The Soldier (Men Who Thrill Book 3) (2 page)

“And who is in this ‘brain trust’?” I asked.

“Well me, of course,” she said, moving a little bit closer to me than would be ordinarily acceptable, “and there’s Daniel. Then Pierce and Peter.”

I scanned the room and noted the cluster I was now standing next to had five cubicles.

“There are five cubicles here. Who does the fifth belong to?”

Susan squinted her face into an expression of pure disgust.

“Oh,” she said, the pleasantness leaving her completely, “that’s just Jordan Casey’s desk.”

I didn’t know whether Jordan was a man or a woman, but whatever gender, he or she had not made friends in this group.

“And this Jordan is a member of the team?”

“Yes,” Susan said, her voice clearly revealing that she wished that wasn’t the case, “but she’s just a junior, does cleanup work. She’s not important.”

Maybe not to Susan, but I’d definitely be following up on this.

“I’m going to speak with you all individually,” I said, making sure my voice was loud enough to be heard by all the people so fiercely pretending they weren’t listening to every word of the conversation.

“I’ll be observing. Please go about your day-to-day activities as if I’m not here,” I said.

“That’s going to be difficult, sir,” Susan said. “You make quite the impression.”

Susan may as well have served herself up on a silver platter for as subtle as she was being. Whether it was a reflection of genuine interest or her standard operating procedure for dealing with men that could be led around by their dicks, I couldn’t tell, but Susan Sterling was someone else who’d just earned a bit of extra attention.

After I didn’t respond to her advances, she and then the others peeled away, leaving me to observe.

Which I did, making note of the layout, how the floor seemed to be designed for minimum privacy, trying to work out if or how a person might operate in secret here. I’d been on the floor for about five minutes when a woman crossed the floor and sat in the empty cubicle.

Seemed that I’d found my Jordan Casey.

I’d glimpsed her as she’d headed toward the cubicle. Medium complected black woman, below-average height, heavyset, completely unremarkable in every way.

At least at first glance. Still, Susan’s reaction to the mere mention of Jordan’s name suggested that the woman had the ability to inspire deep emotion, and based on their appearances, it likely wasn’t female jealousy, so there might be more to Ms. Casey than met the eye.

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

I stood sentinel over the department, occasionally pacing and moving from one workspace to another. My presence seemed to have entirely unnerved the group, the faint murmur of occasional conversation muted, the rhythmic typing that I’d heard as I watched unobserved now more jerky.

They were all on the edge.

Except Jordan Casey.

For her, I may as well not have existed. Not once, not a single time did she look in my direction. Not even when I walked behind her and stood, watching her short, tiny brown fingers fly across the keyboard.

I didn’t know what to make of it. Maybe she had nerves of steel. Or rather she undoubtedly had nerves to steel. My stature was intimidating, and when I, as I did today, exuded intensity, it was enough to shake almost anyone. But she was holding up, and far, far better then her companions. And her stamina had me very curious.

Titan was into all manner of nastiness, of that I had no doubt, but these people were essentially regular office employees. No matter what type of story I gave about observation and my role in security, all of them, including her, should have been terrified or at least disturbed. That she wasn’t only heightened my suspicion, and short of outright confessing wrongdoing, I couldn’t think of a way Jordan Casey could have painted more of a target on her back.

“And what are you doing?” I asked when I again stood behind her.

The rhythmic clicking stopped but then almost immediately started again. And she still didn’t even grace me with a look.

“I’m typing, sir,” she said.

The words were flat, deadpan, an answer to the question that didn’t give any more information than was requested.

“Obviously,” I said, keeping my tone and voice at the same even level as hers. “But what are you typing?”

“Company policy is that analysts are not to discuss the contents of their work with anyone other than those who have been cleared.”

She stopped typing and turned to me, her surprisingly attractive honey-brown eyes giving me a quick once-over that almost screamed
not impressed
. “You aren’t on the cleared list.”

She turned away and started typing again.

“Ms. Casey, I presume,” I said, letting my voice go ever slightly firmer.

She again stopped typing and though she said nothing, I could see the annoyance in the set of her shoulders. She turned.

“Yes, I’m Jordan Casey. The same person in the picture that is attached to the nameplate that says ‘Jordan Casey,’” she said, the evenness in her voice making me want to scream at her.

“Well, Jordan Casey, I’m the new director of security,” I said, incredulity bleeding into my tone. Either she was brave or stupid or both. I hadn’t decided which it was quite yet, but in either case, she was a fucking irritant.

“Indeed, sir. In that case, you shouldn’t have any trouble getting on the cleared list.”

With that, she turned and resumed typing, happy as she fucking pleased. I’d been dismissed. And every person on the fourth floor had seen it.

“We’ll discuss this further, Ms. Casey,” I said, once I’d calmed myself enough to speak.

There was no shame in retreat I reminded myself as I returned to the fifth floor. But still, I was pissed. This was why I didn’t work with the public. At HQ, such insolence would have been unthinkable, and if someone there took leave of their senses long enough to try it, the reminder to stay in line would have been swift and brutal. But here, in the real world, I was hamstrung.

But not for long. I’d regroup and come back full force, because Jordan Casey now had my undivided attention.

Chapter Four

The next day, I spent the first several hours interviewing members of the data analysis group, but those were just a warm-up. The main event was around the corner.

The four people I had interviewed so far were nice enough, I supposed, but uninteresting. Except Susan, who was notable because she was nearly exhausting me with her innuendo and suggestion and complete unwillingness to take a hint. Between the utter banality of the men and Susan’s preoccupation with getting into my pants, I wondered how the department even functioned if those people constituted the brain trust.

The only real thing of interest was how insistent, to a person, everyone I spoke to was that Jordan Casey was anything but. And had I been working from only her records, I might have agreed. But I’d met the woman, and those few moments had disabused me of notion that she was uninteresting, not worthy of further conversation.

So, for the fifth time that day, I made my way down the stairs.

I again walked through the unit, and again was greeted with murmured whispers. I ignored them, focused on reaching my destination. I rounded the corner and took note of what I saw. Curious. The workday was close to an end but not over for a couple hours yet, but the cubicle was empty. The computer screen was black, which suggested its owner had been away for a long time. I glanced around the cubicle, making note of small plant, the two comic strips on the wall, a desk calendar, and small picture of Jordan and a woman I knew to be Stephanie Sloan.

I’d considered the possibility that Jordan might have known her, but now I had a definitive answer, though it remained to be seen how that information might come into play.

Behind me I heard the shuffling footsteps of someone’s approach, and turned. It was Jordan, dressed in a navy-blue pantsuit, hair pulled back. She held a huge insulated mug and had a lanyard with a badge around her neck. Again she presented the image of unremarkable corporate dronedom.

And again, I didn’t buy it.

“Must have been a long break. Your screen is off,” I said.

“Protocol, sir. Every employee is to log out of the system when they leave their desks, no matter how briefly,” she said.

The answer was believable, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being chided for not knowing about the procedure, and that there was more to it than that. And the feeling was disconcerting. The timid-looking creature in front of me shouldn’t be capable of chiding anyone, but she was proving that she had no trouble at all with doing so. Or maybe she reserved this treatment for me.

“Glad to see you’re so committed to protocol. Come with me,” I said, trying to regain the upper hand that I just realized I’d lost.

She put the mug on her desktop and turned. As we walked, three of her strides necessary for her to keep up with one of mine, she slipped the security badge off her neck and fiddled with it. It was a sure sign of nervousness, but she didn’t strike me as the type to get nervous, a perception that was confirmed by her otherwise placid, unconcerned demeanor.

We stepped on to the elevator, and Jordan, unlike Susan, kept a respectable distance between us, eyes turned forward. I openly assessed her, partially in hopes of shaking some of that resolve, and partially because I was curious.

I was again struck by how average she was. Her features were plain, as was her clothing, and she seemed to do nothing to adorn herself. The only thing notable about her, other than her disquieting calm, was her body, more than generous breasts, thick waist, full hips, rounded backside. Not remotely my thing, though that fact was irrelevant for my purposes.

When we disembarked from the elevator, I walked toward my new office in those long strides that Jordan had to rush to keep up with. We reached my office, I sat, something I didn’t often do, and certainly didn’t enjoy while interrogating. But though I wanted panic, I still needed to maintain some semblance of my cover, at least make a nod at being the corporate guy that I most assuredly was not, and sitting behind the desk seemed like a good start.

And the power imbalance created by the gulf of a desk was not something to be underestimated. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d seen the General use that gulf to his advantage, and though I hoped not to resort to the lengths the General often did, at least not today, I planned to do the same.

Of course, Jordan Casey wasn’t cooperating. She dropped her badge on my desk and sat in the chair across from it, crossing her legs at the ankles, the motion pulling her pants taut across her thighs, and then she leaned forward slightly. Her face was set in the perfectly expected mask of concern that I had seen all day, the way she gripped her fingers tightly, the slight curve in her brow, the way she quickly poked her tongue out to wet her lips all signs that could be interpreted as nerves.

But there was no bounce of her foot, or any other signs or movements that would naturally accompany nerves. And most importantly, her eyes were lasered to mine, not a waver in sight. I let silence, heavy and thick, fall between us, but to no end. She just kept her gaze on mine.

“So what do you think about what’s been going on here?” I finally asked.

A big question, one that could have any manner of answers, one that could trip people up. Especially if they were trying to hide something.

“Oh, I think the team is really pulling together. Mr. Tillman’s loss has been profoundly felt, but everyone is dedicated to ensuring the legacy of quality and innovation that he espoused is upheld.”

A good answer, the best I’d gotten all day, one that was completely devoid of any meaning. I’d encountered Tillman once or twice, and never under the nicest of circumstances, but I knew he wasn’t the type to inspire the loyalty and devotion that Jordan had just described. Still, it was a smart ploy, her little speech just the sort of thing the suits would love, one that didn’t give any insight whatsoever into what she really thought.

“And how are things with your department specifically?” I said.

“As they always are. We all work really hard, try really hard, and we usually get to where we want to be.” She said the last with a slight smile and a nod, one that was meant to reassure.

Was I reassured? Not even remotely.

“And your colleagues, any concerns there?”

Her eyes clouded, but soon cleared, and she continued. “Things are good.”

I was glad my hands were under the desk because I wouldn’t want Jordan to see the way I clenched my fists. She was maddeningly vague, but I couldn’t let her see that she was getting to me.

“And any security issues or concerns that I should be aware of?” I asked.

That was a totally bullshit question, but given the nature of my cover, and my need for a moment to gather myself, it seemed appropriate to ask.

“Oh, I wouldn’t have any idea about that,” she said.

“Thank you, Miss Casey. I’ll contact you if I need anything else.”

She stood, as did I, and extended her hand, which I shook. Her hand was so small mine completely engulfed it, her palm soft, the bones more delicate than her frame would have suggested. A vision of that small, soft hand wrapping around my shaft floated to my mind, the contrast of her skin against mine, those small, efficient fingers moving against me making my gut clench.

I broke away abruptly and turned, effectively dismissing her.

A second passed, and then another, and then she finally left. My heart pounded, both at my reaction to her and at her brazenness. Had I had a better grip on this situation, I would have called her on her outrageous actions. Not now though.

But just as soon as I gathered myself, Jordan Casey and I would talk again.

Chapter Five

It took an hour before I’d fully processed what had happened with Jordan, and another to plan my response. I hadn’t known what, if anything, to expect from this investigation, but there was way too much smoke coming from data analysis, and her in particular. And that little stunt she’d pulled only confirmed it.

I waited in the stairwell between the fourth and fifth floor, the soldier that I was anxious for what was about to unfold. I wouldn’t have suspected her, but no one would, which was why she managed to work undetected. And in truth, as well-trained as I was, as much as her demeanor roused suspicion, I would have overlooked her, too, had she not been so daring in my office. That had been a bad mistake, one that she would soon pay for.