Falcon: The Quiet Professionals Book 3 (6 page)

Inside the crowded briefing room, Sal remained near the door. And to his chagrin, so did Cassie. He set his jaw and trained his attention on General Ramsey.

“It’s been a rough couple of days. We’re all ticked off about General Burnett’s murder, and we’re not going to let that go unanswered.”

“Hooah,” Hawk murmured.

“But we need chain of command established. For the foreseeable future until we get someone else in place, Raptor, you’ll report to me.”

It made sense, mostly, for them to answer to Ramsey, but somehow, it stuck in Sal’s gut. Why it bothered him, he couldn’t tell.

“I’m also keeping the JSOC pairing of Raptor and Riordan’s team.”

That’s why
.

Sal shifted and resisted the urge to fold his arms over his chest, a sign of disrespect. He skated a look at Dean, whose stony expression gave nothing away about his feelings.

Dean might be stoic, but he wasn’t an unfeeling sort. It’s what made him a good team leader. Made him a man Sal respected, even when they disagreed. Yet he couldn’t read what the captain thought about this. Not all men were as gifted at hiding their feelings as Dean. Sal envied that. He’d never been able to hide what he felt.

“With what’s on the line, it’s no time to make sweeping changes,” Ramsey said. “We’ll keep things as Burnett had them. Captain, I’ll need you liaising with Command more than ever. Russo, you’ll manage the team and coordinate with your captain and Commander Riordan.”

Sal nodded. “Yes, sir.” He swallowed the bile in having to coordinate with Riordan. But they’d do what they had to in order to complete the mission.

“Lieutenant Hastings, until further notice, keep working intel about this terrorist who’s hit.” General Ramsey’s gaze shifted—right at Sal. “You’ll stay with the team, too.”

Why wouldn’t I? He’d just told—

“Yes, sir.” Cassie’s soft voice, lilting with her Southern roots, drifted over Sal’s shoulder. “Thank you, General.”

Son of a french-fried biscuit! The general had been talking to Cassie.

“Mr. Russo, as team leader, you’ll need to work closely with Walker to make sure she has the most recent, up-to-date intel.”

So much for hoping she’d be gone. Out of his sight. Out of his life.

Ramsey angled toward the colonel at his left. “Am I missing anything?”

The full bird shook his head.

“Okay.” Ramsey pursed his lips, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Questions?”

“Sir,” Dean spoke up. “We’d like access to the prisoner we secured the night of Burnett’s murder.”

“Of course you would.” He nodded and looked at the colonel again. “Get that cleared.”

“Sir,” the colonel said with a nod.

“Thank you, gentlemen—and ladies.” General Ramsey exited, the other brass trailing him. But not the SEALs.

Dean slapped his shoulder. “I’ll catch up with you. I need a word with Ramsey.”

“Something wrong?”

“Too much.”

“Hooah,” Sal mumbled as the captain made his way out.

Riordan strutted toward Sal. Stuffed a hand toward him. “Guess we’ll be working together again.”

Sal shook the hand. “Guess so.”

“Let’s meet at the Boardwalk to talk.”

“It’s shut down,” Harrier said, joining them.

Riordan’s dark eyes sparked with amusement. “Perfect place for a quiet talk. Away from ears.”

After a quick check of his watch, Sal nodded. “Fifteen hundred at the Boardwalk.”

“Sixteen,” Riordan countered. “We have things to follow up on first.”

Sal nodded. That sounded a lot like they wanted a plan in place that didn’t include Raptor. Which made sense since Sal planned to do the same thing.

The squids followed Riordan out, and Raptor tightened up around Sal. He had to admit, he was sick of this. All of it. Fighting some invisible ghost in the network. A ghost that seemed to have grown corporeal and spat bullets at them. But that Riordan wanted to talk away from eyes and ears gnawed at him. What did he know? Or did he have an idea of who might be behind this? Either way, Raptor couldn’t afford to shirk this opportunity.

“Sir?” Harrier asked.

Sal patted his shoulder. “Shower up and grab some grub. Meet at my tent at fifteen hundred.”

Tonight had altered everything—life. Getting saddled with Walker when he had to keep his mind on this mission, not on hating her, Sal felt a suffocating weight pressing on him.

He logged off his system but sagged toward his chair—movement out of the corner of his eye stopped him. Pushed him straight. He tried to hold back the flinch at the blond hair and blue eyes. She was watching him, probing in that formidable way of hers. She always found the holes in his armor. Always got under his skin.

“What?” he bit out.

“I hope we can work together… peaceably.”

His gut churned. “You nuked any chance of that four years ago.” Sal turned and left the quiet hum of the Command building.

God had seen fit to torment him. It wasn’t enough for Vida to pay for his sins. Now he had to live and breathe the same air as the woman responsible for killing her.

Boris
26 March—1335 Hours

Seriously. Do they think this will work? I mean, I’m here. They’re here. But there’s no point in this. I have no information to surrender. And—yes, I know they’re not easily dissuaded. This dude has some serious determination lurking in his big, dark eyes.

But that, that is
nothing
compared to what this minion has going on. I mean, I swear Jason Bourne’s creator takes cues from this guy. It’s terrifying.

“I mean it. I don’t know anything. It was all kept sterile.” The pain throbbing through my fingers is horrific. I just want it to stop. I need it to stop. Can’t think. The whole thing with these spy games is to figure out what your opponent wants most. And give it to them.

Not literally, of course. Because then what power do you have? None. You’re at the bottom of the dung heap, with them tromping over your rotting corpse. You’re dead. No, you keep that information close to your heart and your weakness closer. If they find your weakness, they find the information.

He’s moving toward me again, all calm and stoic. Like some stone-coldhearted piece of work.

And he is. Trust me.

“I ain’t got nothing man. Plucking out my nails”—a whimper trickles through my words. I’d like to say it’s on purpose but I’m not that good—“won’t produce what I don’t know.”

That’s what I have to make them believe. Because if I give up the goods, then it’s over. I’m over. And we all know, I can’t let that happen.

Imagine if I can endure this. Get free—there’s always hope because we all know that everyone has a price—then get back to Mr. Big Money himself and
cha-ching
! I’m in and richer than ever.

And my name is written in the stars of the cyberverse. I’ll be notorious.

Mr. Big Whig enters now. “What has he told you?”

“Lies.”

“No—no, they’re not. It’s true. I don’t know anything. They didn’t tell me.”

The man at the utensil tray smirks. “See? He thinks we will believe him.”

The man in the slick olive suit and turban stares at me with what can only be described as an icy glare. “Change his mind.”

H
e had better things to worry about, but the blue eyes of a certain lieutenant nagged to the point of distraction. Eamon submitted his report from the attack then headed down the hall. Burnett’s death had shaken her up, but she’d warriored on as only Brie could. He could relate. It’d been the same for him when his mother had died. She’d looked after him while his father politicked and made his billions.

He wouldn’t make the same mistake. Wouldn’t abandon a family to make money. Something gone in a flash.

Voices slowed him. As the senior administrator for the generals, Brie probably had a lot of work, and no doubt had to coordinate with Ramsey and Ames. Eamon checked around the corner.

Brie hunched over her desk, arms folded on paperwork she was looking at. But leaning over from behind her and pointing at one of the documents—Riordan. They were… close. Cozy. The SEAL, Eamon hated to admit, was handsome and gregarious. That latter trait was one Eamon lacked. He’d had to protect too much for most of his life to be outgoing and boisterous.

Brie laughed at something the commander said.

A strange feeling bumped Eamon’s confidence out of line. Had he read her wrong? He’d thought she liked him. She let Riordan a lot closer than she’d let him. He lowered his hand, which had been poised to rap on the door. He glanced at her once more then pivoted. His boot squeaked as he stepped away, much like the pinch in his chest.

“Titanis?”

He stopped. Hesitated then stepped back. “Sorry.” He glanced between them, hoping his displeasure wasn’t evident on his face. “I can come back later.”

Brie sat back in her chair with a smile. “No, it’s okay,” she said, waving him in. “Actually, I need to talk to you.”

With a nod, Eamon tucked aside the bruise of jealousy and entered, hovering across from Brie at her desk.

“I’ll check back with you later.” After a conciliatory nod to Eamon, Riordan left the office.

Eamon watched the commander then turned his attention back to Brie.

She arched an eyebrow. “You okay?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Sure.”

“You looked ticked.”

Not exactly successful at burying his feelings. Though she was right, Eamon redirected. “You wanted to talk to me?”

Brie stood and closed the office door. “Yes,” she said, returning to her seat. “Burnett was putting a plan in place when he died. I just heard from DIA and they have ordered me to pick up where he left off.”

“If I can help…”

She grinned, and if she knew that smile could get anything out of him, she’d probably be the death of him. “I’m glad you said that. Because the general wanted you and me to go do some recon at Takkar Towers.”

Eamon stilled. Recon with her? “Wouldn’t Raptor be a better choice?”

Her grin widened. “No, because we’ll be inside—civilian. We’re going in as siblings who want to lease a condo in the residential tower.”

“Wait,” Eamon said, tripping over her words. “I’m trained for combat. Not espionage.”

“Actually, you’re trained for both, aren’t you? I mean—SAS commandos need to know how to read and manipulate situations for their benefit, right?”

“Sure, but—”

“And you’re less known to Takkar and his minions. Being Australian works for you.”

“But you’re not Australian.”

“Right.” Brie shook her head, confused. “So?”

“You said we’d go as siblings. You don’t have an accent.”

“I’ll fake it.”

Eamon sniggered. “A real Aussie against a fake one?”

With sagging shoulders and a puffed breath pushed out between pursed lips, Brie scratched the side of her head. “I was never good at faking them anyway. In high school, I was in a play and did the worst-ever rendition of a Southern accent, so I’d probably murder your language.”

“Accent,” he corrected.

“Have you heard how thick it is? Yours is more like its own language.”

“Are you saying you don’t like my accent?”

“It’s sexy—I mean, fine.” She ducked, crimson flooding her cheeks.

Sexy
. A smirk pulled at his lips. So he
hadn’t
read her wrong. But how far did her attraction to him go?

“Stop. Focus on this.” She sliced her hands through the air. “So. We’re… business partners.”

“Partner is no good.”

“Why?”

“Tower Two is residential. Tower One is commercial and corporate.” He shrugged. “They’ll want to know why we aren’t leasing in One. Unless you have unlimited resources—”

“Ha. U.S. Army does not stand for Unlimited Supply Army.” She sneered. “More like useless supply.” Hands cradling her head as she leaned on her desk, she sighed heavily. “Fine.” She straightened, as if bracing herself. “I’m your girlfriend.”

His eyebrows winged up before he could stop.

Brie seemed to go rigid, her gaze locked on the documents. “The condo has three bedrooms, so we’ll have our own rooms. Nothing funny.”

Again, he arched an eyebrow. He might not watch a lot of movies, but he knew how flicks with arrangements like that ended. Apparently, by the crimson hue of her face and her unwillingness to look at him, so did she.