling him to keep the surprise from showing on his face. “I didn’t think you had parents.”
“Of course I have parents,” Erin snapped. “Everyone has parents.”
“I mean living parents,” Zander said, keeping his voice steady. “I asked you about your family and you fumbled around the question, then said it was just your gran. I asked my mom about it, too, and she said your grandmother never spoke of your parents, gave the impression that they’d died in some car crash or something.”
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