Code Name Sentinel (Jameson Force Security 2)

He doesn’t enter but rather motions me through.

I’m terrified, but I quickly move into the room, ready to hopefully learn the identity of whoever is behind this. The brute follows close behind me.

At first glance, I see it’s an office or study with dark paneled walls, a wooden tray ceiling, and gleaming parquet floors. Shelves filled with books, sculptures, and antiques line the wall, and a thick Persian carpet sits beneath a heavy, masculine desk.

There’s a large, leather executive chair on the other side, facing away from me, and it slowly turns around to reveal a man.

A rather ordinary-looking man, except he’s impeccably dressed in a light gray silk suit with a dark purple tie. He’s on the shorter side… no taller than five-seven would be my guess since his head wasn’t even showing above the top of the chair. He’s in his mid-to-late sixties with snowy-white hair cut short and precise. He stares with shrewd blue eyes a moment before pushing up from his chair.

“Welcome, Dr. Alexander,” he says in a crisp New England accent as he motions with a hand to one of the chairs across from his desk.

“Welcome?” I sneer, not moving a muscle. “I’ve been kidnapped at gunpoint. My… my…”

My voice cracks, and my eyes prick with wetness. I cough to clear my throat. “The man protecting me was shot and killed.”

“An unfortunate by-product,” he replies with a dismissive wave of his hand, and for the first time in my life, I want to kill someone.

Him to be precise.

“Now, Dr. Alexander… please sit and let’s talk.”

I lift my chin, refusing to move.

“Sit, or I will have Paul put you in one of those chairs,” the man says with such iciness in his voice that a shiver runs up my spine.

I don’t even bother looking over my shoulder at the oaf I now know to be named Paul. Instead, I walk stiffly toward the chair on the right. I take a seat, perching my ass on the very edge and folding my hands in my lap. My spine is straight and locked tight for any battle of words that might come my way.

The older man stares a moment before giving his attention to Paul. “Thank you, Paul. That is all for now.”

I don’t look back but eventually, I hear Paul’s footsteps recede and the door close. Rather than sit back in his chair, the man walks around to me. He comes to stand before me, leaning against the heavy wood of his desk and casually crossing one leg over the other at the ankle, tucking his hands into his dress pants.

“You’re a smart woman,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone. “You know why you’re here.”

I do, so I don’t feel like this requires a reply.

“It would go a lot easier on you,” he continues in a weirdly pleasant, conversational tone, “if you would just give me the formula.”

“Who are you?” I demand. “And why do you want it?”

He doesn’t appear offended. “I don’t think you really want to know that, Dr. Alexander, because I certainly can’t let you go at some point if you can identify me.”

I don’t buy that. I’m not getting out of here alive if they’re able to get that formula out of me. But it’s clear he’s not going to tell me his name.

Still, I press. “You’re American. We had assumed a foreign power wanted the science.”

“You assumed wrong,” he replies blandly. “Now… I can promise you will be released unharmed if you will share your knowledge with me. If you don’t, it’s going to hurt.”

“I choose hurt,” I reply stubbornly, hoping to God I can withstand whatever they have planned for me while internally begging the Jameson group to figure out where I am.

“As you wish,” the man says with a sinister glare.

Then he backhands me across the face. It comes so fast I can barely blink before he makes contact.

It’s a vicious blow, and it snaps my head so hard to the left that pain shoots up my neck and explodes across my cheekbone. I see stars in my vision and when they start to clear, the man is staring at the gold signet ring on his right hand, presumably checking for any chunks of my skin left behind.

I lift my hand to touch my face, and it comes back with blood on it.

“Paul,” the man calls, and the door opens. “Take her to the basement and work on her.”

The words make my blood go cold. Tensing, I try to psych myself up—try to pull out all my strength and courage. The minute I give this information up, I’m done for in this world.

As I think it, though… a part of me isn’t all that scared by the prospect because at least I would be reunited with Cruce.CHAPTER 19CruceWhen my head breaks the surface of the water, I tread for a few moments, staring out at the remnants of the fiery mess that was my only means to chase after Barrett. I can faintly hear the engine of the inflatable tactical boat moving in the direction of Virgin Gorda.