In the Line of Fire

by Joss Wood

“But what about?” Sam cried and, as the words left her mouth, she knew it was a stupid question.

  Her father had been one of the most powerful men in the world, a senior adviser to two presidents and the man who controlled a billion-dollar family empire built on timber and transport. After leaving the White House, he established Pytheon International, an organization well known in certain circles for coloring outside of the lines by retrieving information, people, and items that would not be safe, or constructive, in enemy hands. Sam was fairly sure that the US government was Pytheon’s biggest client and that “plausible deniability” was their code word.

  Sam thought of her father’s business and political enemies and rejected the idea. She placed her hands flat on the table and looked at her brother. “This is personal, Stone. This doesn’t have anything to do with business.”

  Stone frowned at her. “How can you tell?”

  Sam wished she had something to back up her claim, something science-y and academic but her mind was blank.

  “Gut instinct?” she ventured, thinking she’d probably be laughed out of the room.

  Instead of laughing at her, three sets of intelligent eyes just looked at her. Jett was the first to speak. “On a scale of one to ten, how strong is that instinct?”

  “Uh... nine?”

  “You asking me or telling me?”

  Sam narrowed her eyes at his demanding tone. “Telling you.”

  Jett just nodded and looked at Seth who gave a sharp nod. “Good enough for me. So where do we start? Who do we look at?”

  Sam felt like the room was spinning out from under her. She held up her hand to get them to stop talking. “Wait! What? You can’t just go off half-cocked because I have a feeling this is personal!”

  Jett’s smile caused the dimple in his cheek to deepen and the elastic in her panties started melting. “Sure we can. In the field we often make decisions on gut instinct. It’s one of our most powerful tools.” Jett took his seat again and placed his ankle on his opposite knee. “But, before we start ripping apart your lives, maybe we should talk security.”

  “Security?” Sam asked, still feeling like she was standing in a vortex. “What security?”

  Jett pointed at her, then at Seth and then at Stone. “Yours and theirs. You all need personal protection, starting immediately.”

  “I can take care of mys—” Seth said.

  “Oh, hell no!” Stone muttered, throwing his hands up in the air.

  “Not negotiable,” Jett stated, his voice colder and harder than a vicious winter’s night. “Do not even try to tell me that you can protect yourself!” Jett held their hot, accusing stares and Sam thought that he had the biggest set of balls she’d ever seen. Very few people stood up to Stone and Seth and it, yeah, kinda, sorta, hopelessly turned her on.

  “You two are the most valuable assets of Pytheon and deserve the highest level of security. You cannot protect yourselves.” Jett leaned forward, pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and stared down at the screen.

  “I’m calling in reinforcements,” Jett stated.

  “I have people within Pytheon who can be reassigned to follow us around,” Seth argued, his expression sour.

  Jett shot Stone a quick look and shook his head. “I’d prefer to work with my own team.” Jett turned to Stone. “Draw up a temporary contract for three months with an option to renew if this situation drags out, these guys won’t want to be tied down for longer than that. Two guys on you, two on Leah, two on Stone. One more for Sam. Seven, yeah, that’s doable.”

  “Can we discuss this?” Stone demanded.

  Jett looked at Stone, shook his head, and snapped out a brisk “no.” He then spoke into his phone, “I need all of you in New York ASAP. Yeah, the entire crew. Text me your ETA.”

  Seth shook his head, looking almost bemused. “Hell, JSJ, you have a big set of balls, ordering us around like this.”

  Jett had the audacity, the temerity, the sheer arrogance to smile. “So they tell me.”

  “Except, hotshot,” Stone said, his voice and face expressionless.

  Sam tensed. She recognized that look; Stone was beyond pissed.

  “I’m not happy that we have two bodyguards and Samantha only has one.”

  Jett tipped his head to the side and stared at Sam, his blue eyes smoking.

  After a long wait, three seconds, thirty minutes—who knew?—he turned his attention back to Sam. “That’s because I’m going to be looking after Samantha. She’ll be my responsibility.”

  Sam squeezed her eyes shut. “Oh, shit,” she muttered.

  Jett saw the panic in Sam’s violet-gray eyes and grinned. She was more worried about them spending concentrated time together than the threat of The Recruiter and he couldn’t blame her.

  Lust, attraction, desire, passion... call it what one would... arced between them and she didn’t like it. He wasn’t too crazy about it either. Sam Stone was smart and sexy but tumbling Sam, his boss’ sister, into bed would not be a smart career move.

  Why was he even thinking about dating Sam? He didn’t want to date her... he didn’t want to date anyone. Dating implied he was interested in a relationship and he really wasn’t, wouldn’t allow himself to be. His profession was hell on relationships; he’d meet a girl, start something, fall for her and she’d promise him, faithfully, she could handle his sudden disappearances, his lack of contact. She’d be strong, she’d assure him, she wouldn’t stress or fret or hurl recriminations at his head when he eventually surfaced. Promises were tossed out like confetti and those promises were always broken. He’d yet to meet a woman who could cope with his lifestyle, his occasional radio silence, and they always, always threw reproaches and accusations at his head. His lovers simply could not cope with the danger of his job, with the uncertainty that he might not make it back. He was tired of looking and, honestly, tired of feeling disappointed by the Dear John emails and text messages.

  His broken engagement a year before had been the last straw. Women were too much hassle, sucked up too much emotional energy, so he tossed the idea of love and commitment—maybe to be revisited when his job was less time consuming—and he was, at this point in time, only interested in hookups and no-strings affairs. Of which, since Gemma returned his ring, he’d had, if he counted them, exactly none.

  A year was a long time to be celibate. Sam was the first woman who’d raised his interest in a long, long time. Dammit. Why her? Why now? Yeah, the universe was having a fine time screwing with him.

  “As good as you think you are,” Stone stated, his voice flat, “that’s still two bodyguards on us and one on Sam. It should be the other way around.”

  “Kelby, also Unit, will be working with me to protect Samantha,” Jett stated.

  Kelby Marrow, his most trusted friend and former teammate, left the Unit at the same time Jett did and, like him, was still trying to find his way in the civilian world. He was currently flipping a house in Baltimore and the fact that he’d agreed, without asking any questions to get the team to NYC as soon as possible told Jett exactly how bored he was with construction. Like Jett, Kelby liked the adrenalin and the action.

  Kelby would be in town by this afternoon and there was no one he trusted more to safeguard Sam’s luscious ass. He trusted Kelby with his life and he trusted him with Sam’s as well.

  The only problem he had with Kels was the fact the dude was a chronic flirt and could charm birds down from trees and bras off nuns. He’d have to explain that Sam was firmly off-limits and that if he made a move on her Jett would rip off his dick, best mate or not.

  “With two Delta Force operatives looking after you, you’ll be as safe as you can be,” Stone told Sam but Jett noticed his eyes remained worried. “They are the best there is.”

  “Yay,” Sam muttered, not sounding or looking impressed. “Who is going to be guarding Stone and Seth and Leah?”

  “Other colleagues of mine. Equally proficient,” Jett replied.

  Sam pushed elegant
fingers into her fiery curls. God, he wanted to touch her hair, smell her shampoo, feel her curls brush his stomach as she moved her mouth down his abs...

  Jett was grateful the conference desk hid the pole in his pants. If even thinking about Sam’s lips sent his blood rushing south what would touching her, kissing her do? He’d probably spontaneously combust.

  Really, he had to get his head in the game. The Recruiter wouldn’t hesitate to use Sam to get to Stone. He couldn’t afford to be distracted because being distracted could result in him being dead. That would be a bad outcome for him and pretty damn horrific if it happened to Sam.

  Not happening, not on his watch.

  Giving himself a mental punch, Jett looked at Sam. “I need to gather some intel.” He tossed Seth and Stone a look. “When I’m done with Sam, I’ll connect with you two. If you could email me a list of your daily schedule and Leah’s, Seth, I’ll pass that information to my crew.”

  “You’re not going to bring them here, to Stone Tower?” Sam asked.

  Jett shook his head as Stone and Seth rose to their feet. “I don’t want to bring any more attention to them than we need to. My guys like to, as much as possible, fly under the radar.”

  Stone nodded and left the room, Seth trailing behind him. Jett watched them go and, when Sam cleared her throat, he looked at Sam. “My brother and Seth rarely take orders from anyone and never from anyone in their employ.”

  Jett shrugged. So he was a take charge type of guy. “I appreciate the fact that they don’t let their egos get in the way of getting shit done. They know that they need protection and are smart enough to accept my crew’s help.”

  “Don’t they have jobs, commitments, wives?”

  “Like I said, they aren’t crazy about being tied down and they know that I would only ask for their help if I really needed it. They are highly trained soldiers and Pytheon is one of the few organizations around who can afford to pay for their skill set. Some of them could use the cash.”

  Sam leaned back in her chair, her eyes curious. She picked up a pen, slid it between her fingers and suddenly he could imagine something else that was long and straight that needed to slide between her fingers.

  Yeah, not helpful, Smith-Jones.

  “Are you really the best of the best?”

  Jett pulled a face, uncomfortable with the question. How was he supposed to answer that? Yes, the Unit selected guys from all the other special operation units, yes, the battery of tests they had to undertake was rigorous. But the best of the best? Who cared? Nowadays he just aimed to do the best job he could all the time and achieve the objectives of the mission. He did that, nine times out of ten. He’d earned his so-called “legend” status when operations went sideways and he had to get creative and it was a combination of balls to the wall, desperation, and sheer luck that some of his dumbass decisions paid off. Luck and kickass training.

  “We’re up there,” he finally answered Sam. Not wanting to answer any other questions, he changed the subject. “I need a copy of your schedule for the next week. Do you have an office in this building?” If she did, protecting her while she was at work would be a breeze.

  “I have an office here but I don’t use it much. Mostly I work out of my home in Boerum Hill.”

  “Brooklyn?” When Sam nodded, he fired another series of questions her way. “Apartment? Condo?”

  “Brownstone.”

  A home office in a brownstone. Not ideal. She was a psychologist and a steady stream of patients was going to be a pain in the ass, mostly because there was an ice cube’s chance in hell she’d allow him or Kelby to be present in the room when she was counseling. “How many patients do you see a day?”

  Sam shook her head. “None. My counseling work is done pro-bono and I’m contracted to do psych evals to Pytheon. But the bulk of time is spent as a forensic psychologist specializing in criminal behavior. I consult for the BAU, police forces, prosecutors, sometimes for defense lawyers. I have a special interest in serial killers.”

  I have a special interest in serial killers... she spoke those bone chilling words as lightly as she would order a cup of coffee.

  Jett frowned. “Seriously? Serial killers?”

  Sam smiled at him and he felt like he’d touched the sun. “Relax, I’m not having lunch with them on a regular basis.”

  “So, do you examine crime scenes, cold case files, do victimology reports?”

  “That too. I frequently get pulled into task forces and help the investigators profile the killer, and the victims.”

  Jett gestured for her to continue. “I’m often called to be an expert witness for prosecutors and I teach a class on criminology at NYU. At the moment I’m doing research on female serial killers and what drives them to kill.” Sam released a tiny laugh. “The title of my paper will be a lot weightier but that’s the gist of it.”

  Jett was impressed. Beauty and brains. It was a killer combination. Though, in light of what they were discussing, maybe not the best terminology.

  Sam tapped her fingernail on the table. “Actually, I’m due to interview an inmate at Little Siberia next week.”

  “Little Siberia? Remind me where that is again?”

  “The Clinton Correctional Facility in Dannemora, New York. The person I need to speak to is the husband of Sarah Wooly. Together, they murdered and dismembered seven women in New Jersey. He picked the prostitutes up and together they raped and tortured the poor women, keeping some of them for weeks before killing them and disposing of their bodies.”

  Jett felt a little nauseous. He was intimately acquainted with violence, had seen—up close and personal—what people did to each other in war but nobody he’d ever come across, not friend or foe, considered the killing to be fun.

  “Can you postpone this interview?” Jett asked. They were dealing with enough without adding psychopathic serial killers to their to-do list.

  “Unfortunately, no.” Sam bit the inside of her cheek. “It’s taken months to get Wooly to agree to do this interview. If I postpone it, he might not give me another shot. If I don’t interview him now, I might never get the chance to gain insight into Sarah’s psyche. Did he coerce her? Did she encourage him? How did their partnership of evil form?”

  “Why won’t he talk? Don’t they love to brag?”

  “Some do, some don’t,” Sam answered him. “Wooly doesn’t like me much because he thinks that my profile on Sarah led the police to them. Sarah has all but told me that if he could, Wooly will hire someone to take me out, brutally.”

  Jett looked up at the ceiling and tried to keep calm. The thought of Sam being targeted by The Recruiter was bad enough, now she was telling him she could also be the target of a pair of serial killers?

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” Jett let out a muted roar.

  “Shush!” Sam reached across the table and slapped his hand. “Be quiet, I don’t need Stone to know!”

  “Gee, I wonder why,” Jett muttered. “He might be a tad concerned.”

  “They are playing mind games to scare me. It’s the only fun available to them.” Sam shrugged off the threat as one would a fly. “My colleague, Ross Knox, is going with me to interview Wooly so you don’t need to worry about me.”

  “And who is he?” Jett asked.

  “He’s a forensic specialist with an interest in the psychology of killers. He helps me understand crime scenes and I help him with the psychology. We often work together. So, he’ll collect me and he’ll drive us to the airport.”

  Jett just stared at her. Sam smiled, obviously thinking she’d got her way. Not even close, sunshine. Her face fell when he uttered a single, hard “no.”

  “But—”

  “No to him collecting you, no to you flying with him. Just no. He can meet you at Little Siberia and he’ll leave you at Little Siberia.” Jett held up his hand to forestall her arguments. “Or, to make this easier, just tell him that he’s not needed.”

  “You’re being unreasonable,” Sam arg
ued, her voice coated with irritation.

  “If something happens to us, if we are ambushed on the way, then I’ll have two civilians to protect and not one. His presence might compromise your safety and that’s not a chance I’m prepared to take.”

  Sam’s eyes widened at his vehemence.

  She twisted her hands together and pulled a face. “He’s not going to be happy.”

  His heart bled.

  Jett kept his face impassive and after a minute, Sam lifted her shoulders in a resigned shrug.

  “Okay, I’ll talk to Ross. I need to inform the prison that you will be accompanying me. I’ll ask for a private room, one with one-way glass so that you can watch the interview from the next room.”

  She had to be shittin’ him.

  “I’m either going to be in the room with you or this interview won’t happen. There is no way that you are interviewing a serial killer without me being there.” Sam started to speak and Jett talked over her. “And I don’t care if he is in shackles!”

  Sam winced and looked down. Then she stared at a point past his shoulder, her eyes bouncing from Cracker to the wall of screens and back to Cracker. She wasn’t meeting his eyes. Why not?

  A horrible thought occurred to Jett. “Please tell me that he is restrained—arm and leg shackles—while you talk to them.”

  Sam, about a hundred years later, met his eyes. “Shackles, chains, and handcuffs don’t inspire trust and conversation and having their hands free is a show of good faith on my part.”

  Fuck me and the boat I came in on. Ice invaded his veins. “You talk to killers with no protection?” he asked in a low voice. Kelby, and any of his other teammates, would’ve instantly recognized his low-and-slow tone, it was a fairly good indicator he was about to lose his shit. Most people backed the hell away from him at this point.

  “The guards stand outside the door. They check on me periodically. The warden at Little Siberia did make me sign about a million indemnity forms stating that the prison wasn’t liable if anything happened to me.” Sam blithely added, “I can almost guarantee that he won’t try anything stupid but it freaks Will out.”