That’s right. I remember seeing something online about her taking a break from show business, but I never would have thought she’d be camped out in Pittsburgh as the den mother for Jameson Force Security.
“Kynan’s waiting for you downstairs in the large conference room,” Joslyn tells Cruce as she wraps her arm around my waist. “I was just starting dinner, so maybe Barrett can stay up here with me and help.”
Cruce nods gratefully, which means he doesn’t want me involved in whatever conversation they might have. Somehow, I think it might have to do with the man they took prisoner. I imagine they think it might be too much for my delicate sensibilities, and I’m pretty sure I agree.
“I’ll have her luggage sent up,” Cruce tells Joslyn. “She’ll be staying in my apartment.”
Joslyn blinks at this news, as do I. He lives here?
Cruce turns to me. Once again, he steps in and puts his hand behind my neck. I take that as his signal he wants my full and undivided attention. My eyes lock onto his blue ones.
“Have Joslyn make you an ice pack and get it on those ribs again, okay?”
“Okay,” I murmur, feeling as if maybe I’m more than a job to him.
“Good girl,” he replies, then his hand falls away and he walks to the elevator.
I glance at Joslyn, whose gaze follows Cruce. She has a pensive look on her face, and I can tell his behavior around me perplexes her for some reason.
“Cruce seems like a nice guy,” I say to get her attention as the elevator descends.
“He is,” she replies brightly, but she doesn’t take my bait to talk about him further. Instead, she starts toward the kitchen and motions for me to follow. “I was going to make a lasagna for dinner. It’s a good go-to to feed a crowd.”
“Crowd?” I ask.
“Me, you, Kynan, Bebe, Cruce, and Saint. Not a huge crowd, but those men can eat.”
“Where’s Dozer?” I ask. Based on his chicken marsala, he should be up here cooking for us.
Joslyn walks over to the freezer, then pulls out a gelled ice pack. “He’s in Vegas helping them put a plan together to nab the arms dealers who mentioned your name.”
“Should that still be done now since we have one of the guys who actually tried to kidnap me?” I ask as she wraps a tea towel around the ice pack and hands it to me.
Joslyn shrugs. “It would seem that might be a waste now, but I bet that’s on their discussion agenda. I’m sure they’ll fill us in at supper. Now, have a seat. Would you like a glass of wine?”
I manage to get on one of the high barstools at the oversized counter separating the kitchen and living area, then place the pack against my ribs, which don’t even ache that much. “Wine would be great.”
While Joslyn pours us each a glass, I look around curiously. “So… what is this place?”
“This is the communal living area. This floor has five apartments. Each one has its own living area and small kitchen, but Kynan wanted something where everyone could gather as a team to cook or hang out if we wanted to.”
“That’s very progressive,” I murmur appreciatively. I imagine teamwork building is a must in this line of business.
“That’s my man,” Joslyn replies with a soft smile. Wow! If I could paint a picture of what being in love meant, it would be the expression she’s wearing right now.
For some odd reason, it makes me feel sad I’ve never worn that look before. I wonder if Cruce has.
Which is even odder. I have no business wondering about him in that manner.
Still, I can’t deny I like it when he puts his hand on my neck to make sure I have eyes only for him.
Or that I feel very safe and secure when I’m in his presence.
And damn… last night at the State dinner, I didn’t want the evening to end. I got lost in talking to him, dancing with him, and laughing together.
Yes, I am just a job to him, but it doesn’t mean he’s not easy to like.
I mean, way too easy to like.
CHAPTER 8
Cruce
I head down to the first-floor basement. Kynan chose to keep its appearance abandoned and filthy as a deterrent in case anyone managed to get past the alarm system and fortified locks on the doors. He wanted any intruder to only see what this placed appeared to be… unoccupied and worthless. It wouldn’t keep someone at bay from exploring for long, but it would give the occupants time to react.
Eventually, I imagine he’ll do something down here, but for now, I don’t give it much thought other than to head to the east end of the building. Joslyn told me Kynan was in the conference room on the second floor, but he’d texted me to come straight to Sub Three.
Apparently, this warehouse was originally built with underground food and beverage storage, which used the natural chill of subterranean temperatures. There are three floors below the first floor, but they don’t run the entire length of the building and Sub One butts up against the garage level. Each floor is about fifty-feet-by-a-hundred feet and can be accessed by a separate freight elevator on the east side. Only Sub One has been renovated, and it’s where Research and Tech will operate once Kynan makes further hires. I expect Dozer and Bebe will have a lot of say in who comes to work in that division.
I take the rumbling boxed mode of transportation down, wishing I’d worn a jacket as it’s fucking cold. I’d guess maybe high forties, but in the darkened space with concrete flooring it seems colder.
Kynan and Saint are waiting for me.
Grinning, Saint holds out a fist. “Excellent shot, bro.”
I bump my fist against his. “Thanks.” Turning to Kynan, I ask, “You get anything from him yet?”
“Not much,” he says, but he doesn’t sound the least bit disgruntled about it. “Took a bit of time to get him patched up. Poor Corinne had to put stitches in him, and she bitched about it the entire time.”
“She’s a psychiatrist,” I point out. “The last time she treated an actual body was probably medical school.”
“I’ll give her a fucking bonus,” Kynan mutters as he stalks across the barren space. “But he gave his name—Keith Spire—and Bebe did a short background check. He lives in Bethesda, he’s single, works at a garage, and has some minor convictions like petty larceny.”
There’s a door on the opposite end of the room, and he opens it to give me a peek inside. In the center of the small area, the man I shot sits in a chair. His hands are tied behind his back, his legs to the chair. Someone dressed him in a pair of sweatpants and a white t-shirt. There’s a black blindfold tied around his eyes, and his head pops up at the sound of the door opening.
“Who’s there?” he demands angrily. “I’m fucking cold and hungry. I’ve been shot. I demand to have my phone call. I want my lawyer.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Kynan snarls before slamming the door shut. We take a few steps away so there’s no chance our voices will carry to him. “So far, he’s denied knowing any deep details of why Barrett is a target. Swears he and his partner were hired anonymously, and they were only told to grab her and bring her to a location that would be given to them once they had her. They were paid five thousand dollars up front, and they would get another five thousand on delivery.”