Washington, DC
7:04 AM Wednesday, January 14
Brynn stiffened her spine, refusing to look again at . . . Jack Hudson. How in the—
Director Walsh came around his desk and shook her hand. “Ms. Taylor, it’s good to see you again.”
Brynn wasn’t sure she felt the same way. Careful to avoid Jack’s gaze, she forced another smile. “Anxious to take care of this situation, sir.”
Do not panic. Do not panic. DO NOT PANIC.
She fought to slow her adrenaline. In a city with at least a quarter million federal employees, it had to be Jack? He was the last person she wanted to work with again—a feeling she had no doubt was mutual given the lovely bio he was feeding Director Walsh when she walked in.
Jack didn’t trust her. If the shock of seeing him after all these years wasn’t enough to cut into her, the sting of his statement sent an unexpected sharp pain into her chest.
A cell phone on Director Walsh’s desk rang, and he looked at the screen before looking back up at them. “Excuse me. I need to take this.”
She turned to follow the man who had escorted her into the building, but Director Walsh waved a hand for her to stay before he and her escort stepped out, leaving her with Jack. Well, this won’t be awkward at all. Brynn stared out over the interior of the high-tech hub that looked like a movie set from some spy thriller. All-black steel and technology, with the exception of some colorful balloons.
The stretch of silence between them annoyed her. Working with him would require they speak, and if he wasn’t going to start, then she’d be the mature, professional one. “This is quite the setup.”
Not her best first line, but at least she’d tried. Jack moved to her side and her breath caught. An unexpected and frustrating reaction.
“It’s efficient.” He crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I’m sure the war room at Langley is too.”
Is he baiting me? Brynn narrowed her eyes on him. “It’s not quite as glamorous as the movies make it appear, and”—she raised her hand, gesturing around her—“it looks nothing like this.”
Refusing to look at her, Jack remained silent and rigid, his position giving her an advantage to study him. She peeked over, still not believing he was standing less than five feet away from her. The years had been good to him. His body had filled out in all the right places, and he’d allowed his dark-brown hair to grow longer than the military high and tight he’d worn while at the Farm. The stylish stubble covering the strong Italian jawline he’d inherited from his mother made him look . . . good. She was very grateful she’d made it home for a few hours to sleep, shower, and fix her hair before showing up. Not that it mattered.
Suddenly, those familiar chocolate-brown eyes settled on her, and instantly she was transported back eight years to their final day of CIA training at the Farm—when those same eyes looked on her with utter confusion. Betrayal.
Or so Jack had believed.
And she’d let him.
It was easier than trying to explain something not even she could quite understand in the moment . . . or it seemed, almost a decade later. Heat climbed up her neck, and she quickly averted her eyes, unwilling to let herself go back. He’d left without letting her explain, and whatever their past was—it was the past.
Brynn breathed a sigh of relief when Director Walsh stepped back into the office, his expression apologetic.
“I’m sorry about that, Ms. Taylor. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut this meeting short, as I’m needed elsewhere.” He arched an eyebrow at Jack and then back at her. “Jack, you’ve got the file on this assignment and will run lead.”
“Yes, sir.”
Brynn’s momentary relief was replaced with anxiousness. Not only had her control over the assignment been taken, but she would be working with Jack—no, for Jack. Well, this couldn’t get any worse.
“Do you have any concerns, Ms. Taylor?”
Only a hundred, but unfortunately, they had nothing to do with finding Riad and that’s where her focus needed to be.
Clenching her jaw, Brynn smiled politely. Or at least she hoped it looked polite because it felt like a grimace. “No, sir.”
Director Walsh gave a quick nod and then grabbed his briefcase and coat before pausing at the door. He smiled slightly and winked. “Now, you two play nice.”
An unsettled feeling passed over Brynn as she watched Walsh leave. His departing words gave her the impression Jack had filled him in on more than her professional life.
“Is this going to be a problem for you?”
Brynn eyed Jack. “No. Is it going to be a problem for you?”
Jack’s forehead creased. “Because I’m running this operation, and if it’s going to be a problem for you, then you might want to ask your director to send someone else.”
Was he being serious? He was the one who said he didn’t trust her. “There’s no one else, so I guess you’re stuck with me. Can you handle that?”
Jack shrugged. “I can handle that.”
“Good.”
She hated that she sounded like an insolent child, but seriously. Did Jack not think she could do her job? That she was somehow still hung up on him all these years later? Puh-lease.
“We should get started.” Jack crossed in front of her. “I’ll introduce you to the team.”
He didn’t wait for her to respond and walked out of the office, expecting her to follow. She let out a sigh. If this mission ended soon, it still wouldn’t be soon enough.
Taking a deep breath, Brynn forced herself to relax. Meeting Jack at the long conference table in the center of the room, she reminded herself why she was there. Find Riad. Not only did her job depend on it—the nation’s security did too.
“Garcia.” Jack grabbed a remote and pointed at several flat screens banking the wall opposite them. The televisions lit up with news stations from across the globe.
The man who’d checked her identity and led her into the office approached. He had a bit of military bearing in his walk, but the worn jeans, flannel shirt rolled at the sleeves over a Henley, and faded Red Sox ball cap gave off a more relaxed impression . . . except for his hazel eyes, which stood out against his olive complexion, kind but guarded.
He reached out his hand. “Nic Garcia, but everyone calls me Garcia.”
“Brynn Taylor.” She followed his lead as he sat and chose a seat across from him, which put an extra seat between her and where Jack remained standing. “Military?”
Garcia slid a sideways look to Jack, who nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Army EOD.”
Explosives Ordnance Disposal? That piqued her interest. What exactly did SNAP need with a weapons and explosives specialist?
“Sorry I’m late.”
A young woman with streaks of purple hair raced into the room and dropped an oversized Louis Vuitton bag on the floor. She shed her coat to reveal black leather leggings, break-your-neck heels, and a sequined top completely out of season for the blustery January weather.
“My Uber driver forgot about the construction on—” She stopped talking and crossed over to one of four desks. Her fingers brushed against the bright latex balloons. “Are these for me?”
“Happy birthday.”
The woman spun around to face Garcia. “Nicolás! Thank you for remembering.” She walked back to the table and wrapped her arms around Garcia’s neck, hugging him. “Oh, and I forgot to tell you my shooting instructor Randy said I’m ready for my first IDPA competition.”
Brynn blinked, trying to imagine this stiletto-clad woman competing in the International Defensive Pistol Association shooting competition, and instantly reminded herself not to judge a book by its cover.
Garcia’s face shifted into an expression of concern and amusement. “I hope you’ve stopped calling your gun Cupcake.”
“Nope.” She released his neck from her hug. “And I had some fun with the new guy at the range when I asked for some pew-pews instead of bullets.” The woman giggled, even as Garcia rolled his eyes. She straightened and for the first time realized Brynn was there. “Oh. We have a guest.”
“Lyla Fox, meet Brynn Taylor,” Jack said, gesturing between them. “She’s the special missions manager for our new assignment, and you’re in time for our briefing.”
With a raise of Lyla’s pierced eyebrow, Brynn could feel herself being inspected by the woman’s stunning blue-green eyes. “Brynn Taylor. That name seems familiar. Have we met before?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Who are you with?”
There was a touch of accusation in her tone that sent Brynn’s nerves buzzing. “CIA.”
A second passed before realization flashed across Lyla’s face. “You’re Brynn Taylor.”
The way Lyla said it brought an unwelcome feeling. Brynn grew even more uncomfortable when she caught the shared glance between Lyla and Jack. Was there something between them? Lyla seemed a little young for him but was beautiful, and in the mere minutes since she walked into the space, the woman dominated everyone’s attention. Maybe that was a trait Jack found attractive. Why am I even thinking about this?
“Kekoa,” Jack called out over Brynn’s head. “Time to get started.”
Jack’s abruptness cut into the anxiousness growing inside of Brynn. Twisting in her chair, Brynn looked over in time to see a giant man step out of an office similar to Walsh’s. She might’ve taken a moment to appreciate the high-tech hardware filling the space, but she could not stop staring at the man walking toward them.
Black tribal tattoos covered both the man’s muscled arms, and another stretched from above his T-shirt along his thick neck. Jack was six foot and this Jason Momoa doppelgänger towered over him by several inches.
“Howz it?” The man removed his black beanie cap, revealing a head of dark curls.
Brynn could’ve sworn she heard Lyla release a sigh.
“That never gets old,” Lyla said under her breath, which got her an eye roll from Garcia.
“Kekoa Young handles our tech.” Jack introduced the man who chose to sit next to her.
Brynn’s hand was dwarfed in Kekoa’s surprisingly gentle grip. “Computers, huh?”
He released her hand and then wiggled his fingers, which were basically the size of bratwursts, in the air. “Cryptology. Navy.”
“You were in the Navy?” The skepticism in her tone caused her to scramble. “I, uh, mean. On a boat? You were on a boat?”
“A ship.” Kekoa’s correction was gentle. “CVN 70 and the rest of my time at Fort Gordon.”
Kekoa nodded at Brynn. “USS Carl Vinson.”
Forget the computers, how in the world did someone the size of a minivan fit into a ship’s berth? Brynn had taken a tour of the USS Abraham Lincoln and remembered how tight the quarters were for her. She couldn’t imagine how Kekoa had made it work.
Her eyes found the Hawaiian flag—not the state one but the Kingdom of Hawaii’s original design with the feathered kāhili and pointed paddles—inked on his bicep. “What island are you from?”
“Oahu, born and raised.” Kekoa gave her a toothy smile and flexed the tattooed bicep. “You pretty smart for one haole.”
Brynn grinned back at the familiar term used by island locals for visitors, especially Caucasian ones like she was. “I might be haole, but I eat like a local.”
“Oh yeah? What do you like?”
“Loco moco.”
Kekoa’s dark-brown eyes lit up. “Loco moco? You ain’t a haole, you a local girl! There’s an ono place in—”
“Ahem,” Lyla interrupted, shooting Kekoa a pointed look. The Hawaiian’s animated expression sobered, but not before he shot Brynn a wink. “Shall we continue, Jack?”
Whatever tension Brynn had felt under Lyla’s earlier scrutiny had doubled. “You’re Brynn Taylor.” The declaration implied Lyla knew something about Brynn. If she and Jack were an item, then it made sense that he might’ve told her about them. But what exactly? He didn’t know the whole truth. Only his version.
“Lyla handles logistics and acquisitions for all our assignments.”
Jack’s words snapped Brynn’s attention back to where it needed to be. “Acquisitions?”
“Lyla has an extensive network of resources at her disposal,” he answered. “Anything we need for our mission, she’ll acquire.”
Huh. His choice of words made Brynn curious about the legality of said acquirements. Was she really supposed to rely on a bomb expert, a giant techie, a young woman dressed like she’d spent all night at a club, and an ex-boyfriend working for an agency she still didn’t understand?
“Brynn Taylor,” Jack continued, “is a targeting analyst for the CIA—”
“Targeting analyst?” Lyla swiveled in her chair. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“In a nutshell, my division is responsible for identifying data critical to foreign intelligence in order to disrupt potential threats against the United States.”
“Sounds like what we do,” Garcia said, his voice low and measured even as Lyla sent him a sideways glance. He shrugged, leaning back in his chair.
“So, when the CIA trains you in betrayal, is the primary focus on enemies or friends?”
“Lyla.”
The warning in Jack’s rebuke forced Lyla’s lips closed but did little to stop the heat burning Brynn’s cheeks. The meaning behind the question was crystal clear—Director Walsh wasn’t the only one who knew about her and Jack’s past. Awesome.
“Kekoa, why don’t you pull up the dossier on Riad, and Ms. Taylor can fill in what we don’t know.”
Kekoa rolled his chair backward and reached behind him to grab a silicon rectangle that Brynn noticed was a wireless keyboard. His fingers flew over the keys with deftness, removing any doubts she might’ve had about his ability to work on a computer.
A whirring noise sounded overhead, and Brynn watched three screens extend down from the ceiling. A few more keystrokes and Riad’s passport photo popped up on the first screen, along with several other photos of the Egyptian. The number of photos was concerning because some seemed to have been taken without Riad’s knowledge—like the ones the CIA grabbed through intel. Why would a private firm like SNAP have them?
Jack nodded at Brynn to begin. Straightening, she pasted on a smile she doubted looked genuine but hoped it hid the anxiety coursing through her. Why was she so nervous? This was her job, and she was good at it. “Remon Riad, age forty-two, is an intelligence officer for the Mukhabarat, Egyptian Intel, or GID. He was here as part of an agency cooperation program to discuss joint counterterrorism options between allied forces—”
“Is he a double agent?”
Brynn was caught off guard by Lyla’s immediate and brusque question. Or was it an accusation? “I have no reason to believe he is.”
“But you don’t know for sure?”
Annoyance and unease pulled tight the muscles in Brynn’s neck. “What we know is Remon Riad is a decorated military officer and has an impeccable record as an intel officer. He came highly recommended by top officials within the Egyptian government. He’s married with three grown sons and a daughter who’s about to be married. There’s no reason to suspect he came here with an agenda.”
“Except you’re here.” Lyla’s tone mocked. “Which means it’s not that simple, is it?”
“Riad has a distant cousin related by marriage who has been connected to members of the Muslim Brotherhood.”
The reality of her confession hung in the air for a second before Garcia glanced over to the wall of television screens and then back to Brynn. “However, we’ve seen a considerable decrease in MB activity since the ousting of Egypt’s former president, but that could change with the US standing up a new military installation in Egypt.”
“Wadi Basaela will be operational by the end of next week,” Jack confirmed. “There’s been open resistance to the US’s presence in Egypt—especially in regard to the new base. The MB is of concern, but it’s the National Liberation Jihad that’s been most active. Kekoa’s been monitoring any chatter having to do with NLJ or the MB in regard to the upcoming ceremony.”
Brynn was surprised to hear Jack bring up the NLJ. They weren’t a well-known organization but were well-connected to terror groups like ISIS and had come up on the CIA’s radar in the last decade. Jack’s knowledge of them and their threat potential was very telling of SNAP’s involvement in national security.
Jack looked at Garcia. “I’d like you to keep your ear to the ground for any movement of weapons to the area. Until we find Riad, we’re going to assume his disappearance and connection to MB pose a threat to our national security, international diplomacy with Egypt, and the physical security of President Allen when she arrives in country.”
Lyla’s eyes narrowed on Brynn. “Did you even do a background check on the spy before letting him into our country?”
“Of course I did,” Brynn fired back at Lyla. “Every intelligence officer we brought into the country was fully and extensively processed. Their backgrounds, affiliations, family relations, everything scrutinized. Riad’s connection to the Brotherhood is distant at best.”
“And you’d bet your career on that?”
“Yes.” Brynn met Lyla’s stare. “I’d bet my career on it.”
Because she had. And any future she’d hoped for in the agency.
“Well, you can bet your career”—Lyla held her stare—“but I’m not betting mine.”
A beeping alarm echoed from Kekoa’s computer hub and cut through the growing tension.
“Uh, can I—” Kekoa hooked his thumb over his shoulder toward his office. “I need to check on something.”
A flicker of curiosity passed through Jack’s eyes before he gave a nod of approval and Kekoa slipped away.
“The CIA will have an officer on the ground within a few hours to gather more information about Riad. It shouldn’t take long for us to ascertain any potential threat and use it to help us find Riad.” Brynn took a steadying breath, then her eyes flashed to Jack, who stood there with his gaze fixed on her. It was clear Lyla didn’t trust that she’d done her job, but did Jack share the concern? His words from earlier rang through her head. “I don’t trust her.” The statement rattled her far more than Lyla’s sarcastic interrogation. “I assure you, we followed protocol.”
There was a softening in Jack’s features—subtle but powerful, because Brynn’s heart did a flip in her chest, awakening a fluttering of emotions she’d not felt in eight years.
“We’re going to do our jobs like we always do. And if we do them right, then nobody’s career should be on the line.”
“I’ve got him.”
Kekoa’s announcement broke the trance as they all turned to find him standing in the doorway of his office, giving them a toothy smile.
“What?” Jack took a step toward him. “Who?”
“Riad. I’ve got his location.”
Brynn’s pulse pounded in her ears as relief and apprehension coursed through her. This was going to be over soon. A knot of tension corded in her stomach. She caught Jack looking at her, his face a mixture of emotion. Or maybe she was confusing her feelings for his relief?
What feelings?
Jack stood there . . . waiting. “Ready?”
She rose from her chair, grabbed her bag, and followed Jack out of the office, forcing herself to remember that the past was the past. She would not allow these flutterings to distract her. It’d been eight years and clearly—Brynn slid a glance at Lyla—he’d moved on. It meant nothing would stand in the way of her goal—find Riad and be out of each other’s lives once more.