It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Connor about his attraction to Kit.

Griffin could keep it in check. He wasn’t a slave to his hormones. Too much was at stake for him to give in to his feelings. Instead, he made the point that mattered most. “My wife died because I couldn’t protect her. What makes you think I can keep Kit safe?”

“This situation is nothing like what happened with Beth. What could you have done differently? No one blames you for Beth’s death except you.”

At the mention of his wife’s name, disgust for himself and anger at her killer renewed. “I ask myself that every day.”

“The answer eludes you because there is no answer. You couldn’t have done anything. What happened with Beth was a terrible atrocity, but protecting Kit will be different. You will be at her side around the clock. She is your sole mission.”

Griffin didn’t care for his body’s response to hearing that. As a red-blooded man, he wanted to be close to Kit. As an operative, he wasn’t qualified to protect her.

* * *

If you’re on Twitter, tell us what you think of Harlequin Romantic Suspense! #harlequinromsuspense

Dear Reader,

Kit Walker is great with technology. But people—not so much. When her past working on a top secret government project comes back to haunt her, Kit has to rely on Griffin Brooks, an operative for the West Company. Kit doesn’t trust him. Her experiences with men have been rocky and Griffin is far too callous and demanding. Except he’s also drop-dead gorgeous, and Kit finds that hard to ignore and makes it even harder to keep her distance from him.

Tough, competent and cool under fire, Griffin has been sent by the West Company to ensure Kit’s safety. Griffin is unexpectedly drawn to the awkward and unassuming woman he has been assigned to protect. Griffin has something to prove to himself and won’t let anything get in the way of his mission. When the operation goes sideways and Griffin and Kit are forced on the run, Griffin must decide to either protect Kit or his heart.

The characters in this book were inspired by the amazing computer scientists I’ve worked with. I hope my fellow geeks find and enjoy their happy endings!

Best,

C.J. Miller

www.CJ-Miller.com

Delta Force Desire
C.J. Miller

www.millsandboon.co.uk

C.J. MILLER loves to hear from her readers and can be contacted through her website, cj-miller.com. She lives in Maryland with her husband and three children. C.J. believes in first loves, second chances and happily-ever-after.

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To Noelle, for the light, love and joy you bring to our lives each day.

Contents

Cover

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

Kaitlyn “Kit” Walker was not rocking the slinky, glittery red dress. On the hanger, it had looked great. On her, it was garish and borderline indecent. Kit had left her bedroom wearing it only because her sister Marissa had insisted she blend with her model friends. One problem with that: Kit wasn’t a model. She didn’t even photograph that well.

Kit felt awkward and uncomfortable. She was certain she looked like a sausage stuffed into a too-tiny casing, bulging in the wrong places. All she needed was for the seams or zipper to pop and make her humiliation complete. At least no one was looking at her. She was about seven inches too short and thirty pounds too heavy for anyone at the party to be staring at her when so much eye candy was prancing around her, giggling and taking selfies.

Kit preferred to fly under the radar of the constant clicking of cameras on smartphones. She wasn’t anything to post about on social media, and she liked it that way. She preferred to remain out of the public eye.

Kit only had to stay at the swanky rooftop party until they sang happy birthday to her sister and cut the cake—the thousand-dollar, perfectly decorated cake Marissa and her friends wouldn’t touch. Some celebrity baker had prepared it. Would he be insulted if no one bothered to eat it?

It was nearly dusk and the terrace was aglow with silver spherical lanterns. The serving bars were illuminated with fluorescent green. The whole party was not Kit’s scene.

At least their brother seemed to be having a good time. He was flirting and talking with the beautiful women. Their mother was in her element. A former Miss California, sipping champagne, wearing a couture gown, and talking to Marissa’s agent, her mother was all toothy smiles.

Kit’s phone was tucked in her clutch. Her fingers stretched toward it. She had promised Marissa she would socialize and not type on her phone the entire time, but no one was speaking to her, and it was unlikely anyone would. She had nothing in common with actors and models and photographers. She was probably the only woman on the roof who wasn’t regularly featured in the gossip columns. She couldn’t be in the gossip columns; her life depended on it. If someone saw her picture and recognized her as anyone other than Kit Walker, she was screwed.

Kit swirled the lemon-lime cola in her wineglass. She would have drunk it straight from the can, but the bartender had given her such a look when she requested it, she decided she would use a glass.

A light breeze blew, and Kit shivered. Was being cold an excuse to leave? It was July in Southern California and no one else seemed uncomfortable, but Kit wasn’t accustomed to being half-naked. Her legs were bare. Her arms were bare. Her shoulders were bare. How did people relax when they were dressed like this?

Goose bumps formed on her arms, and she turned, sensing someone watching her. She pasted on a smile in case it was her sister. Kit could pretend she was enjoying people-watching. Watching beautiful people seducing and flattering each other was an activity that didn’t involve her phone. After the party was over, these beautiful people would go home with companions as attractive as they were.

Kit would go home alone, water her plants and go to bed. That was okay. She didn’t want someone coming home with her.

She didn’t see her sister, but a man was watching Kit drink her soda. A good-looking man. Was he trying to place her? Wondering why she was at this party? He had the smoldering, sexy look down pat. He must be a model or an actor. His hair was longer, reaching to the tops of his ears, and he was dressed in a black T-shirt, dark blue jeans and boots. Though his expression was serious, he almost seemed amused. Her defenses heightened. She wasn’t in the mood to be teased. She’d heard every joke in the world about being the ugly sister to supermodel Marissa.

She was aware she wasn’t as gorgeous as her sister. Since she had been a baby, she’d been compared to her sister, and Kit did not rank on any magazine’s list as hot or tempting. At some point, looks wouldn’t matter as much, and someone would recognize her genius. But in this space and at this time, looks mattered; brains didn’t. Maybe when she and Marissa were in their sixties, someone would finally stop snapping pictures of Marissa long enough to realize that Kit was smart.

Kit didn’t blame her sister. Marissa was a good person with a warm heart, but the media cared only how she looked, what she wore and where she partied. Kit and her sister were both underestimated.

The man started toward her. Kit slid off the stool. She checked that her dress was pulled down in the back and tried to flee. It was juvenile, but she didn’t want to have an actual conversation with a handsome man or fend off a joke about her.

Kit didn’t get far. With her ridiculous borrowed shoes, she had to walk like a clopping horse. The roof was too jam-packed, and unlike her sister, who strode through a room and parted the crowd, Kit had no such effect on the people around her.

The man reached her and smiled. The smile shifted his looks from handsome to drop-dead gorgeous. Her knees locked and her breasts tightened and she cursed her body’s complete overreaction. Maybe this was how men felt when they looked at her sister. If so, she understood their obsession with Marissa a bit more. Standing in front of this man, it was hard to look away.

“You’re Kit Walker, right?” he asked.

Kit blinked at him and then looked behind her. He’d said her name, but was he actually looking for her? She could think of only one reason why he would. “If you are trying to meet my sister through me, Marissa doesn’t make a mockery of me by allowing men to use me to get to her.” It had happened at least five times in the past. It was humiliating for Kit, having a man pretend to like her only to flat-out ignore her once he was in Marissa’s presence. Marissa hated it. Kit wasn’t a fan, either.

“I have no interest in your sister,” the man said. His voice was deep and slightly gravelly. Like the voice of a man who was used to being in charge and in control. Maybe an actor, then. Or a director.

“You’d be the first and only man on the planet.” She laughed so she didn’t sound completely bitter, but it wasn’t funny. It was true and painful. When she was younger, she used to imagine a man would come into their lives and see something in her that made her more attractive than Marissa.

“Is there a place we could speak in private?” he asked.

“I don’t sneak off to closets with strangers,” she said.

He frowned, and she mourned the loss of his amazing smile. His eyes were flat and serious. “I have no plans to put you in a closet. I do have something important to speak with you about. It’s a sensitive matter. I am familiar with your work.”

Her stomach dropped. His voice gave away he wasn’t referring to her job at the florist. It had been four years since she had worked as a computer scientist, and she had put the past behind her. Though she sometimes woke in the night in a cold sweat, nightmares about her previous work hounding her, Kit had built a safe life for herself.

Kit held up her hands and backed away. “Stay away from me.” How had anyone found her? She had been exceedingly careful.

She turned to flee and he grabbed her wrist, preventing her escape. The party went on around her as if no one was aware of what was happening to her. Being socially invisible might get her killed. “If you don’t let me go, I will scream. My sister has a security team here. They will...tackle you.” Kit had seen her sister’s bodyguards grapple with or hit men who lunged at her sister either trying to cop a feel or take a picture up her dress. It was comical how easily her bodyguards kept pests away.

But this man was more than a pervert with a mission. This man was a threat. He wouldn’t be flicked to the side.

He released her. “Shade sent me.”

The words came on a whisper, carrying a heavy message. Shade, a name from her past, ancient history. Shade was known for being ridiculously principled and scrupulously ethical. Shade was a topnotch hacker and a class act. “Is she in trouble?” Kit’s question confirmed she knew Shade. But if he knew about Shade, he knew too much already. Theirs was a small and discreet community.

“She’s safe, but she sent me because she is worried about you. Problems are coming your way.”

Kit wasn’t interested in a cloak-and-dagger routine. “I don’t do that type of work anymore. I work for a florist. If Shade was worried about me, she would have sent me a message directly.” Online. Over the phone. Sending a messenger did not seem like Shade’s style.

“You’ve been hard to find.”

Her pride flooded through her. At least she hadn’t made it painfully easy for her enemies to locate her. Shade was a friend, but to keep herself safe, she’d had to hide from everyone, and that had meant creating a new online identity. “Yet here you are,” Kit said, wondering how he had located her. If he had found her, then her enemies could, as well.

“I went through a lot of trouble to locate you. Thousands in bribes, hours on stakeouts and hacking the United States’ civilian records,” he said.

The records the government kept to allow them to track almost anyone. Library cards, credit card bills and facial recognition from streaming video feeds made hiding next to impossible. Kit had believed knowing how the government could track her meant she could be untraceable. She had been mistaken.

“Coming for you in person allows us to protect you.”

“Us?” She looked around. She could spot a military man from fifty paces. This man had the look of someone with service experience, but no one else jumped out at her.

“I work with a team, but I am here alone.”

“You work for Shade?” she asked.

“With her,” he said.

He didn’t like to be submissive. Definitely military. “I’m fine here. My family is close, and if you haven’t noticed, my sister hired a dozen security guards for this party.”

The man arched a brow. “Your family and some guards for hire can’t protect you. You have dangerous enemies.”

“Maybe you’re one of them,” she said. She lifted her phone to snap his picture. He snatched it from her hands before she could capture his image and send it with an SOS to her safety net, a list of computer hackers who would take his picture to the authorities if anything happened to her.

“I’ve heard a computer in your hands is as dangerous as a weapon.”

A compliment. “You heard right. I’ll do what’s needed to protect myself and my family.”

“Like calling in an air strike?” he asked, sounding amused.

“That was a joke,” she said. When she had been on the project years ago, she had ordered an air strike against a general who had pissed her off. She’d known the military had safeguards to prevent friendly fire, but it had been a clear warning not to screw with her.

“Not everyone is amused by your sense of humor,” he said.

“I’ve been told it’s a little warped. Give me my phone.”

He handed it to her. “I need to take you somewhere safe.”

He could be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. If he had found her and knew about Shade, he could be masquerading as friendly but working with her enemies. “I can protect myself.” Or at least, she could run and disappear.

The music stopped dead, and the lanterns and bar lights on the rooftop flickered before going out completely. Kit glanced at her phone, confused to see the red warning icon that she had no cell service. Panic flared, and she sensed something bad was unfolding.

He said, “Not from—”

The rat-tat-tat of gunfire cut him off. The man grabbed Kit and held her against him, sheltering her with his body and forcing her to the ground.

Screaming and the sound of glass breaking filled the air. The gunfire meant that her life, and the lives of her family and people around her, were in danger. The strength and power of the stranger holding her against him was weirdly comforting. She felt a gun at his side. And another one. And a knife in a leather sheath.

“Please stop that,” he said.

She stilled her hands. “Are you wearing a vest?”

“Of course I am,” he said, reaching for one of his weapons and shoving her behind him. He pivoted on his heels while staying in a squat.

Lights from adjacent buildings, the moon and the city below were the only illumination.

A man with a large gun swung it in a wide circle around him, eliciting more squeals of fear and pleading. Two others were at his sides. They wore clear plastic masks, distorting their faces, and black clothes. Between their disguises and the darkness, Kit couldn’t tell anything about these men.

“We’re looking for a woman. If you stay calm, no one will be hurt. Kit Walker, come forward or we’ll kill every person on this roof.”

Kit tried to push the man off her. He didn’t budge.

“Stay down. I will get you out of this.”

“Not at the expense of everyone here.” Kit couldn’t see her mother’s, sister’s or brother’s face, but she guessed they were terrified and confused. She was the nobody in the family. They must have been wondering who would barge into a party, armed, and attempt to kidnap her.

He stood, jerking her to her feet, turning her to protect her with his body and bringing a gun to her temple. “If you want her, you’ll have to fight me for her.”

He had lied. He was here to hurt her.

Every person on the roof was looking at them. Her mother screamed. Marissa was pointing from her bodyguards to Kit, perhaps begging them to do something. Kit tried to pull free. Including the one holding her, four madmen were after her. How far would she get, especially in these shoes?

She had known her history would catch up with her. She had been warned that she couldn’t walk away from the Locker and start over as if nothing had happened, as if she hadn’t been key in creating a system that protected the United States and threatened other countries in subversive and catastrophic ways.

But darned if she hadn’t tried.

The liar dragged her through the crowd, gun poking her. “Shoot anyone and she dies,” the liar said to the man at the door.

Party guests were cowered on the ground. The shooting had stopped.

If she made it out of here, the liar would probably kill her when he realized she wouldn’t work as a traitor to the United States. She was worth more alive than dead, and that would buy her some time. She had refused to take part in the training about resisting advanced interrogation techniques, aka torture, but now she wished she was prepared. How stiff-lipped would she be when her loyalty to America was put to the test?

Kit had made bad choices in her professional career. Being involved with the Locker was the worst. One of the lead computer scientists on the project had suffered a stroke. The stress and the deadlines had gotten to him. The engineer who had masterminded the Locker had experienced a complete break with reality. He had behaved strangely for weeks, and then he had snapped. Both men had been removed from the project. It had been devastating for Kit personally, and the professional pressure on her had increased. She had worried that she would become ill, either physically or mentally, but she had held it together. Looking back, her naïveté had saved her. She hadn’t fully grasped the enemies she was making or the importance of her work.

“We can make an arrangement. We’ll pay double your fee,” the man with the assault rifle said. He had a mustache. She didn’t trust men with mustaches.

“Let’s take this downstairs.” That gravelly voice commanded respect. Kit wondered if she could get free of him. In movies and TV, spunky heroines broke away with a well-placed kick. But his grip on her was firm, and he was probably a very good shot. A man who owned a bulletproof vest wasn’t a novice with a weapon. How far could she get before being gunned down?

The liar dragged her into the stairwell, where there were fewer witnesses. Where were the police? Had they been called? The signal on her phone had gone out, but could someone else have contacted the authorities? Could they help her?

The probability of her dying was high, and Kit didn’t have much to lose. He could shoot her on the stairs and then throw her body down fifteen flights. She had a slim chance of surviving that. She would run the first chance she had.

“If you shoot me, make sure I’m dead before you toss my body down the stairs,” she said.

“What?” he asked. He sounded annoyed. She didn’t care if he was annoyed. If she had to die, she wanted some say in the matter.

“I don’t want to be paralyzed and brain-dead and a huge problem for my family while I’m in a vegetative state. Shoot to kill. Navy SEAL me—you know, one to the heart and one to the head.”

He swore under his breath. “Please just shut up.”

The other three men followed them down the stairs. They wanted to bring her in alive. The liar might want her dead. She was better off with the people who wanted her alive. At least it would buy her an opportunity to escape.

Though he was holding her firmly, he wasn’t hurting her or jerking her around. He was almost carrying her down the stairs. When they reached the ground floor, they stepped into the narrow alley between the buildings.

“If you’re prepared to pay me, then I’m prepared to give her to you,” the liar said.

A mercenary with no moral compass except one that pointed to the highest dollar amount. What a loser. She revoked her good thoughts about how attractive he was and replaced the word attractive with louse.

“Tell me the routing and account number and the money is yours,” the other man said.

The liar shouted out a series of numbers. Kit memorized them. If she escaped him, she would rob him blind. He would make a very, very large and untraceable donation to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital.

The mercenary put his gun in the hand holding her and took out his phone to confirm the money transfer had been made. The distraction could be a chance to run for freedom. She struggled against him, but his arm was unmovable. She elbowed him in the gut and hit only his vest and the muscle beneath. He didn’t flinch or make any noise of pain. At least that would have given her some satisfaction.

“Thanks for the payout,” he said. “Trust me,” he whispered into her ear before he pushed her to the other men.

She stumbled in her heels, but one of the men grabbed her. He dragged her toward a car at the opening of the alley.

More gunshots, and Kit ducked. Were they killing the mercenary? It would serve him right. Would-be murderers had it coming.

A man with curly hair shoved her against the car and pulled her to the ground. He wasn’t moving, and he was heavy. It was hard to breathe with his weight pinning her. Several seconds passed before she realized he was dead on top of her. She kicked at him, trying to move him off her. Now was her opportunity to run for freedom.

The body gave way, and then the mercenary was hauling her to her feet. The other men were dead in the alley, blood pooling around their bodies.

Hysteria and panic clawed at her. If he would callously kill these men, he would kill her. Three more men entered the alley. They advanced on her and the mercenary. He nudged her farther down the alley in the opposite direction.

He was already shooting at the others. “Run, Princess. Get out of here.”

Confusion morphed into self-preservation. He was letting her go. She started to run and then stopped to look over her shoulder. He was fighting the three men, landing punches but taking punches, too. She wanted to run, but something held her feet in place.

Before she could decide what to do next, the mercenary had knocked out the three men. He raced toward her. “Come on. I told you to run. You need a better sense of survival.”

“I was worried about you,” she said.

He grunted. “Don’t worry about me. Focus your energy on living through this.”

He threw her on the back of a motorcycle and then climbed on. He handed her a helmet. She didn’t have it snapped and he was already taking off from the alley. As the cycle lurched, she grabbed his shoulders to steady herself.

She had too many questions. Was he planning to sell her or kill her? He had already sold her, but then had saved her. Why? What did he need her to do? What was his connection to the Locker?

The motorcycle drew to a stop on the side of a quiet street lined with boutiques closed for the night. Kit’s legs were shaking with fatigue, and her body was trembling.

He helped her off the motorcycle and she collapsed against him, unable to stand. Her dress was torn and dirty, and based on the way it was twisted, she must have looked indecent. She’d lost a shoe, and her foot hurt.

“I think there’s something in my heel,” she said, lifting it and trying to get a better look.

He set her on his motorcycle and knelt on the ground. Though his gaze dodged left and right, he examined her foot with surprising gentleness. “A piece of glass is in it.”

“Pull it out,” she said.

He held up his finger and reached into a bag on his bike. He removed a first aid kit. “Your shoe is the most impractical choice.”

“I wasn’t planning to run away from armed killers tonight,” she said.

She flinched when he removed the glass. Then he squeezed her foot and cleaned it with alcohol wipes. She held her teeth together to keep from screaming.

“It’s not too deep. We’ll have a doctor look at it later.”

What were his plans for her? If he took her to a doctor, could she find help? “Why did you save me?”

“I was sent to retrieve you.”

“You sold me to those men.”

He gave her a look that said, “Get real.” “I conned them out of two-point-five million dollars.”

“Aren’t you worried they’ll find you?” she asked. That was a lot of money to lose. Retribution would be paid.

“No.”

Just no? Not worried about it? Who was this man? She had left this confusing world years before with zero intention of returning. She hadn’t fit in then, and she didn’t fit in now. It had rules she didn’t understand. “Please let me go,” she said.

Compassion touched the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t plan for it to go this way.”

What had he planned? He’d shown up wearing two guns, a knife and a bulletproof vest. He had to have expected bullets would fly and people would be hurt. “What are we doing now?” They couldn’t wait on the street long. People were looking for them.

“We’re close to the safe house. Someone will explain more then.”

“You can’t explain now?” she asked.

“No.”

He was infuriating with his uninformative responses.

“I need to call in that I have you.”

Call in to whom? “What if I run?” she asked.

“You don’t want to do that,” he said.

Yes, she did.

“If you run, I will catch you. You are in danger, and it’s my job to take you somewhere safe. The sooner you accept that you need my help, the easier this will go.”

* * *

As a retrieval specialist for the West Company and as a former member of the Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta, Griffin Brooks knew not every extraction went well. During his time with Delta Force and then with the West Company, he could count on one hand the number that had.

This case was especially problematic. He was part of a team locating the group that had worked on a secret government project. Those individuals were being hunted by an extremist organization, and when the scientists didn’t comply with the terrorists’ demands, they were killed and their bodies dumped in various locations around the United States. The West Company had kept the murders, and any connection between them, quiet and out of the media. As the bodies piled up, the United States government became more nervous. They wanted this handled quickly and effectively.

The international terrorist group known as Incognito had started out as a cyber-only terrorist organization. In recent months, they had allied themselves with several mercenary groups and had shifted their focus to collecting the scientists who had worked on the Locker. Their means were no longer isolated to the computer. Kidnappings and murders were frequently tied to them. Griffin didn’t know what the Locker was, but it was important to keep it, and by extension the scientists who had contributed to it, safe. He knew the code names for three team members who were considered most at risk: Kit, who had gone by the name Lotus, Arsenic, and Stargazer. Arsenic and Stargazer had left the project before it had ended and were proving harder to trace.

Incognito was hunting the three lead scientists, and they wouldn’t stop. The United States had connected the dead bodies to the secret military project, and they’d called in the West Company to assist. Details were closely guarded, and every item was need-to-know.

Connor West, owner of the West Company, had deployed other specialists to retrieve the remaining members of the project, beyond the three leads. Some were deep in hiding. Griffin had been assigned the task to locate and bring in Kit Walker. He had studied her file, but she was more than a techie with a PhD and a love of computers. He had expected her to be smart, but he hadn’t expected her spunk or the red minidress and sky-high bedroom heels.

Dress and shoes aside, she wasn’t his type. Since his wife had died, he went for women who had looks over brains and were more submissive than bold. Griffin enjoyed the company of women, and he liked for them to play along with his desires. Being in control in the bedroom was a turn-on for him. Nothing wrong with that if the woman was willing. He was lucky that plenty were. He wasn’t lonely for company when he wanted it. Given what he did for a living, he wasn’t looking for long-term. He’d had that with Beth, and though it had been amazing, he wouldn’t find it twice in one lifetime.

Griffin dialed Connor on his secure line. While he spoke, Kit rubbed her arms and looked around. Was she thinking of running? He would catch her. If he had to bring her in wounded, it was better than bringing her in dead. She wouldn’t get far on her injured foot. He’d bandaged it, but any pressure and it would resume bleeding.

She shivered again, and he removed the sweatshirt from his motorcycle trunk and tossed it to her. She smiled at him gratefully and pulled it over her dress. The shirt was long on her, falling below the hemline of her dress. He was momentarily fixated on her pair of slim, toned legs.

Her legs weren’t her best feature, though. Her best feature was her eyes. He could get lost in their depths. He could see so much going on behind them. He liked that. He liked it a lot.

“Get her to the safe house. I’ll send a computer as soon as I can,” Connor said.

“Right. A computer.” Connor’s wife Kate, also known as Shade, had reasoned that Kit would be more comfortable and possibly of use to them in the immediate future with a computer in her hands.

Kit drew the hood of his sweatshirt up, and Griffin smiled. It worked on her. She had a sexy nerd look, her hair wild around her shoulders and her lips twisted in annoyance.

He wrapped up his call and disconnected. “Ready?” he asked her.

She glared at him from under the hood. “If I run, you’d have to chase me.”

“That’s right.”

“But you don’t want to hurt me.”

He didn’t want to hurt her. But if he had to tackle her, he would. “I will do what I need to bring you in.”

Chapter 2

She was going to run. Her muscles clenched. Her history with the Locker hadn’t indicated that she’d had deception training. In his line of work, Griffin expected liars. Kit was a refreshing change of pace.

Kit made it two steps before he caught her and pushed her against the brick wall of a nearby building. He exercised control as he held her wrists in his. He wasn’t looking to break her arms.

“You’re hurting me.” He loosened his grip. She pulled her arm free and punched him in the face.

It barely registered. He’d been struck harder—much harder—before. Tonight, even. “We need to work on your self-defense skills.”

Her mouth trembled. Her eyes welled with tears. Was she going to cry? He shouldn’t care if she did.

“Let me go, brute.”

Brute? He had been called a lot of names, but never that. “Will you run?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I know you’ll catch me. But I won’t stop trying to get away from you.”

“You won’t have to deal with me for much longer. After I drop you off, you’re someone else’s headache.” Maybe someone else could get through to her that she was in danger and needed protecting.

They walked back to his motorcycle, and she kicked it over. He looked at her in surprise. “Don’t like the bike?”

“Look at me. How do you think I feel right now?”

“I have no idea how you feel.” Angry, clearly. He righted the bike.

She folded her arms over her chest. “So that part of you is broken. You kill people and you manhandle me. You don’t care how I feel.”

“I am not paid to care how you feel. I am paid to keep you safe. How is your foot?”

“It hurts.”

“I’ll help you onto the seat,” he said. He lifted her in his arms.

“Everyone can see up my dress,” she said, squirming in his arms, trying to tug it and the sweatshirt down.

“There’s no one here,” he said.

“I’m never wearing a dress again,” she said.

He liked her determination and gave her credit for attempting to flee. “You look good in it.”

“It’s a designer dress,” she said.

“Whatever it is, it’s nice.”

“My sister bought it for me,” she said.

“You may have to explain why it’s damaged,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Please. She couldn’t care less. She has a closet full of dresses, and this one is four sizes too big for her.”

Her sister was supermodel Marissa Walker. Marissa had been on the cover of some sports magazines in a swimsuit and had traveled the world. Rare for two sisters to have such extraordinarily different talents.

“Are you thinking about sleeping with my sister now?” Kit asked.

He hadn’t been. “Are you thinking about me sleeping with your sister?”

“Don’t be gross.”

Not much about Marissa Walker was gross, but imagining a sibling with a lover was. “You brought it up.”

“I’m trying to figure you out,” she said. She touched the side of his face and then his ear, running her finger down the curve of it.

He turned his head. “Stop that.”

“You’re bruised, and your ear is bleeding,” she said.

His ears were ringing, but they would stop. “I’ll look at it later.”

He helped her onto the bike and then mounted it. It was a short distance to the safe house. He circled the block twice, ensuring he wasn’t followed. The safe house was a temporary holdover for the night. Kit would change hands many times to lose any trail connecting her to her final destination: a supersecret military base. Griffin hadn’t been told the location. From what he’d understood, few knew it existed.

Five more minutes and he could finish this job. Kit was alive, and that was how he would remember her. The beautiful, feisty hacker in the red dress. When he stopped in front of the safe house, he helped Kit off the bike and let her lean on him as they took the stairs to the back door.

Kit removed the sweatshirt and extended her hand to him.

“Keep it,” he said. He didn’t need it and she seemed to be more comfortable having it.

“Thank you,” she said. She knotted the sleeves around her waist.

He knocked once on the door, and it opened a couple of inches. “It is a truth universally acknowledged...” the voice said.

Griffin finished the quote. “...that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

He guessed Kate had picked the quote. Since she and Connor had married and were starting a family, she believed that their operatives were destined for the same happiness. Griffin had tried to tell her that happiness came in many packages, not all of them involving a spouse and children.

Griffin’s life had been made better by a woman, but most relationships ended with deep unhappiness. Even Beth, whom he had loved with his whole being, had broken his heart when she’d died.

The door opened all the way.

He set Kit across the threshold. “She needs shoes. She has an injury to her foot, and a doctor should look at it.”

The man inside nodded. Griffin didn’t recognize him, but he didn’t know every operative in Connor’s network. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Good luck to you,” he said to Kit.

She nodded once, sadly. “Goodbye, brute.”

She didn’t know his name, but by this point, it didn’t matter. It was probably better that she knew nothing about him. He didn’t want her searching for him via the internet and exacting revenge. Griffin sincerely hoped she would realize she was in danger and he had only been trying to help her.

“Don’t be a flight risk,” he said.

She stared at him. “Can you make sure my family is okay?”

It wasn’t part of the job, but he couldn’t say no. “I’ll check in.”

“Will you get me a message if anything is wrong?”

He nodded once. “My boss will know where you are.”

As he returned to his motorcycle, he couldn’t drive away. Leaving her bothered him. He didn’t get emotionally tied to his missions and he felt connected to her. Usually, he didn’t think about people he worked with past the ending of a mission. Emotions had no place in his world.

It was her eyes. They were the most expressive eyes.

He started his bike and then a small detail, one easily overlooked, hit him. A sick feeling swamped him and he instinctively checked his gun.

It suddenly registered that the man who had greeted them at the door had had a tattoo on his neck. A spear tattoo that was a sign of Incognito.

With the press of a button, Griffin sent an alert to Connor to let him know the mission was not going according to plan. Griffin was up the back stairs in seconds. He kicked in the door and rushed inside. They could have slit her throat. Left her for dead. Any horrible ending could have befallen her, and it would be because of his mistake.

An image of Beth flashed to mind, her dead body lying on sterile metal in a morgue, and Griffin fought to control the sadness and anger. Beth’s death was why he didn’t work protective detail. He was best at extractions. He couldn’t keep his wife safe. How would he keep a stranger safe?

“Kit!” he called, panic rising inside him. The panic drove him, sharpening every sense.

Silence. They had already fled the house with her or killed her. He heard a car engine outside.

Griffin cursed his stupidity and raced for his motorcycle. He climbed onto it. A navy sedan was driving down the street, and hanging out of the closed trunk of the car was his sweatshirt.

They had Kit in the trunk of the car. She had to be alive. He wouldn’t accept that she had been killed. Incognito wanted her alive, and they had no way to know if she would cooperate yet. From what he knew of the other victims, it had been several days from the time they went missing to the time their bodies had been found. No explanation given. The West Company suspected they had been punished for not providing the answers Incognito wanted. They had been loyal and had kept their mouths shut about the Locker.

Kit could be destined for that same fate. She knew more than most about the project. The other two leads on the project were insane and medically incapacitated, and the West Company was searching for them, as well. That left Kit in the hot seat.

Griffin raced after them. His bike caught up to the car. A man leaned out of the back of the car and shot at him. He swerved his bike. He couldn’t return fire at this distance. He couldn’t risk Kit getting hurt.

He sped ahead of the car and then slammed to a stop thirty yards past the sedan. He pivoted and pulled his gun, aiming at the driver’s head. A trained sniper, he could make the shot, but he could also be hit head-on by the car as it veered out of control.

One shot. Two. Clean through the head. The car skidded and crashed into a vehicle parked on the side of the road. If Kit was hurt...

Leaving his bike, Griffin ran to the car. He killed the other two men in the vehicle before they could exit, their punishment for kidnapping Kit.

He opened the driver’s side door, shoving the dead man to the side, and popped the trunk.

He lifted a very frightened Kit from the back of the car.

She was shaking and had a welt on her head. “Did you see the sweatshirt?”

An intentional message and a sign of her faith in him. “I did see it. That was quick thinking.”

“I hoped you would realize they were bad,” she said, curling her arms around his body and laying her head on his chest.

A strange sensation swept over him. He didn’t hug people in the field, but Kit needed him. He didn’t pull away.

“Did they say anything to you?” he asked.

“They want me to break into a system I built,” she said.

That was in line with what the West Company knew of their motives. “I know.”

“I can’t. I don’t think anyone understands. When we built that system, it was not hackable. It is not hackable. Even by the people who built it. We designed it to be unalterable and uncontrollable by any one person. It’s intelligently designed world-class technology. It changes with cybersecurity advancements and keeps pace with new viruses and exploitations without human intervention. Who is planning to hack the Locker?” Kit asked.

“Incognito.”

She drew her eyebrows together. “Oh. I’m familiar with their processes and their attacks in the cyber world. But how is Incognito finding people who worked on the project? We used code names, and our real names were never to be revealed.”

“Looks like something went wrong. Someone somewhere made the connection,” he said.

“Bank payouts. Initial hiring documents. That data was supposed to be destroyed,” Kit said, terror in her eyes.

Griffin understood the fear. He had underestimated Incognito and Kit had almost paid with her life.

* * *

Kit had voluntarily spent a year of her life confined to an underground military base. She was familiar with their processes and protocols, but she didn’t want to return to a military base of any kind. The fake lights they had used to replace sunlight, the restrictions and the sense of being closed in had been persistent. Kit had needed to lie a lot that year, too. She had told her family she was traveling overseas and couldn’t return home. Her sister offering to pay for her flight or to fly out to visit her had been brutal to turn down. It was as if Marissa had known something was amiss and had wanted to confirm.

Kit had first been recruited to work on the Locker out of graduate school. The project had sounded exciting: build a cybersecurity supercomputer, working with the most advanced technology and the world’s best computer scientists and engineers. It had seemed like a great opportunity. But the reality of being cut off from the outside world had worn on her. The work had kept her busy seven days a week, but she had been depressed.

Her rescuer had received instructions and had taken her to a military base. As the copter landed, it was pitch-black outside. Without her phone, she was disoriented about the time and place.

“This is the safest place Connor could arrange on short notice,” Brute said.

Kit stayed tucked close to Brute. Her brain hadn’t caught up to the events of the night yet. She was physically tired, but her thoughts were racing. “Where are we?”

“I can’t tell you,” Brute said.

“I’ll figure it out,” she said. Eventually. Would she be confined for long? Would Brute leave her? A couple of hours ago, being away from him was all she wanted. Now she was filled with fear. Men were gunning for her, and a classified project was no longer a secret. How many people knew?

They disembarked the copter and ran across the tarmac to a nondescript tan building.

“We won’t be here long. This is a stopover until more secure arrangements can be made,” Brute said.

“We? You’re staying with me?” she asked. It was a relief to hear.

“My orders have changed. Until my boss can find someone to take over for me, you’re stuck with me.”

Being stuck with him sounded good, too good. It dawned on her that she was developing a crush on her kidnapper. Or had he saved her? Kit didn’t know how to judge him. He was working with the military, but that in itself didn’t mean he was to be trusted or that he was one of the good guys.

Two men in army fatigues escorted them to a sparsely furnished room with two cots and barred windows high on the walls. The walls were gray, but not in a supertrendy, freshly renovated way. In a dull, depressing, covering cinder blocks way. At least the room was not underground.

The fatigues worn by their escorts were her first clue to where she was. An army base within a twenty-minute copter ride from the Los Angeles area.

“Can I get a change of clothes?” she asked. Her dress was torn, dirty and uncomfortable. She was cold and longed for sweatpants to match the hoodie Brute had given her.

“You hate that dress, don’t you?” he asked.

“I feel like a stuffed sausage.”

“You don’t look like one,” he said.

It was something. The compliment made it hard to stay mad at Brute, especially given that he had saved her twice that day. He had a gruff manner, but he was looking out for her. Without him, where would she be? In the hands of Incognito, no doubt.

“I’d love something comfortable and warm,” she said. What they’d have access to would be limited, but they could issue her a pair of military sweats.

“She also needs shoes and a doctor,” he said.

The men saluted and left to acquire the items they had requested, she hoped.

Her foot was throbbing mildly. “I almost forgot about my foot.”

“Let me look at it.”

She sat on one of the cots, and he knelt on the floor in front of her, setting her foot on his knee. “It doesn’t look good. Needs to be cleaned and dressed.”

He propped her foot on the cot and took a seat on the other one. He looked tired. The red welt on his face was turning a pale yellow. He was unbearably handsome with his piercing green eyes and the slight cleft in his chin. His steely demeanor was contradicted by the warmth in his eyes.

“Are you in pain?” she asked.

He rolled his neck, stretching his spine. “It’s manageable.”

What level of pain would be unmanageable for him? She had worked with military men who had seemed incapable of registering pain. What about the injuries she couldn’t see?

The soldiers returned with a stack of the requested supplies, and a medic entered the room behind them.

The medic examined her foot. “This needs to be cleaned,” he said. “I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

Kit stood, the pain shooting up her leg. She winced. Brute stood from his cot and lifted her into his arms as if carrying her across a threshold. “Lead the way, Doc.”

The medic brought them to a brightly lit room with a patient bed in the middle and medical supplies on the shelves around them. The process of cleaning her foot was excruciating. Kit wanted to cry, yet Brute had to have worse injuries, and he seemed calm. She thought of something else, something other than the pain in her heel.

She couldn’t watch the medic work so she stared at Brute. He was looking at her foot, but he lifted his gaze and their eyes met.

He intrigued her. More than muscle and brawn, he was smart. Not smart in a nerdy, tech-savvy way, but he was definitely street-smart, taking in details. Despite the intense time they had spent together, Kit didn’t know his name. When she had worked on the Locker, she had been trained not to ask names or for details of someone’s life. This man knew Shade. She hadn’t been active online in the circles where Kit floated, and internet rumors indicated Shade had gone to work for a white hat organization. Had Shade gone to work for the same company Griffin worked for?

The medic was applying ointment and bandaging her heel. “You’ll need to take it easy on your foot. Try to stay off it and give it a chance to heal. After you bathe, put on a fresh bandage.” He handed a box of bandages and tape to Brute.

She hopped off the table and held up her hand as Brute approached. “I can walk. It feels much better.” It didn’t. It was aching. At least she had the confidence that it was clean and treated.

After walking for a few minutes, Kit gripped Brute’s arm, using him like a cane. They were escorted back to their small room.

When they were alone, she sat on the cot, propping up her foot. “Could I use a phone to find out how my family is?”

“No direct contact. We don’t know whose phones have been compromised. I’ll call and request information on your family,” he said.

“When can I talk to them?” she asked. She wanted reassurance they were safe and unharmed in the melee.

“Not yet.”

“Who do you work for?” she asked.

“I work for the West Company.”

Kit inhaled. She had heard of them. Never met or worked with one of their operatives—at least, as far as she knew. After another secret government spy organization had crumbled under corruption and criminal charges, Kit had heard rumors that the West Company had taken over for the defunct agency.

Of course, it wasn’t like the West Company had a website, and government officials denied its existence. Before now, Kit had only read rumors about it.

“Shade works for them?” Kit asked.

“Shade is married to the head of the West Company,” Brute said.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked.

“I’ve been authorized to explain this to you. We want to earn your trust. Taking you from your sister’s birthday party probably didn’t go a long way to winning you over,” Brute said. “We haven’t decided how we’ll spin your disappearance. It’s already hit the news, thanks to your sister’s fame.”

When Kit had worked on the Locker, contact with her family had been limited and controlled and monitored. Kit had felt like a prisoner. The precautions were for her safety, but they had felt like chains around her neck.

Her family would be worried about her, but they would forgive her. She would be released soon. The government couldn’t keep her here against her will. She had a life. Her work at the florist. Her apartment. Her online life. Why did that now depress her? No one except her mother, brother, sister and boss would have known she had gone missing.

Brute dialed his phone and checked in with someone, presumably at the West Company, and then handed her the phone. “Connor West is the lead of the West Company. He is on the line and available to answer questions.”

Kit took the phone from him, feeling a mix of awe and disbelief. “This is Kit Walker.”

“Is there anything we can get for you?” Connor asked. Behind the strength in his voice, she heard kindness.

She didn’t require much, and she would be home soon. “I want to know if my family is safe. I want to be informed as the situation changes.”

“They are safe and I will let you know if anything changes. I’ve assigned an operative to each of your family members to ensure their safety while we work on this situation,” Connor said.

“What will you tell my family about me?” Kit asked. She didn’t want to put them through any stress.

“We’re discussing our strategy. Your family knows you’re safe. We want your family to be reassured, but we don’t want to alert the men looking for you that you’re alive or give clues to your whereabouts.”

When she had left the Locker project, she had known this was a possibility. She had signed and agreed to so many rules and disclosures and confidentiality statements making it clear that despite her precautions, her future was in jeopardy. She had made an effort to put distance between herself and the Locker, but apparently not enough.

She wrapped up the call. She had no control over the situation. No phone, no computer, no access to the outside world, and she hated it.

She could at least make herself more comfortable. She pointed to the clothes that had been brought for her. “Please turn around so I can change.”

He did as she asked, giving her his back. “Do I have to worry that you’ll attack me?”

“Are you making fun of me?” she asked. How would she attack him?

“Not in the least. I’m trying to understand you.”

“You pretended to like me at my sister’s party,” she said, thinking of how he had approached her. “Were you trying to seduce me?”

“I was trying to convince you to leave the party with me so I could take you somewhere safe.”

It felt great to peel off the dress, but she didn’t want to return the hoodie. It smelled of him and that made her feel safe. She slipped on the military sweat pants and T-shirt. “How did that work out for you?” she asked, adjusting the drawstrings on her pants.

“You’re alive, aren’t you?” he asked.

“That’s one way to look at it,” she said.

“Any day I wake up is a blessing,” Brute said.

An odd statement, but perhaps coming from a West Company operative who had spent hours in dangerous locations, it was his truth. “What exactly do you do for the West Company?” she asked.

“Retrieval specialist,” he replied.

Deciding she could do what she wanted, she pulled on the hoodie. When someone gave her a computer, she would give up the hoodie. Maybe.

“How did they pick you?” she asked.

“Excuse me?”

“How did they know I would find you attractive? Was there an assessment done on me, a written profile?” Having worked for the government, she knew that complex plans were thought through on many levels—psychological, emotional and physical. The government had her profile, and they knew what made her tick. That knowledge made her suspicious of everything they said and did to her. Was Brute playing a role? How much of his behavior was him and how much an act to manipulate her?

“Do you always say what’s on your mind?” he asked.

Kit refused to be cowed. “I’m trying to assess my situation so I can understand how to get out of this.”

“You can’t get out of it unless you want to be taken prisoner by Incognito and then killed,” Brute said.

“Don’t try to scare me,” she said. “I might be weak now, but if I can get my hands on a computer, I will rain missiles down on you.”

He faced her and smiled again. She had to get over that smile. It shouldn’t have rattled her.

“If you rain missiles down on me, then you’ll be raining missiles down on you, because we’re attached at the hip.”

That knowledge surprised her. “I thought you were handing me off at the first opportunity,” she said.

“I’ll release you when I know you are safe,” he said.

His words touched her. “Why does it matter what happens to me?”

Confusion darted across his face. “I swore to do a job. I will do that job.”

She had known him for less than a day and he felt responsible for her. “You have integrity. Do you also have a name you’re willing to share with me?”

“Griffin.”

She hadn’t expected a full name, but at least she could think of him as something other than brute. The longer they were together, the less she thought of him as a bully or a kidnapper. “Wings of an eagle and body of a lion.”

“That’s the one,” he said.

“Is that your name, or is it another ploy to manipulate me psychologically?”

Griffin appeared flabbergasted. “Though it may seem otherwise to you, this was a well-thought-out operation with considerably less time spent analyzing you and more time spent countering the threats against you. I was not selected to seduce you or manipulate you.”

Her cheeks grew hot. “That’s good, because I am not easily seduced.” Most men didn’t try. She didn’t exude sex appeal and confidence the way her sister did.

“That red dress was made for a woman who was looking for sex.”

She blinked at him. Maybe Marissa had been right and that dress had looked good on her. She hadn’t felt sexy in it. “I wasn’t looking for anything. My sister wanted me to wear the dress and it was her birthday, so I indulged her.” But she didn’t want to discuss her insecurities or Marissa’s beauty. “What now?”

Griffin pulled his cot across the door. “We sleep while we can.”

Chapter 3

The squeaks of the cot springs gave away that Kit wasn’t asleep. She was tossing and turning.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Griffin asked. His cot wasn’t the most comfortable, but he had slept on worse. At least he was dry and no one was shooting at him.

Kit shifted in her bed. She was the most restless sleeper he had ever been in the same room with. “How do you know I’m not?”

“For one, you answered me. For two, your breathing is irregular and the noises of your cot indicate movement.”

She blew out her breath. “I’m upset. It’s been an upsetting day. I’m worried about my family.”

The West Company would ensure their safety. She had nothing to worry about in that regard. “They are being guarded.”

She let out a harrumph. He should have stayed quiet, but he hadn’t been sleeping, either. He wouldn’t give in to the exhaustion that pulled at the corners of his brain until he was sure she was asleep.

“Let me call my mom.”

A security breach to allow direct contact. “Can’t happen. People are looking for you. We can’t risk someone tracing the call or your mom alerting anyone to your status.”

He could envision Kit glaring at him in the dark.

“Do you think I don’t understand how to mask where a call is coming from? I know to think before I speak. I have not questioned how well you do your job, snatching people and punching people, and I’m asking you to trust me to do this.”

She didn’t strike him as an overconfident woman, and he guessed she could back up her statement. “I don’t have permission to give you a phone.” They were working on obtaining a secure computer and phone for her.

“I am not a prisoner. I am a person,” Kit said.

Griffin turned on the overhead light to look at her. “I know you are a person. A person I am trying to keep safe.” He was having enough trouble wrapping his mind around the idea that he was responsible for protecting her. His complex about that was a twisted mess. He had accepted the assignment to retrieve her and deliver her to a safe house. This added complexity caused uncertainties to surface.

“Give me your phone,” she said.

“You can’t call your family and check in. We want your whereabouts to remain unknown to Incognito.” Since that wasn’t dissuading her, he decided to tell her the brutal truth. “If anyone knows that you contacted your family, that family member will be tortured for information. Do you understand what torture is?”

She glared at him. “I am aware of what it is.”

“Have you ever been tortured?” He hated pressing her, but he needed her to understand the severity of what was playing out.

“Not physically.”

He considered her words. “If you want to check the internet for news about the incident at your sister’s party, I’ll allow it, but no underhanded stuff.”

“Underhanded stuff?” She seemed pleased at the small victory.

“You know what I mean. No sending secret, encrypted messages. It’s a point, click and read-only venture.”

She smiled. “Thank you. That will help me sleep. I need to see for myself.”

He crossed to her cot and sat next to her. She moved away and extended her hand for the phone. He shook his head. “I watch what you are doing, every finger motion.”

She rolled her eyes. “You are an untrusting man.”

“That is a trait that will keep you alive.” He handed her his phone. Activity on it was monitored by Kate West. If Kit tried to pull anything, Kate would know it.

Kit smelled of the beach. It was an odd smell to associate with someone, warm sand and the waves, when she hadn’t been near the shore. She elbowed him. “You’re too close. You’re crowding me.”

“The screen is small.”

“Is that a tattoo on your neck?” she asked. She traced a finger over the tattoo that ran from the base of his neck along his collarbone and to his biceps.

“Yes.”

He didn’t lean away from her touch, knowing the slightest distance would give her fingers time to do mischief on his phone. Her profile was fresh in his mind. When it came to computers and technology, she was not to be underestimated.

“Can I see the whole tattoo?” she asked.

“You want me to take my shirt off?”

“Yes.”

“When you’re done with the phone.” She’d use the time he had the fabric over his eyes to send a message.

Her frown told him he was right. The short time he’d spent with her, he’d learned at least that. Genius behind a computer, but she had no game face. Everything she felt and thought played out in her expression.

She clicked a few links, read an article and then handed him the phone. “No mention of anyone being killed. Except the men who broke into the party, and I already knew what happened to them. I’m surprised the reporter didn’t include a quote from my sister expressing her grief about me going missing. No mention of me missing at all.”

“You sound angry about that,” Griffin said, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Not angry. Resigned. For as long as I can remember, Marissa has been at the center of a three-ring circus, and I’ve been the person selling popcorn to the crowd.”

“Does it bother you to have a famous sister?”

She shrugged. “It bothers me when people make comparisons between us. If my sister had been average-looking, then the fact that I’m below average wouldn’t stand out so much.”

She had a low opinion of her looks. He found her tremendously appealing. Griffin didn’t go for stick-thin and expressionless, a look he had associated with her sister and a number of guests at the party. “You are not below average.”

Kit stared at him, her eyes wide. “If you’re making fun of me, stop it.”

“I’m not joking with you. I’m speaking plainly.”

“Then I can speak plainly and tell you that you are a handsome man. You’re scary, but I don’t think you’re planning to hurt me.” A question on the end of the statement.

He had killed to protect her. He had placed himself at great risk to keep her safe. If he had wanted to hurt her, she’d be dead. He had sworn to Connor that he would stay with Kit until his job was complete. He would do what he could to protect her, and that had deep meaning to him. Connor was aware of Griffin’s lack of experience in this arena and what had happened to Beth. “I won’t hurt you.”

“I believe that. Of course, I’ve believed a lot of things that have turned out to be lies.”

The hurt in her words was heavy. Griffin wasn’t privy to the details of her personal life. “We won’t be together long, but while we are, you can count on me to be honest with you.”

“What if someone comes in here to kill me?” she asked.

He nodded to his cot across the doorway. “They won’t get through me.”

She pulled her knees to her chest. “Thanks for getting me these clothes. They’re much nicer than the dress.”

“How’s your foot?” he asked.

“Better.”

“Ready to sleep now?” he asked. Their day would start before first light.

“I’ll try.”

He moved from her cot and returned to his. He waited for her to settle, and then he shut off the light.

What was she thinking about? What would she dream about? Who had hurt her to make her question everyone around her? He could understand her fear and apprehension about the situation, but this wasn’t the first time she had been cut off from her family and staying in a military base.

When she had chosen to work on the Locker, she must have known she was committing to a lifetime of looking over her shoulder.

* * *

Griffin had not left her side the entire morning. Kit wasn’t accustomed to someone hovering over her, and it was unsettling. She couldn’t catch her breath with him watching her.

When she went to the shower, he checked that the bathroom was empty, then waited outside the door. As she showered, Kit realized that the military had provided some essentials like shampoo and a razor, but she wouldn’t have clean undergarments. Who could she ask about that? It was a small thing to worry about, but she wanted some normalcy in her life. She was a creature of habit, and her routine had been taken from her.

Kit climbed out of the shower and wrapped herself in a bleach-smelling rough white towel. Griffin was standing in the doorway to the bathroom.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked, pulling her towel tighter around her body. She had never been naked in front of a man before, and Griffin wasn’t just a man. He was an incredibly handsome and virile man.

“I told you, I am looking out for you.”

“I’m trying to work something out. Could you please leave?”

“What is it that you need to work out?” he asked.

She was an adult, but she couldn’t discuss something this private with a stranger. “I can’t talk to you about it.”

He looked around. “There’s no one else to talk to.”

“It’s a female issue.”

He lifted a brow. “If you need a tampon, I’ll find one.”

Kit felt her face flush hot. “It’s not about a...you know.” A man hadn’t ever talked to her like this.

“Isn’t that what you mean by female issue?” he asked.

Kit liked that he was keeping his word to her and speaking simply. With him, she didn’t have to read between the lines. “No.” She might as well tell him. He’d solve it without making a big deal or embarrassing her. “I don’t have any clean underwear, and I wasn’t wearing a bra under my dress. Or socks. I’ll need fresh bandages for my foot, too.”

He gave her a look up and down. “I’ll get what you need.” He stepped out of the room for a moment and returned. “They are on their way.”

Feeling better knowing she’d have more clothes between her and Griffin’s perceptive eyes soon, she relaxed. She secured her towel around her, walked to the sink and combed the knots from her hair. Her sister had helped her arrange it last night. Now it was back to its normal shape, which was not much of a shape at all.

One knock on the door and Griffin opened it, standing between her and the person on the other side. He closed the door and handed her a bag. “Get dressed. The chopper leaves in five minutes.” He turned around to give her privacy but stayed in the room.

Kit dressed and then sat to rewrap her foot.

“Are you finished?” he asked.

She had taken less than three minutes. Her bathroom routine was quick compared to most women’s. “Just need to wrap my foot.”

Griffin left his post and knelt at her feet. “Let me help you.”

“How much time does it take you to get ready?” she asked. She had hurried. If he was annoyed, that was too bad.

“Minutes. Less if needed. But I’m concerned about this injury. I want to be sure it doesn’t get infected.” He used great care examining and bandaging her foot. Putting on socks didn’t hurt. Shoes did. So did walking on it.

“I can carry you,” Griffin said.

She refused to be that dependent on him. “I’ll hobble.” She’d figure out a way to walk to put the least amount of pressure on her foot even if it made her gait clumsy.

Griffin didn’t leave her side and was patient with her slow walk. They were escorted to a field. After a few minutes, a chopper touched down close to them.

Kit moved faster, but she tripped over a divot in the grass. Before she could face-plant, Griffin grabbed her arm, keeping her upright.

“Careful. No more injuries,” he said.

She had been trying to be careful. “Thank you.”

Griffin supported her on the side of her injured foot, and they walked the rest of the way to the chopper.

They climbed inside. The chopper was similar to the one that had taken her to the secret military facility where she had lived for a year. For that trip, she had been blindfolded. It had been terrifying and exciting.

If she had known what that year would be like, if she had known what her work would entail and what it would mean to have a successful project, would she have done it? She had been naive and filled with self-importance. She’d thought her work would revolutionize cybersecurity. She’d believed her research would lead to malicious hackers and black hats being exposed.

The government hadn’t been interested in her work being applied to any systems other than their own. They didn’t care if anyone else was victimized as long as their computer systems were safe. By the time she had realized that, the project was almost complete. She had been used and cast aside, and nondisclosures and noncompete clauses prevented her from using her algorithms in other applications. Thinking of it still burned.

Griffin touched her shoulder, and heat zipped over her. He mouthed a question: “Are you okay?”

She nodded. It was too loud to talk over the spinning rotors, and Kit was glad. She didn’t want to tell him she had been used then, she was being used now and in all likelihood, so was he.

* * *

Kit was driving him mad. The moment they landed, he would hand her over to the protection specialist assigned to the case and put distance between them. Connor would have had enough time to get a resource in place. Griffin was the wrong man for the job.

Griffin’s entire body heated as he realized he was attracted to Kit Walker. She was part girl next door who had no idea how appealing she was and part smart professor who had a room full of male students fantasizing about sleeping with her. He was interested in her, and that awareness switched his desire on high. He wouldn’t act like a sex-starved lunatic; he was a professional. But it was getting harder to keep those boundaries clear in his thoughts.

From what he’d read about her and what he had witnessed, she had a touch of social awkwardness, yet he didn’t feel uncomfortable around her. He guessed she had spent so much time in her sister’s shadow and then as a supergenius online, she didn’t interact as naturally with people face-to-face. But when he engaged her in a topic she enjoyed, that clumsiness melted away and she was magnetic.

If she’d been more aware of her feminine prowess, she would not have stood in front of him in a towel or crammed herself next to him in this copter. He’d sat in the bathroom while she had dried herself and dressed, giving her privacy with his eyes, but his thoughts were borderline indecent. He had imagined her rubbing the towel over her soft skin, sliding her clothes on, and he had wanted to watch.

He had to keep his attraction to her in check. Maybe the leftover adrenaline from the escape the night before was still charging in his veins, but his thoughts centered on her more than the Incognito assassins they had evaded.

Her big brown eyes had been the first trait he had noticed about her. But now he enjoyed her brain and her humility. Someone in her position could be demanding and egotistical about what she had accomplished. If she realized how much the West Company and the United States government needed her, she wasn’t capitalizing on it.

The pilot turned around and handed them blindfolds and earplugs. “Eyes and ears covered.”

Kit did as he asked without question. She had been through this before.

She reached for Griffin’s hand and slipped hers inside his. Kit was scared and she needed him. He sensed it in how she watched him and spoke to him. She was looking to him for guidance and reassurance that they were safe.

It was a heavy weight to carry, and it made him feel guilty for his thoughts of dumping her on someone else. But what could he do? Keep a job he was unqualified for? Could he handle being close to her, knowing he was attracted to her, and maintain objectivity?

Soon she would be in the care of a protection specialist, someone who hadn’t let his wife die. Placing Kit with another operative with the right skills was better for everyone involved. He knew where the line was, and he wouldn’t cross it with Kit.

After a short ride, the helicopter touched down. They were allowed to remove their blindfolds and earplugs. They would be met by one of the West Company’s operatives. Griffin would complete the handoff, go to his debriefing and then return home and wait for his next assignment.

Done and done.

Kit didn’t release him. He was helping her with her injury, but her hand gripped his clothing as if she was afraid they would be separated.

“I’m here,” he whispered to her.

“I hate not knowing where we are,” she said.

“We’re safe. That’s priority one,” Griffin said. He couldn’t get to his gun as easily with her hand in his. Her hands were shaking, giving away she was nervous.

In a small, comfortable room with plush tan carpeting and beige furniture, they were offered drinks. Trays of fruit, cheese, small sandwiches and vegetables were set in the middle of the table. The pictures on the wall were of generic floral arrangements.

A man Griffin didn’t recognize entered the room. “Thank you for your help in this matter. You may consider your service complete. Mr. Brooks, please come with me.”

“Wait,” Kit said. “You’re leaving me?” She sounded shocked, and her voice quavered.

“You’ll be working with someone more skilled to handle your unique situation,” Griffin said. He heard the words and hated how bureaucratic he sounded. He wasn’t the right man for the job, and knowing it stung. He had reached the end of the line for him and Kit. Kit was safest with someone who could protect her without thinking of her naked and writhing on his sheets.

“My unique situation? What is unique about my situation?” She didn’t hide her anger.

Griffin didn’t want to talk about this in front of a stranger. “Your skills are needed.”

She narrowed her gaze at Griffin. “If you walk away from me, I swear I will be less than useless. I know what you want me to do, and I am exclusively skilled to help you in this matter. But my memory might suddenly take a nosedive, and perhaps I’ll forget everything.”

The other man looked between them. “Is there something about your relationship with the target that we’re unaware of?” He addressed the question to Griffin. Griffin heard the accusation in the words.

“No,” Griffin said at the same time Kit said, “Yes.”

How should he respond to this situation? Laugh it off? Try to explain about Kit? Reassure her she was safer with someone else?

She was scared. She needed to feel safe. Everyone did. “Kit, I was sent to retrieve you and bring you in. I’ve done that.”

“You said you would stay until you knew I was safe,” she said.

“I know you are safe,” Griffin said, hoping he sounded confident.

“I don’t feel safe. I don’t know anyone here,” Kit said.

She was digging in her heels, creating an impasse.

“I’ll get Connor,” the man said and left the room.

“Kit,” Griffin said, trying to reason with her now that they were alone. “You’ll lead everyone to believe I’ve done something wrong.”

Kit stared at him. “Wrong? I’m still alive. That means you’ve done something very right. I feel safe with you. I don’t want to be passed around.”

Connor West entered the room. Griffin stood to attention, even though this wasn’t a military op. The man had that presence. He commanded and got respect. All the operatives who worked for him felt better with him at their backs. Griffin knew he had likely gotten little sleep, but Connor was clean shaven, his clothes pressed and his close-cropped brown hair tidy.

“Kit Walker, it is a pleasure to meet you. I’m Connor West,” he said. Connor’s voice was warm and genuine.

Connor didn’t shake her hand. Her profile had indicated she didn’t like intrusions on her personal space.

Kit glared at Griffin. “I’m not changing my mind no matter whom you parade in here.”

Connor didn’t appear upset by her hostile tone, but rather amused. “You want Griffin to stay with you. Could you tell me why?”

Kit looked at Griffin. “He’s killed to protect me. I can trust him.”

Connor nodded his agreement. “I like having Griffin on the team. I trust him implicitly.”

“Connor, can we speak in private?” Connor wouldn’t force Griffin to take up the post as Kit’s protector, but Griffin felt the question coming. Should he tell Connor the whole truth about how he felt about Kit? His attraction to her could deepen, and the deeper the attraction, the more dangerous the situation.

Kit folded her arms and sat. “Go ahead.”

He and Connor walked into the hallway. “What is the nature of her feelings for you?” Connor asked.

“She’s been through a lot. She’s attached to me. You know her profile. She’s guarded.”

“We need her. We need her calm and in control,” Connor said. “The safety and security of the United States government depend on it.”

Griffin rubbed his temples, where a headache was forming. Aside from his concerns about his ability to maintain professionalism with her, he had other problems that needed to be addressed—like, say, his track record showing he couldn’t keep someone safe. “She says she’ll make herself useless if I leave her.”

“Tell me what I can do to make this work,” Connor said. “You know her better than I do.”

“She’s smart. She may feign ignorance about the project, especially if she’s scared.” If she bowed out of helping them, they wouldn’t have a way to safeguard the Locker or counter Incognito’s threats.

“We need to convince her to help, and she may be more willing to help if she remains with you. Can you do that?” Connor asked.

“I am not trained to be someone’s bodyguard. That’s not my area of expertise.”

“You can handle this,” Connor said.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Connor about his attraction to Kit. But Griffin could keep it in check. He wasn’t a slave to his hormones. Too much was at stake for him to give in to his feelings. Instead, he made the point that mattered most. “My wife died because I couldn’t protect her. What makes you think I can keep Kit safe?”

“This situation is nothing like what happened with Beth. No one blames you for Beth’s death except you. What could you have done differently?”

At the mention of his wife’s name, disgust for himself and anger at her killer renewed. “I ask myself that every day.”

“The answer eludes you because there is no answer. You couldn’t have done anything. What happened with Beth was a terrible atrocity, but protecting Kit will be different. You will be at her side around the clock. She is your sole mission.”

Griffin didn’t care for his body’s response to hearing that. As a red-blooded man, he wanted to be close to Kit. As an operative, he was inadequate to protect her.

* * *

Kit and Griffin were given accommodations, nicer ones than they’d had at the military base. Kit had even been issued a rolling suitcase filled with clothing and essentials. The clothes were in her size. Creepy, but Kit had been thoroughly investigated before becoming part of the Locker team, and she wasn’t surprised to learn every detail of her life had been recorded.

“We need to go on the offensive,” Griffin said.

“On the offensive against Incognito?” Kit asked.

“Yes. Covertly. You can strike back.”

“At Incognito?” she repeated. It sounded insane. She wasn’t a hacker who enjoyed hurting people, and she liked to avoid trouble. Obtaining her security clearance to be part of the Locker team had required an aversion to creating problems. While some people thrived off drama, Kit liked her life to be trouble-free.

“This will play out one of two ways. They will win or we will. Incognito will continue coming after you and everyone on the team until we stop them,” he said.

“You and me against Incognito?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Don’t think in those terms. We have the West Company behind us.”

“Except Incognito managed to find me,” Kit said.

“This is a challenge you’ll enjoy.”

A thrill traced through her at the idea of getting back into the game against a real competitor. “I didn’t work on the Locker alone. I need people with very specific skill sets.”

“Tell me where to find them.”

She took great joy in speaking her next words. “Gamer Con.”

“The video game convention?” Griffin asked.

She had attended whenever possible, three times in the past decade. She’d loved it every time. “Yes, a video game convention. Thousands of the world’s biggest computer and gaming enthusiasts packed into one conference center. The place will be humming with talent.”

Griffin ran a hand through his hair. He seemed resigned, but not excited. “Tell me how to get tickets and I’ll clear it with Connor.”

* * *

The flight from their meeting with Connor West to Las Vegas, Nevada took less than an hour. It took three times that to make the security arrangements and convince Connor West that Kit’s plan was safe and would have a positive outcome.

Gamer Con was the world’s biggest video game enthusiast convention. Kit hadn’t attended in a number of years, but she had a few online friends skilled at hacking who would be there.

The easiest part about Gamer Con for Griffin and Kit’s cover was the ability to blend. Gamers wore jeans and T-shirts as well as costumes of favorite video game characters. Incognito had been targeting events like Gamer Con looking for members of the Locker project. Griffin was on high alert.

“Have you ever played a video game?” Kit asked Griffin as he parked his car in the multilevel garage behind the hotel.

“I have,” he said.

“Recently?”

“Not recently. A shooting game isn’t as fun when I’ve been involved in the real thing. When I’m not working, I don’t like to handle a gun or pretend I’m handling a gun.”

“Not all video games are violent and involve guns,” Kit said, though most of the ones she played did have elements of fighting, even if it was with fantasy weapons.

“If we need to play games here, I can hold my own. Don’t worry about me.”

She wasn’t worried about him. Everything she had seen about Griffin spoke to how competent and capable he was. “I ordered costumes from a local boutique and paid the rush fee for them to arrive today. They should be waiting for us at the front desk.”

“Costumes?” Griffin asked. “What’s wrong with what we’re wearing?”

“To hide from Incognito, we can dress as our favorite video game characters,” she said.

“I don’t have a favorite video game character,” he said.

“My favorite video characters,” she clarified.

“I’m not wearing a tutu,” he said.

She smirked at the idea of him in a pink tutu, the pure ludicrousness of his six-foot-something muscled self crammed into a delicate tulle skirt. “I would never be so cruel to you.”

A woman and man with their faces painted green and wearing purple latex jumpsuits walked by.

“Oh. Okay. I got it,” Griffin said. “Who will we dress as? Want to give me a clue?”

She wouldn’t ruin the surprise or give him a chance to protest. “You’ll see.” Seeing Griffin dressed as a video game hero held an enormous appeal. He could rock the buff bad boy look better than most of the men she knew. He had that even without the costume.

They slipped on their sunglasses. Anyone recognizing her was unlikely, and while she was at Gamer Con, she would use only her most recent online alias, Orchid. Lotus was dead, and if Kit wanted to survive this, it needed to stay that way.