“It’s fine,” he replies casually.
“Bathroom’s right out in the hall, and there are clean towels in the closet in there,” I add.
“Thank you,” he replies. Those blue eyes pierce through me, causing my eyes to drop. “Think I could borrow some of your shower stuff tonight?”
My head snaps up as images of him in my shower flash before me. Beneath that suit, there are hidden layers of muscle that would look nice in my shower.
Wait! What? Where in the world had that thought come from? I haven’t looked at a man like that in well… shit, I can’t remember the last time. And maybe it’s not those piercing blue eyes that have me disconcerted. Perhaps it’s the entire package.
Cruce Britton is tall, strong, and has the face of an angel. Plus, he’d saved my uncle’s life in an extremely dramatic fashion, making him the nation’s hero at the time. And now he’s in my house, wanting to use my shower.
“My stuff should be here tomorrow,” he provides, and I blink stupidly. I’m still trying to figure out why his muscles fascinate me. He dips his head to lock eyes with mine. “When I came to Washington, I didn’t know I’d be staying so I didn’t pack anything. But two of my teammates, Bebe and Dozer, are driving up tomorrow with my stuff.”
“It’ll take two teammates to bring your stuff?” I ask. “How long are you planning to stay?”
Laughing, Cruce tips his head back. “Just a suitcase for me, but they’re coming to help us do some strategy planning. In addition to protecting you, we’re going to try to find out who wants you before they make a move.”
“Oh,” I murmur, retreating toward the door. “I’m just going to go get some toiletries you can borrow to get you through the night. I’ll be right back.”
I whip around, needing to put some distance between us. He’s too damn magnetic, especially since I’ve let my mind wander places it shouldn’t have.
And hey… what do you know… I just went a whole three minutes without thinking about fusion reactions.CHAPTER 4CruceDozer certainly made himself right at home. His suit jacket is off and shirt sleeves rolled up as he stands at Barrett’s stove. He’s making chicken marsala while sporting one of her aprons. It says “Let’s Get Chemical” on the front.
Kynan and Bebe sit at Barrett’s kitchen table. Bebe types furiously on her laptop as I lean against the wall, flipping a kitchen knife through my fingers. It helps me think.
Dozer and Bebe had arrived around noon and Barrett opened her house to us so we could strategize the best way to keep her safe. She went on to work, escorted by two Jameson members.
Kynan called in a total of eight people—six from Vegas and two from the new Pittsburgh office, not including me. Between the eight, she would have two men with her at work and two men on the outside when she’s home. I would be inside her home with her at night and protect her anywhere else outside of work hours. It’s going to be awfully expensive for Jonathan Alexander, but he’s sparing nothing to protect Barrett.
Past that… none of us really know what to do because of the lack of information we are dealing with. At this point, we’re not even sure there’s a credible threat.
It’s a point I bring up again as we hash things out. “A single mention of her name by two low-level arms dealers in Oman. It doesn’t make sense.”
“I did some reading on fusion energy,” Dozer says as he sautés chicken, seeming strangely in his element at the stove. The man has layers upon layers. “Nothing I’ve been able to find indicates Barrett’s research would apply to weapons. So couldn’t this just be a mistake?”
Sighing, Kynan leans back in his chair, his gaze going to the ceiling as he ponders aloud. “Typically, chatter is evaluated by intelligence analysts by quality and volume. We have neither here besides a single mention of her name by people who seemingly have no ties to energy terrorism.”
“So why was she even flagged?” Bebe asks without taking her eyes from her screen.
“All members of the president’s family are on a watch list,” I say. “The minute one of their names is mentioned, it’s pushed up the chain for evaluation.”
“So pick up the two arms dealers and talk to them,” Dozer suggests, turning from the stove. “It’s your only lead.”
When Kynan and I exchange a glance, Dozer picks up on it.
“What?” he asks curiously. “Is ‘talk’ the wrong word in this business? Should I have said interrogate or torture?”
Kynan shakes his head. “Those men are our only lead, but it’s not as easy as you think to do what you’re suggesting. First, we’d have to locate them, but men like that move around. Chances are they’d be in a more dangerous location than Oman. In addition to the intricacies of nabbing these guys, we’d have to find a secure location to take them to for questioning.”