Red Awakening (Red Zone 2)

“I know you don’t believe me,” Striker said, “but this won’t happen again. This is a one-time deal. The information on your parents will only be held for security purposes.”

“You’re right.” She glared at him. “I don’t believe you.”

Striker let out a heavy breath. “Sandi, Mace’s sister—the woman you pulled into the pool—has clothes for you. There are snacks in the kitchen, and the master suite is ready for you. We’ll each take turns standing guard over you until the press conference tomorrow.”

“No.” Mace stepped forward. “I’ll stay with her.”

The look of disgust Keiko shot him should have shriveled his balls to raisins. “I don’t want you in my room.”

“Tough.” He shrugged, and she gritted her teeth, obviously deciding to pick her battles.

“Go with Hunter,” Striker said. “Gray, you’re backup.”

“Yes”—Keiko scoffed—“because I need two big men watching me, in case I go crazy and take you all out with my bare hands.” With a huff of disgust, she followed his teammates out of the room.

Mace didn’t waste time. As soon as she was out of sight, he reared back, made a fist, and punched his best friend in the jaw.

Striker staggered back. “What the hell?”

“That’s for using the old couple. We didn’t agree to that part of the plan. We don’t operate like this. You’ve lost your sense of right and wrong because you’re too busy bending over backward to give your wife whatever she wants.”

“Leave Friday out of this.” Striker’s tone was pure warning.

Mace wasn’t intimidated. “I wish to hell we could. She’s the reason we’re in this mess. There’s been nothing but trouble since you decided to let her lead you around by the balls.”

Striker’s jaw clenched tight before he launched himself at Mace. A wave of adrenalin surged through him. He needed this. He needed an outlet for the feelings of betrayal, disappointment, and downright fury he felt for his team. And more than that, he needed to make his feelings clear to everyone around him. Which he planned to do. With his fists. Hopefully, once he was done, Striker would get the message loud and clear.

Mace didn’t take betrayal well.

Chapter Seven

“This isn’t an undercover op. It’s a suicide mission,” Mace murmured into the throat mic that connected him with his team, who were all holed up in their surveillance van, four blocks away.

Mace was on the sixty-sixth floor of CommTECH’s research building, waiting for the press conference to start. He may as well put his head in a lion’s mouth and hope it didn’t bite.

“Drama queen,” Hunter muttered, now that he was out of retaliation’s reach.

Like that would save his scrawny ass. Mace would t

each him another lesson on why he shouldn’t poke the bear after the op was over. In the meantime, he had a job to do. And a woman to worry about.

“Where’s Keiko?” he asked for at least the tenth time.

When he’d gone into the master bedroom to watch over her the night before, he’d found that she’d made a nest out of bedding in the middle of the floor of the walk-in closet and proceeded to lock the door on him. Without a word, she’d then gone to sleep in her nest and left him to pace around the bedroom. It was either that or kick the door down to make her talk to him. Unfortunately, the closet wasn’t that big, and kicking the door might have unintentionally hurt her. So he’d settled for pacing.

And he was not happy about it.

“For the last time,” Hunter said through his earpiece, “she’s prepping the scientists who’re taking part in the press conference.”

Mace couldn’t begin to express how much he hated the fact their tech guy was monitoring Keiko. He knew it was a sensible precaution, one that would protect the team, but he didn’t want anyone close to her. And being inside her head, monitoring her communications, was about as close as you could get.

“This had better start soon. I want out of here.” And out of Keiko’s life forever. He should have been happy at that thought, but instead he felt agitated—a reaction he chalked up to misplaced guilt.

“For goodness’ sake,” Friday snapped, reminding Mace that he was glad he’d sent her husband back to her with a split lip and bruised ribs. “It won’t last more than half an hour. Have some patience.”

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that.”

He scanned the area around him, making note of the exits. There were hand-painted Mexican tiles under his feet, full-grown trees offering shade above him, and strategically grouped seating areas of plush leather chairs for employees to use during their breaks. CommTECH hadn’t spared any expense in making sure their scientists were comfortable—and monitored. The terrace was packed with surveillance tech, and there was a fine mesh grid in the air several feet above them to stop any attempts to spy on the staff with drones or satellites. It was a pretty prison, with a billion-dollar view of Houston’s skyline.