by Mallory Kane
Behind him, Deke was filling Dan in on the specialists, and Rook needed to be listening.
“The one person I’ve always known I can count on is Brock O’Neill. He’s been around the longest. He’s a former Navy Seal, got a disability discharge when he lost his eye on a mission.”
“He lives on the ranch?”
“Sort of,” Deke said.
Dan’s brows went up. “Sort of? What does that mean?”
Deke shifted. “He’s here during the week.”
“And on weekends?”
Irina caught the look that passed between Deke and Rook. She’d seen it before. The two of them sometimes communicated in ways that she didn’t understand.
Deke turned back to the Secret Service agent. “We don’t know.”
“You don’t—?”
“His weekends are his own. He doesn’t have to tell us where he goes.”
“But you have an opinion, right?”
“Nope. Not me.”
Irina’s gaze shot involuntarily to Rook’s. She knew as soon as her eyes met his that he was thinking the same thing she was: Deke wasn’t telling everything he knew.
She knew that Brock disappeared most weekends. He’d always done it, and Rook had always allowed it, unless Brock was on an active mission. She’d never asked Rook where the ex-Navy Seal went on his own time, and Rook had never volunteered the information.
Dan intercepted her gaze and started to speak, then stopped and mentally regrouped. He jotted a note on his pad, then looked up. “What’s his specialty? What was the last job he did for Black Hills Search and Rescue?”
“Brock took over my job as mission coordinator when I took over Rook’s position,” Deke said. “He’s got expertise in explosives, as well as several other areas. But at heart, he’s a tracker. He’s half Sioux Indian, so I suppose tracking is in his blood. He can track over ground, in water and over rock. Best I’ve ever seen.”
“How can you be sure you can trust him?”
“Because I know him. He wouldn’t betray his country.”
“You said he’s Sioux. Maybe he doesn’t recognize the United States of America as his country.”
Anger flared in Deke’s eyes. To his credit, he didn’t say anything.
Irina understood. It was one thing to speak in generalities about someone feeding information to Novus Ordo. It was quite another to specifically target each trusted employee.
“Brock’s last assignment was a missing-child case,” she offered. “A mother and her two boys went on a picnic in a supposedly safe camping area. The younger, a six-year-old, disappeared.”
“He had a child locator on.” Deke took over the story. “But the locator was found at the bottom of a ravine, smeared with blood consistent with the boy’s blood type. The child hasn’t been found.”
Dan shook his head. “Sad story. Has that affected his work?”
“No,” Deke said.
“I think he’s still looking for the child,” Irina put in. “I think that is what he does on his time these days. I tried to tell him to let it go. But he is a stubborn man, and I’m afraid he may have developed feelings for the mother. In any case, that’s about the time my accountant started warning me about finances, so that was the last pro bono case we took.”
“And when was that?”
She thought for a second. “Two months ago.”
Dan turned back to Deke. “What about the other two?”
Rook spoke up. “Aaron Gold is our computer and communications expert. He’s young, only twenty-three. His dad was a good friend of mine. One of my mentors. Like I told you, he died on that mission under my command.” He rubbed his face.
“Aaron followed in his dad’s footsteps and got his degree in computer engineering while he was in the Air Force. I hired him for his computer knowledge, and because I felt responsible for him after his dad’s death.”
“Think he resents you for taking his dad away from him?”
Rook shook his head. “I’d have said no, but—”
“Aaron was pretty shook up when he heard about Rook’s death. I think he thought of Rook as a father figure,” Deke put in. “Oh, and he does live here on the ranch, in the guesthouse.”
Dan glanced down at his notepad. “And Rafiq Jackson. What kind of name is that?” He looked up at Rook, who shook his head and gestured toward Deke.
“Irina hired him several months ago. He was born in England.” Deke sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “He’s our terrorism and language expert.”
“So he’s not an American citizen?” Dan asked.
Deke nodded tersely. “Yeah, he is. Naturalized. He’s never had military service, but he studied math in the U.S. and worked for NSA until he got sick of government bureaucracy—his words.”
“Rafiq—what kind of name is that? It sounds—”
“His mother is from Saudi Arabia. His father is British.”
Dan nodded. “Anything else out of the ordinary about him? Other than his heritage, I mean?”
Irina responded. “He was unemployed for two years after he quit NSA. According to his CV, he took a trip around the world. I hired him for his language skills.”
“You advertised for a language expert?”
“No. We didn’t advertise.”
“So, how did you know about him?”
Rook sat forward. He wanted to know the answer to that, too.
Irina spoke then. “We received his CV in the mail,” she answered Dan. “We were not advertising, but when we saw his credentials, we called him in.”
“We both liked what we saw,” Deke said.
“I can show you his introductory letter,” Irina continued. “His education and experience were impressive. And he said he had always wanted to work search and rescue.”
Her voice quivered slightly at the end. Rook understood why. She was questioning her decision. Had she unknowingly hired a terrorist? She had good instincts about people, but sometimes her feelings got in the way of her better judgment.
He turned his gaze to Deke.
“I vetted him,” Deke said. “All the way back to Hampstead Garden, England, to his birth records.”
“So tell me, why does a search-and-rescue operation need a terrorism and language specialist?”
Deke sent the Secret Service agent an exasperated look. “Because this particular search-and-rescue operation is on Novus Ordo’s short list.”
Chapter Seven
“Black Hills Search and Rescue wasn’t created to be a typical search-and-rescue service like so many who operate here in the mountain states. You might say our scope is pretty broad.”
Rook clasped his hands on the table. “Dan, I know you’ve only been here a month, but you were assigned here by the president. I’m certain you know the answers to many if not all of these questions you’re asking.” He paused long enough for the silence to become uncomfortable.
Dan didn’t take the bait. He sat still, staring at his pad, waiting for Rook to continue.
“Given our customers, it makes perfect sense to me that Deke and Irina would hire a language and terrorism expert.”
“Yes, sir,” Dan replied. “I’m not questioning the decision. I’m merely interested in finding out why Rafiq Jackson sent his CV here.”
The question hung there in the air until Irina spoke.
“Are you saying this is the only place he sent it?”
Dan’s head turned sharply in her direction.
Rook nodded to himself. Excellent question.
After an instant of silence, Dan nodded. “I’ll check.” He flipped a page. “Okay. Moving on, tell me about Fiona Hathaway.”
Irina looked surprised. “Fiona? How did you get her name?”
“Same as all the other specialists. From your assistant, Pam Jamieson.”
“Fiona is on a leave of absence—maternity leave. Has been for the past two months. She has nothing to do with this.”
“Fiona had a baby?” Rook was surpris
ed. She’d never seemed like the type to want children.
Irina nodded.
“She was a major in the Air Force,” Deke supplied. “Commanded a medical reserve unit until she retired four years ago. She’s also a cartography expert. Her unit was deployed to Afghanistan, and she returned with medals for bravery, although there were some rumors circulating that she may not have deserved them.”
“Oh, yeah? Why not?”
“I didn’t ask,” Rook said. “Fiona informed me about the rumors and assured me they weren’t true.”
Dan jotted down a quick note, probably to request the information from the Air Force.
“Who’s the father of her baby?”
“Never asked that, either.”
Dan nodded and flipped backward several pages.
“So that’s four specialists. They’re the only people, other than you, who could have access to the kind of information we know has been given to Ordo?”
Rook, Deke and Matt all nodded.
“But Fiona has a really good alibi,” Irina pointed out. “She was in the hospital in labor when the helicopter was sabotaged.”
Dan looked at each of them in turn. “So who is your traitor? Brock O’Neill, Aaron Gold or Rafiq Jackson?”
No one spoke.
Rook rubbed his palm down his cheek to his chin. “It could be any one of the three.”
“WHAT ARE YOU planning to do? Hide down here in the basement all day?”
Irina didn’t answer Rook’s question. She didn’t even look at him. She didn’t have to. Even with her back turned, she knew exactly what he was doing. He was leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed and his jaw set. He was angling for a fight. It was how he always argued. Closed off. Irritatingly rational. And with a subtle undertone of sarcasm that could sting like an angry hornet.
As frustrating as his superior attitude was, she felt a disturbing nostalgia. She’d even missed this.
She’d stayed behind when the meeting broke up, using the dirty coffeepot and cups as an excuse, although what she’d really wanted to do was avoid the awkwardness of going upstairs at Rook’s side. She wished she could slip into her suite and lock the door and avoid the question of where he would sleep.
She ran the coffee carafe under the hot water tap one more time and set it on the drain board in the small kitchen, then started on the mugs. Maybe if she ignored him long enough, he’d give up and go away.
“Irina, we have a cleaning staff to do that.”
That did it. She slammed the mugs down on the granite counter, getting satisfaction from the sound. “I let most of the house and grounds staff go six months ago, when the accountant began talking about my dwindling funds.”
His face reflected surprise. And that gave her satisfaction, too. When had she become so mean-spirited? When had she changed from a grieving widow who would have done anything to have her husband back again? When had she become this bitter shrew?
It was a silly question. The answer was easy—horrifyingly easy.
This morning. That’s when. Around 2:00 a.m., when she’d come face-to-face with her dead husband.
“Irina, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect the insurance company to drag out the investigation of my death. I guess I should have.” He rubbed his palm across his cheek. “I know all this has been hard on you.”
“Hard on me?” she squeaked. “Hard—? Yes. You could say it’s been hard.”
She neatly and carefully folded the dish towel and laid it on the counter, using the mundane movements to gather her composure.
“Is everyone else gone?” She tried her best to keep her tone conversational.
“Yeah. Dan Taylor went—wherever he goes. Matt went to the guesthouse, where he’s staying with Aimee and her son. And Deke went back to the hospital.
“Oh, Mindy. How is she? I didn’t get a chance to ask Deke.”
“No, you were too busy making coffee and washing dishes.”
“Do not—”
“Sorry. He said they’ve gotten her blood sugar back to normal, but they’re keeping her there for observation. At least that’s what she thinks. Deke has made arrangements with the hospital director to keep her there in a protective custody situation until he’s comfortable that she’s no longer in danger.”
“Tangled webs,” she muttered on a sigh. Exhaustion shrouded her.
“What?” he snapped.
She shook her head. She felt so tired. Bone weary, as she’d heard Brock say many times. She’d only had about two hours of sleep last night before the dream woke her. Two hours in thirty-six.
“Never mind. I heard you. You said ‘tangled webs.’ Is that what you think I’ve done? You think I caused all this?”
“I think all of this is here because of your decision to fake your death. I think your arrogance has ruined many lives. Not only mine, but all these other people who care about you and are loyal to you.”
He grimaced and shook his head. “I had to do it.”
“No, you didn’t. That is the arrogance. You decided you were the only person in the world who could stop Novus Ordo. And you had to do it alone.” She flipped off the light switch.
The room plunged into darkness, startling her. She hadn’t realized that Rook had turned off the conference room lights. The only relief from total darkness was the glow of a couple of night-lights.
Lifting her chin, she stepped toward the door, but Rook didn’t step aside, as she’d expected him to. So she nearly collided with him.
“Excuse me,” she said coldly.
“No.”
She was way too close to him. Close enough that she could smell his fresh clean scent. She held her breath.
“Ex-cuse me,” she repeated.
“No.” He ran his palm down her upper arm. “We need to talk. I need to talk, and you need to listen.”
His hand was as strong and warm as she remembered. She stiffened even more and took a small step backward.
“Don’t do this,” she said evenly. “I will listen to you. But not tonight—today, I mean. You’ve been gone for two years. Dead for two years. I am sure one more day can’t make that much difference.”
He held on to her for a few seconds, his head bent enough that he could look into her eyes. He wanted her to look at him. To yield to him.
She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Not now. She had no idea what she was going to do, now that Rook was back. Yesterday he was dead. Today he was alive.
Until she could process everything that had happened in the past few hours, never mind the past two weeks or two years, she couldn’t afford to allow herself to relax. She had to maintain control.
Control was all she had left.
“That’s not true,” he murmured.
For an instant she thought he’d read her mind. Then he continued.
“One day can make all the difference. The most dangerous man in the world wants me dead, and he’ll do anything—anything—to make it happen. That includes killing you.”
His hand tightened for an instant, maybe with emotion? She didn’t dare believe that. But she had to believe what he said. Her life was in danger, and apparently her safety was in his hands—the same hands that had held her heart and then broken it.
“All right. I’ll listen.”
She heard his breath escape in a sigh. His hand slid from her arm to the small of her back. “Let me reset the access code and we can go up to our—to your suite.”
Just what she didn’t want to happen. She’d almost gotten rid of his scent. And now he was going to stamp it on everything again. The bathroom, the bed linens. Her.
They rode upstairs in the elevator that was disguised as a closet in the executive offices upstairs.
Rook paused at the elevator door as he took in the changes she’d made to his masculine office in the past two years. She watched him as his gaze lit on vases and fresh flowers and candles, the new, colorful cushions that brightened the dark wood and tan walls, and the airy curtains on the wide win
dows that he’d always wanted bare.
He took a deep breath and his nose wrinkled, and she knew he’d noticed the subtle smell of fresh flowers and scented candles.
“Nice,” he said, that edge of sarcasm tingeing his voice.
She could have predicted his reaction. He’d indulged her liking for beautiful feminine things, but reluctantly, in typical male fashion. It was one of the things they’d bantered intimately about. One of the things she’d missed so much.
“Don’t,” she snapped.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t tease me as if nothing has changed. I had to do something. Your—your ghost in this house haunted me.”
“So you had me exorcised with aromatherapy?”
Hurt arrowed through her. “This is not a joke. Maybe it was easy for you to wipe me out of your mind. You didn’t have to live here, surrounded by my clothes, my scent, my ghost in every room.”
He looked at her, and for an instant the veneer of command and confidence that he carried with him fell away, and raw anguish etched new lines in his face. But the instant passed, as if it had never been.
He turned to stare out the picture window and ran a finger across the large mahogany desk. “Do you want to talk in your suite?” he asked.
Her immediate reaction was to say no. All her bravado about wiping his presence out of the house was a shield she’d thrown up to protect her vulnerable emotions. He would see through her as soon as he stepped into their bedroom. She’d made changes to the open areas of the ranch house, but their bedroom was the same as it had always been.
She’d been trying to convince herself that it was time to let him go. That two years of sleeping with his ghost was long enough. And she’d almost succeeded.
“That’s okay,” he added. “We can talk here. Hopefully no one will interrupt us. And I don’t want to make things awkward for you.”
Too late for that.
He looked past her. “Are the rooms across the hall from the suite empty?”
Suddenly, and inexplicably, Irina wanted to cry. Was he trying to spare her, or himself?
“No,” she said. “I mean, yes, they’re empty, but you have no need to do that. It’s probably best if we keep a low profile.” She uttered a small laugh. “Awkward would be if everyone knew we were sleeping in separate rooms.”
