Ah yes, the woman who’d worked as Alex Rycroft’s loyal personal assistant for so many years until Malik had used the lives of her family members in Jordan to garner her cooperation. “And the satellites?”
“As far as we know, none of them have found anything to lead them here. Not yet. But it’s still not safe for you to use any electronics.”
Because the agencies were still monitoring calls going in and out of Peshawar due to the attempted assassination of American philanthropist Khalia Patterson a few weeks ago. He grunted.
“Another day or so and we’ll move you to a safer location. And Amir is still alive.”
Satisfied no one was hiding out in the hallway, Malik finally put his weapon away. “He’ll talk. Between him and the Klassen woman’s phone records they have to know by now that I haven’t left Pakistan. They’ll be coming after me soon. I know there are already teams in place here.” Small squads of men from elite units such as SEAL Team Six or perhaps Delta, who could infiltrate any target and carry out a hit before anyone was even aware of the threat.
But unlike Bin Laden, Malik wouldn’t be so stupid as to rely on the loyalty of others to keep him hidden. Except for perhaps Bashir, the only man he truly trusted.
“That’s why we’ll move you as soon as it’s safe.” Bashir glanced around the bare, dim room, then settled his gaze on him once more. “Do you need anything?”
He needed to be able to breathe, to finally seize the moment he’d been waiting for and take control of the power he’d earned. “I need the attack in Washington to happen without any problems.”
“It will.”
Malik nodded, pleased by the man’s belief in the team he’d put in place. He didn’t care that Bashir’s loyalty came partly because he knew he’d hold great power by serving at Malik’s side once he seized control. He and Bashir had served in the military together, then gone on to rise through the ranks of the ISI. There was no man on earth he valued more. “Then you may go and get word to the general to be prepared. The Americans will come, and we’ll be ready when they do.”
Blake shut the SUV’s door and pulled in a deep breath. The damp October air was tinged with the sharp chemical smell of gasoline and motor oil. A light rain pattered his head and shoulders as he made his way to the front entrance of Oorah Custom Rides. His stomach rumbled, hunger mixing with the edge of nerves. Or was it dread? Some of both, he decided as he pulled out his phone. The three hour drive from Baltimore with only a cup of coffee and a donut to sustain him had long since worn off.
He sent off a quick text to his boss, Tom Webster.
Going in. Will report back once I have an answer
.
Against the gray backdrop of the low cloud deck, the garage loomed ahead, its large red steel doors resembling the flat line of a disapproving mouth against the black exterior. Blake steeled himself for what he was about to endure. This meeting should have happened a long time ago and he just wanted to get the awkward part over with.
An electronic doorbell chimed when he opened the front door and stepped inside. A stronger whiff of motor oil hit his nostrils. At the rear of the room a door to one of the shop’s bays opened and James Bridger Sr. walked in. The former gunny sergeant’s perpetually pissed-off expression dissolved into a wide smile when he saw him standing in the entryway.
“Blake! How the hell are you, son?”
Blake returned the smile and stepped forward to accept the hand offered to him. “Doing well, sir. You?”
“Fine, just fine.” He kept a solid grip on Blake’s hand, the pleasure on his face doing a decent job of masking the pain Blake could see lurking in those dark eyes. Seeing him couldn’t be easy for the man, since it would bring back a lot of memories; some bittersweet, others painful. “You’re looking good.”
“I’m doing well. You guys seem to be busy here as usual.”
Senior released his hand, the fond smile still in place. “It’s been steady. Who you working for these days?”
“Fairly new firm called Titanium Security. Run by two former SEALs, good guys.”
The man grunted. “They pay you well?”
“I can’t complain, sir.” Much higher pay was one of the reasons he’d left his beloved Corps for private contract work, and one of the biggest problems cannibalizing the Special Operations Forces ranks across the military.
Senior tilted his head, perusing him with an attentiveness that only those who have served in combat possessed. Even though he was used to the scrutiny, a surge of guilt had Blake fighting the urge to squirm under that penetrating gaze. “You here on a social visit?”
“Wish I was, sir.”
“Oh.” The smile slipped a notch and Blake felt like a total shit for disappointing him. He’d been like another son to this man for a long damn time. No matter what, Blake should have made more of an effort to put his own shit aside and act like one since the funeral. He hadn’t seen anyone in the family since, and now the first time he’d finally found the balls to come here again it was because of business. “You here to see Jordy then?”
It was all he could do to not look away from that intense stare. “Yeah.” The old man was weighing him now, and Blake didn’t like it because it made him feel like an outsider. Though what did he expect when he hadn’t kept in touch in so long?
His gaze slid unerringly to the framed photo on the wall next to the wide desk near the door Senior had come out of. It showed him, Jamie, Senior and Jord dressed up in winter gear, all smiling as they knelt in the forest to hold up the head of an elk buck Jord had tagged two years ago during a hunting trip in the interior of B.C.
He quickly turned his attention back to Senior, the sight of his closest friend in that photo hitting him square in the heart.
The older man nodded once and clapped him on the shoulder. “Go ahead and go on back. Usual place. You’ll stay for dinner, right? I’ll call Carol and let her know—”
“I’m due back in Baltimore tonight. Thanks for the offer, though.” Yeah, he was a total pussy to be making a hit-and-run stop like this. But he’d promised Tom he’d give the invitation in person. Hell, Blake had brought it up in the first place, probably out of some sick and twisted sense of masochism. He’d break the ice, say what he’d come to say and head back to Baltimore.
“You’d better make time to have a beer with me, at least. Been way too long since I’ve seen you last.”
Seven months, to be exact. The day of Jamie’s funeral. Blake couldn’t refuse this invitation. “That sounds good, sir. Love to.” And lord knew, he could use a beer after what was coming next.
“Good.” Senior gestured for him to go through to the back with a wave of his hand. “Go say hi and come get me when you’re ready to hit the pub.”
Blake wasn’t here to say hi, but he didn’t correct him.
The muted whirr of drills and power socket wrenches hit him full volume the moment he cracked open the door that led to the main auto body shop. Various chassis and car parts lay scattered around the large shop in organized chaos. Several guys glanced up from their work at welding stations or hydraulic hoists then went right back to what they were doing. Blake walked through, noticing the many stations and all the various projects underway.
Propped against the far wall of the expansive building, several car and truck hoods lay waiting to be painted, and a few others were finished and ready to be wrapped up for shipping. Two bore the trademark custom flame motifs he’d recognize anywhere and something tightened in his chest. He passed by them all, heading for the door beside them that would lead to the next warehouse, aware of the rare tingle of nerves deep in his belly.
The moment he pushed open the door to the overflow shop he was assaulted by the hard hitting beat and guitar riffs of Led Zeppelin blasting from a pair of speakers suspended from the ceiling. On the concrete floor beneath the rough body of a hot rod in the initial stages of fabrication, a pair of work boots stuck out from beneath the edge of the frame, the right foot tapping to the rhythm of When the Levee Breaks.
He shut the door behind him, the clang of the door lost in the bone-shaking flood of the music. The boot continued to tap away, a wrench working rhythmically with the beat. Blake stuffed his hands into his pockets and released a deep breath. He was here; might as well just get this part over with so he could get his answer, have that beer with Senior, and head back to the safe house he shared with Hunter and Dunphy.
Berating himself for stalling, annoyed by the lingering anxiety he couldn’t seem to shake, he walked over to the large workbench set into the back wall and shut off the stereo. In the sudden silence the boot stopped tapping and a hard sigh emerged from under the vehicle.
The metallic clink of a wrench started up again almost instantly. “Tell Senior not to get his panties in a wad. I’ll do the damn hood as soon as I finish with this undercarriage, which he insists has to be shipped first thing in the freaking morning.” Annoyance laced every word.
Blake hid a grin. “No, thanks. I don’t have a death wish.”
The wrench stopped.
Blake withdrew his hands from his pockets to fold his arms across his chest and waited, aware that he was practically holding his breath as Jordyn began to roll out from under the vehicle. Clad in dark blue overalls, those long legs seemed to go on forever as they eased out from beneath the hoist. Long, trim legs that led to strong hips and an ass he had no business staring at, let alone remembering the fantasies he’d had about it.
A slim waist appeared, then the rise of small, firm breasts pushed against the coveralls.
Have mercy.
He mentally groaned, bracing himself for the rest as the face that had haunted him emerged from the shadows. Shocked deep blue eyes fastened on him, the color even more vibrant against her light honey-toned tan and rich brown hair. She’d cropped her hair short, most of it now covered by Jamie’s old camo ball cap with the U.S. flag on it.
She pushed her bangs to the side with one grease-stained hand to see him better. Those gorgeous, vivid eyes settled on his with unerring intensity and one dark eyebrow rose in censure. “Well, well, look who it is. To what do I owe the pleasure of being graced with your presence?”
Jordyn considered it a minor miracle that her voice was steady, given that her heart had just done a gigantic somersault and her mouth was completely dry. She hated her body’s inevitable reaction to the man, even though she wasn’t surprised by it. The sight of him had always hit her hard, right from the first time she’d met him.
“Hey, Jord.”
She didn’t respond. God, would the sight of this man always hurt? She’d been seventeen when Jamie had brought him home during leave the first year he’d enlisted in the Corps. Back then she’d had a raging crush on him. While to him she’d been nothing more than Jamie’s little sister, which, according to the Guy Code Rulebook meant she was sexless and worthy of strictly platonic attention or the occasional brotherly pat on the head.
The memory stung and put her teeth on edge. “Hey yourself.” Even after she’d become a Marine, he’d still looked at her as only
Jamie’s little sister
. She’d waited years for him to see her as a woman instead of the girl he had to hang with when he visited her family.
Until the night of her brother’s funeral and the single scorching kiss that had changed everything. And not in the way she’d always hoped. He’d taken off and she and her parents had barely received an email or phone call from him since.
That pissed her off, but more than that, it
hurt
. Worse than she’d ever admit to him.
He still hadn’t said anything else. Getting him to talk was like prying teeth, and this time was no different.
With a sigh she sat up, put her torque wrench down and carefully collected her thoughts before meeting his gaze once more. When she did, she couldn’t help but drink in the sight of him, all six feet two inches of hard, buff male dressed in a light gray T-shirt, dark blue jeans and work boots. The material clung to him in all the right places, showing off the effortless power and grace he’d always possessed. The strong planes of his jaw were shadowed with a few days’ dark growth.
Set off against his dark caramel skin, those golden hazel eyes stared back at her unflinchingly. Eyes that could scope out a target hundreds of yards away or melt a woman with a single glance.
She’d seen him do both, many times over the years.
Pushing to her feet, she pulled a rag out of her hip pocket and scrubbed at her hands to give herself something to do. It was much easier facing him while standing, when he wasn’t towering over her. She was tall for a woman, only three inches shorter than him in her work boots. And she wanted to make it plain that she wasn’t the least bit intimidated by this confrontation. “So?” she prompted.
He didn’t seem bothered by the sharpness in her tone. “Keeping busy, I see. Saw some of your work in the other warehouse. I can pick out your flames anywhere.”
Aww, that was sweet. It still didn’t tell her why he was here. “You just stopping by to say hi to my dad?” Her traitorous gaze slid to his broad, muscular chest. Outlined beneath his shirt she could just make out the shape of his HOG’s Tooth. The conical hollow point boat round rested right over his heart, marking him as a
Hunter of Gunmen
upon graduating as a Scout/Sniper. Sniper lore said there was ultimately one round destined to end a person’s life. If a sniper carried it with him at all times, it could never be fired, making him invincible. Whether or not it was true, it had certainly protected Blake so far.
“No. I’m here about a job.”
Covering her surprise, she tucked the rag away and folded her arms across her chest, mimicking his stance. “For me?”
He confirmed it with a nod. “The company I work for is short on security contractors. My boss needs someone with experience and security clearance, and he specifically wants a qualified mechanic as well as someone good with a long gun.”
Huh. She definitely qualified, on all fronts. But she was still skeptical. “So you suggested me?”