Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2) (6 page)

“Despite the Boulevard Saint-Germain bombing and Moss’s death, tomorrow’s ITT proceedings have not been cancelled. Media’s showcasing the bombing. There’s an upsurge in internet chatter among various groups, some credible terrorist organizations, some not so credible, targeting the ITT proceedings.” Ragno rattled off some familiar names. Zeus mentally filed them.

“If Dixon has his way,” Zeus informed her, “we won’t have to worry about this for long. Job’s over if Sam re—”

“You just can’t call her Samantha, can you?”

“No.” She’d always be Sam to him. In a move that was out of character for him, and for reasons he hadn’t realized at the time, when he first met her and she introduced herself as Samantha, he had shortened it to Sam. A pet name only he had used, apparently.

Privately, she was his Sam. Though in reality, not his any longer, and probably never had been. Seven years earlier, her all-American patrician good looks had stolen his breath. With one turn of her head, a glance from eyes that revealed intelligent curiosity, and a quick flash of her natural, easy smile, she’d claimed a large chunk of his heart.

Not that he knew it at the time. It took him years to understand what had happened, because he wasn’t a man who was used to letting things like feelings filter into his life.

“Don’t worry, Ragno. I’m fine. I’ll be even better once she resigns.” Except Zeus knew Sam, her ambitions, and the root of them, and he didn’t need new intel from Ragno to tell him those things.

“You sound hopeful.”

Hopeful?

Ragno had a way of hearing things that others didn’t and she knew him better than anyone. Since saying yes to the job, each passing moment tightened an invisible tourniquet on his chest and he didn’t doubt that Ragno knew that, as well. The feeling of impending personal doom wasn’t going away as long as he was near Sam. If she resigned she’d be out of harm’s way and there’d be no reason for them to be together. He’d be able to breathe without the breath-stealing pressure that came with being so close to his biggest mistake.
Hell yeah, I’m hopeful.
Hope wasn’t logical under the circumstances, but he was hopeful, nevertheless.

“Do authorities have any leads on the Boulevard Saint-Germain bombing?”

“Not that we can tell.”

“What about the cyanide killing?”

“The investigation at the Hotel Grand Athens remains a scene with too many one-feather Indians and not one chief in sight. French counter-terrorist military forces, U.S. Homeland Security, and U.S. marshals all are vying for the lead. Agents Small and Lewis report that the kitchen and wait staff have all been detained and questioned. No one knows anything. The waiter who delivered the dinner was found at his station and professes to be shocked at the incident. Small and Lewis are no longer in the interrogation rooms, so we don’t have real time information. Investigative and security forces for ITT proceedings have a closed circuit communication system with heavy encryption.”

“We aren’t in their system?”

Black Raven had finely honed infiltration capabilities, and their skills had increased exponentially over the last year. “We’re in some aspects of the ITT system, but not security. Hold a second. Let me check with Barrows.”

Barrows.
The reason why their cyber skills now rivaled, and in many cases, surpassed, the finest intelligence agencies.

“Zeus, we’re almost there.”

“Great. Let me know when we’re in.”

“Sebastian and other Ravens have picked up most of your management duties since you’re orchestrating on-site protection and not in the office. Of course, you still have Jigsaw monitoring, but Sebastian and I will keep you informed on developments with that. Your partners have left insurance matters to you, since you’ve been handling those negotiations.”

“I saw that in one of Sebastian’s earlier emails. I’m talking with the final broker tomorrow. We’re probably only one of the few businesses right now that doesn’t need business interruption coverage due to terrorism and I’m asking that she take that out.”

“Will they strip out the terrorism clause?”

“I’m trying to figure that out, because the fee for it is exorbitant. With all the extras they’re slapping into the policies, the self-insurance option is looking more palatable.” He drew a deep breath. “You talked to Samuel Dixon lately?”

“Right before he called you,” Ragno said. “Good God, but that man is tough.”

“And?”

“Black Raven is built for this mission. The job’s highly profitable, so that’s a consideration as well.” She paused. “But, in reality, the only sure-fire way of keeping Samantha safe is by keeping her away from ITT proceedings. Our client wants his granddaughter to resign and we’re committed to helping him. This isn’t a case where the client has no choice. Samantha Fairfax has a choice. We have to help her make the correct one.”

“Okay.” He fell silent, listening. The blow dryer was still going full steam.

“If you had to make a bet, what do you think?”

He made a prediction to himself, one that resulted in his chest tightening further, but he answered, “I don’t bet.”

“Maybe not out loud.” Ragno was quiet for a second. He heard her fingers on her keyboard as she multitasked. “But I bet you just made one. I’m betting yes. She’ll resign. Her grandfather is damn powerful. As you well know, Mr. Bodyguard.”

Ragno was right, but Zeus wasn’t pulling the bodyguard detail for Samuel Dixon, nor the money. Given that he now had Ana, who valued the life of her father as much as her next breath, very few people in the world could have gotten him to return to paid bodyguard status. Plus, he was more valuable to Black Raven at the helm rather than in the field for extended periods. In fact, he could think of only one person for whom being a bodyguard was worth all the risks and headaches the job entailed, and she was on the other side of the door, blow-drying her hair while Rome fucking burned.

“All right,” he said. “It’s show time.”

“Here if you need me,” Ragno said.

Leaving his iPad and the first aid kit on the coffee table, he stood, crossed the room, and rapped on the door loud enough for her to hear over the blow dryer.

Chapter Five

Even with no makeup and slightly damp hair, she was so goddamn pretty the zing-zap in his chest that came with looking at her hurt. Sleek and thick, her blonde hair framed her face in soft waves and fell a few inches past her shoulders. Long, dark brown lashes fringed her green eyes. High cheekbones accented her lean face, which was flushed from the heat of the hair dryer.

The rectangular, matte black-framed eyeglasses that had fallen off when he’d thrown her over his shoulder in the hotel room were perched on her nose. As promised, the bulky glasses had caught up to her with the transfer of personal effects. On anyone else, they’d have been plain old eyeglasses. On her they were sexy.

She was ivory-skinned, slim, and had a long-limbed, athletic build. Her lean, angular figure was accentuated by form-fitting leggings and a snug black hoodie that she’d zipped to cover most of a cream-colored, lace camisole. Only the top ridge of lace peaked through. It was enough to make him remember the first time he’d bent his head there, brushing his mouth over the jasmine and rose-scented valley and the pillow-soft skin of her breasts.

Dammit
.

He could pretend that what she looked like didn’t matter one damn bit, but pretending didn’t change that she was who he dreamed of, from the moment he first laid eyes on her, until, well,
fuck
. Until now.

“You should eat something.”

She shrugged, a cool expression in her eyes. “Not much of an appetite after what happened.”

“Food is fuel.”
And you never sleep well on an empty stomach.
Only one of numerous pieces of inane trivia he’d remembered about her, and one that he’d actively tried to forget in the last seven years. “With the high stress you’ll be under for the duration of the job, eating shouldn’t depend on appetite. If you’re too scared to eat now, you shouldn’t stay.”

Making no move to walk out of her bedroom, she folded her arms and faced him, the open doorway separating them. “Shouldn’t stay? Meaning what?”

“Resign from the job.”

She cocked her left eyebrow in a gesture that spoke volumes. As in
you don’t get to tell me what to do
.

“No. I’m not a quitter. Shouldn’t be a newsflash to you.”

“Isn’t news. But you need to discuss your decision with your grandfather. Call him. He wants to talk to you now.” He handed her the new phone. “You’ll use this for the duration.”

She reached for it with her left hand, flipped up the cover with her thumb, and looked at him with an irritated glance. “Seriously? This isn’t a phone. It’s an antique.”

“Think of it as a portal. Your calls will be filtered through Black Raven. Don’t make calls from any other devices, even the phone that you’re trying to hide from me.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “I only call Justin through that one. U.S. Senator Justin McDougall. My boyfriend.”

“I know exactly who he is.”

“Our phone calls are priv—”

“To do this job the right way, I get to decide what’s my business. What I access.”

“As I was saying, my calls with Justin are secure and encrypted and…” She paused, eyebrows lifted. “Absolutely none of your damn business.”

He knew to concede the point. After all, Ragno was going to listen, anyway, and the reality was they had to be mindful of McDougall’s position. Nothing McDougall said in phone conversations with Sam could be leaked by Black Raven. Zeus knew better than to gratuitously piss off a sitting U.S. Senator. One day he’d need Senator McDougall’s vote on a hiring contract, or any number of matters. Crap popped up all the time, like the Barrows debacle for which the company had been raked over hot coals by a Senate review committee.

“Press any button and tell the person who answers the number you want. They’ll connect you. If it’s a text, dictate it. They’ll send it.”

“Black Raven will monitor calls? Business and personal?”

He shrugged. “We’re providing security. Not privacy. Threats come from within and the people you may contact, as often as from other sources. You know that. You can still use the ITT server for your inter-court, official emails.”

Her eyes searched his. “Please tell me Black Raven hasn’t hacked into the ITT servers.”

He stared at her, gridlock focus meeting his gaze.

“Answer enough,” she whispered, with a knowing nod. “That’s a felony—”

“Which will never be detected or proven.”

“I should report it.”

He shrugged. “Go ahead.” If others found a trace, Black Raven would get out, leaving no cyber footprint. They’d get right back in when the heat was off. It was Chinese checkers, twenty-first century style.

“Black Raven dodged a bullet last year with the senate subcommittee hearings after the Barrows incident.”

Yeah. You have no idea. And we came out more golden than ever. A fact you will not learn.

The Barrows case and explosive fallout had cast the national news spotlight on Black Raven, and the resulting senate subcommittee hearings had kept the lights on them. “There were no adverse findings.”

“Yes, but it could have gone the other way.”

“Didn’t, and wasn’t likely to.”

“Still, Black Raven is on the radar of many powerful people.”

“Yes, and they hire us. Constantly. On jobs like this—”

“You can’t deny you have detractors.” She underscored her comment with a slight smile.

What she was saying was true. For now, though, in the power offices in Washington, Black Raven’s supporters were outweighing and outnumbering the detractors. “In fact, we received accolades and commendations for how we handled the Barrows job. It’s been a boon to business, which we now have to turn down on a regular basis.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. Her cheeks became more flushed. “I never would’ve agreed to this, but for my grandfather’s insistence.”

With that statement, she folded her arms as she dropped one argument and took on another. If she had broken down over Moss’s violent death once she’d been alone, there was no sign of it. Her eyes weren’t red. She looked more irritated than grief-stricken.

“If by this, you mean Black Raven protection, it may be short-lived. Your grandfather wants you to resign.” Her cheeks and eyes burned with an instant flare of disagreement as he added, “I agree with that course of action. It is the only foolproof way to keep you safe.”

She squared her shoulders, unfolded her arms, glanced again at the flip phone that fit squarely in her palm, and shook her head. As her flush faded, she leveled a cool glance on him and pressed zero with her right index finger. She gave the Black Raven operator her grandfather’s name and number. After a moment’s pause, her eyes burning with steady resolve, she said, in a firm voice, “Samuel?”

She held the phone to her left ear, listened for a few minutes as she shot Zeus an arched-eyebrow glance. “Does this thing have a speaker?”

“Ask for it.”

Another flash of irritation waved through her eyes. “Someone’s listening now?”

“Yes.”

“Please enable the speaker function.” She paused, eyes on Zeus, feet firmly planted inside her bedroom, as though planning to end the conversation and shut the door in a matter of seconds. “Samuel?”

She held the phone in front of her, midway between the two of them. Samuel’s voice boomed through both rooms. “Are you listening to me? I said—”

“Yes, I’m listening. You’re on speaker and you don’t need to yell. Zeus is here. You two are echoing each other. I’m only going to say this once.” Her tone was calm and authoritative, but her green eyes flashed with determination as she drew a deep breath. “Resigning isn’t an option. And just so that you’re perfectly clear on this, Samuel, I made one request of you. Only one, in recent memory. You didn’t listen to me. After this phone conversation, which will be short, I’m no longer speaking to you. From here on out, if you wish to speak to me, go through Black Raven.”

“Fine. Zeus.” Dixon snapped both words out in a strong, powerful voice. He managed to sound exactly like what he was—both a frantic father-figure and a decisive, powerful businessman, who was used to having his every demand met. “Talk some sense into my granddaughter, would you please? She was one goddamn French fry away from being killed.” Zeus had given Dixon the details of the cyanide poisoning, and the man’s summation was accurate. “It is high time for her to give up this endeavor and return home.”

Zeus met her steely-eyed gaze. He should’ve done a videoconference from his iPad, so that Dixon could draw some of his granddaughter’s ire face to face. “I’m trying. Don’t think we’re going to move her.”

“I’m standing right here,” Sam reminded them. She held the phone in one hand, but her steady determined focus was all on Zeus. As though he was the damn reason why anything was wrong in her life. “I have an important job to do, now more than ever, and I refuse to be intimidated or controlled. I’m not an idiot. I’m well aware of the danger, nevertheless I will not resign, and I won’t leave. I received a phone call from President Cameron tonight. He personally underscored the importance of the job. I’ll be hyperaware, I’ll listen to Black Raven’s instructions, and I’ll watch my back. But no matter what either of you says, I’m not quitting.”

Sam brushed past Zeus as she stepped through the doorway and into the living room. He tried not to smell the jasmine, rose, and natural musk that drifted from her body in a tease that had no business occurring, because it wasn’t intentional. Yet he couldn’t help breathing in, deeply, and relishing the scent as she crossed the room, her back to him. She hadn’t changed her nightly ritual of a hot shower, shampooing her hair, and applying body lotion in the same fragrance that she wore throughout the day. On other women, he knew the scent was Chanel No.5. On her, with her body warm from her shower and the heat of the hair dryer, the classic fragrance became something that couldn’t be bought at a department store. It morphed into an aphrodisiac that, combined with the sudden flood of memories of what it felt like to make love to her, brought blood-rushing arousal.

When she reached the dining table, she turned to him, eyes blazing with determination. “Save your breath, and stop trying to persuade me to quit. That isn’t happening.”

I’ve got the message. Loud and clear. Doubt your grandfather does, though.

“Honey,” Samuel said, “the reality is the ITT proceedings are nothing but an ill-conceived, and very dangerous, dog-and-pony show. No one would blame you if you resigned after what happened tonight.”

“Bullshit. My resignation would be the first thing thrown in my face by a judicial review committee when I get nominated for a federal judgeship.”

Zeus walked to where Sam stood and, picking up on the thread that Samuel had started, added, “The ITT is a hate party with a guest list that includes the usual jihadists, Islamic terrorist groups, Al Quaeda splinter groups, Maximovists. Ragno?”

“Yes?” She’d been monitoring the conversation, but had stayed silent.

“Get in on this.”

“Hello, Samuel,” she said, her voice now coming though the speakerphone, which Sam held in her left hand, elbow at her waist. “Samantha, I’m in charge of Zeus’s Denver-based analytical and data support for the duration of the job. If you need me, just ask for Ragno. Night or day.”

“You’re agreeing with Samuel and Zeus?” Sam asked.

“Yes,” Ragno answered.

“Answer is the same for all three of you,” Sam said, holding the phone so that she spoke directly into it. “I. Am. Not. Resigning.”

Impressive. She’s being triple-teamed and she isn’t flinching. That’s what I love—her rock-solid will. Unwavering determination. Courage to stand by her convictions. Gridlock focus on things most people wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about.

Whoa. Wait. Love?

Loved. Past tense. Remember? You blew it. Bad. In just about the worse way possible.

“Ragno,” Zeus said, trying to keep his mind on task, “who else is at the hate party?”

“The list is extensive. Right now I’m looking at a U.S. homegrown group called TRCR that so far has been flying under the radar. Intel indicates they’re experimenting with drones.” Sarcasm filtered into her voice. “Drones seem to be the next best thing to the pressure cooker bomb as foolproof methods of creating terror in urban situations.”

“TRCR. An acronym for what?” Dixon asked.

“Texas Rebels for Civil Rights. Intel has them in a compound in rural Texas, but we’re not certain if that’s their headquarters. North of El Paso. Could be a terrorist training school. Satellite images aren’t revealing much, though. Intel suggests approximately one thousand loyalists and they’re importing AK variants from China, selling them in the U.S. and elsewhere. Typically, they’re quiet. Off the cyber grid. But recently they started recruiting on the dark net. They’re calling for the ITT to stop. Their logo combines the initials KKK, swastikas, a lone star, and barbwire. Seems like their view of civil rights doesn’t quite match what our forefathers had in mind when they drafted the U.S. Constitution.”

“They’re new to me,” Dixon said.

“Where is the intel coming from?” Zeus asked, though he knew at least part of how Ragno had gotten it—Jigsaw—which he knew she wouldn’t mention.