“Corinne will have regular visitation hours and an office on this floor. Utilize her services freely, and don’t make me send you.”
Nervous laughter sounds around the table.
“The guy on the end with the ‘high and tight’ is going to be joining us in a few weeks,” Kynan continues as he points to a man who’s clearly active duty. “That’s Malik Fournier, and he just got out of the Marine Corps—2nd Recon. He’s going to spend a few weeks with family before starting here at Jameson.”
I study the man. Late twenties, I’d guess, with dark hair and hazel eyes. He’s special forces, and I can tell by the look in his eyes he’s seen some pretty sketchy shit. He catches my gaze and gives me a slight nod, which I return.
Welcome aboard, dude. We’ll do beers, too.
“Some of you might know Malik’s famous hockey brothers,” Kynan continues in his crisp, British accent.
“Fournier?” Cage drawls in hesitant but hopeful surprise. “As in Max and Lucas Fournier?”
Malik grins as he nods at Cage.
“Holy fucking shit,” Cage explodes, giving a Southern holler of glee as he bangs his fist on the table. Corinne Ellery about jumps out of her seat. “The Carolina Cold Fury is my hockey team. Mine! Two-time Stanley Cup Champions, baby.”
Kynan shrugs. “I wouldn’t know about that shit. We don’t have bloody hockey where I’m from.”
Everyone laughs because Kynan’s been in the States long enough to know what ice hockey is, and he sure as hell should have heard about the Cold Fury. They’re looking good for a three-peat championship this year, but they might just get upset by the new franchise team in the league, the Arizona Vengeance.
In fact, that seems to be what everyone’s chattering about now. Kynan only lets it go on for about three seconds before he’s banging his hand on the table to get quiet again.
“You can talk hockey with Malik later,” he grumbles, then gives his attention to the dark-haired woman sitting next to me. “But for now, we’ve got some new tech to discuss, so I’ll turn it over to Bebe.”
All eyes go to our favorite hacker.
Well, our only hacker, but if there were others, none would be as beloved as Bebe. She’s actually a convicted felon, but Kynan sprung her from a thirty-five-year prison sentence early. She’d been rightfully convicted of stealing sensitive military codes to launch nuclear weapons, but her reasons for doing it were understandable. Her son’s life was at stake, and there wasn’t anything Bebe wouldn’t do for Aaron. But she loved her country, too, so she fucked over the group forcing her to steal the codes and made sure she was caught so the codes remained safe.
Our country was safe, her son was safe, and Bebe went to prison.
Until Kynan brought her aboard Jameson.
Bebe is officially one of the coolest people I know, and she launches into some new security feature she just installed that requires retinal scans to get into the building.
I tune her out. Apparently, I’m going to have to get my eyeballs scanned over in her lab soon, so she can fill me in then.
Instead, I fish my phone out of my pocket, then pull up the email I’d received a little bit ago.
It’s not the official presidential email from the White House. No, this is a private email sent through an encrypted server.
The email address alone told me it was from President Alexander.
“Cavalier” was Jonathan Alexander’s Secret Service code name when he’d been vice president and I was assigned to his protection detail.
The email was precise, but I recognized it as coming from him. I’d worked closely with him too long not to.
Cruce,
I know I’m the one who owes you the favor, but I really need your help. This is off the books.
You saved my life once. This time, I need you to save someone whom I love deeply.
I’ll send Marine One for you and Kynan McGrath in the morning.
It wasn’t signed, but I knew it was from Jonathan Alexander, former vice president and current president of the United States. This wasn’t a request but a command.
He’d said he was sending one of the presidential helicopters tomorrow for Kynan and me. He’s equating his need to when I saved his life last year, so I know it’s beyond important to him.
Of course, I never even thought about declining. One simply didn’t do that when the president demanded their presence.
So I merely emailed back, Yes, sir. See you tomorrow.
And it looks like Jameson is going to have its first big, off-the-books contract straight from the most powerful man in the world.
CHAPTER 2
Cruce
“The president will be with you shortly,” the woman says as she backs out of the Oval Office, smiling before shutting the door behind her.
Kynan and I had been ushered here after Marine One touched down on the White House lawn. It’s a helicopter ride I’ve made before when Jonathan Alexander was the vice president, but it still never fails to thrill. Kynan tried to act all cool about it, but I could see him practically vibrating in his seat as we came down for a landing.
For today’s meeting, we’d decided on sedate suits—mine black and Kynan’s a dark gray. My hands are tucked casually into my pockets, and Kynan holds onto a leather portfolio with a note pad and pen inside. Ten to one says he doesn’t write down a single note. It’s more of a business prop.
“What’s it like to have the president indebted to you?” Kynan asks as he turns away from a portrait of George Washington above the fireplace mantel.
“He’s not indebted to me.” I take in the new decor President Alexander chose for his office. Steel blues and creams. Manly yet elegant. “I was just doing my job.”
“Yeah, but you did it far and beyond what anyone would have expected. Put ten other agents in your spot and faced with that same scenario, he would have died those ten times.”
I don’t argue with him on that point. Who knows what would have happened?
All I know is my reaction speed was far greater than I had ever known possible. I learned a valuable lesson that day—I should always trust my gut instinct.
It happened just about a year ago. Alexander was still serving as the country’s vice president but he was also on the campaign trail, having decided to throw his hat into the ring after then President Cary Allen decided not to run for a second term due to health issues.
We’d been at Loyola and Alexander was giving a commencement speech. After it was over and as we were walking out, one of the other agents pulled something from his pocket. I had milliseconds to react, not really understanding what I was seeing. Without thought or hesitation, I took my service pistol out and pumped bullets into my fellow agent’s chest.
Turns out, it was an 8-inch shiv and the agent was a treasonous prick who was pissed at our government because of our foreign war policies. Sure, they said there was some mental illness, but fuck that. He was a fuckwad who tried to kill the sitting vice president, and he deserved to die. All there was to it.
One of the doors to the Oval Office opens—a different one from the entrance we used—and Kynan and I turn that way. President Alexander walks in, followed by two important-looking men in dark suits who are chattering to him. The president’s eyes find mine, and he shoots me a welcoming but short smile as he moves to his desk. One man reminds the president he has another meeting in five minutes and the other puts something in front of him to sign, which President Alexander does without hesitation.