HelenKay Dimon - Gunning for Trouble

“He’s the computer genius of the group,” Caleb said, cutting through the personal stuff.

Adam scowled at Caleb but he missed it and Avery was too busy fighting off the flood of anger pouring through her. “Computers? Are you kidding? Felt more like you were the pain enforcer to me. You scared the he—”

Adam held up his hands as if surrendering, even though he held a gun in one. “And you were a worthy adversary. If I hadn’t stopped you just then, we’d be picking my teeth up off the floor.”

“We still might,” she mumbled.

Adam smiled. “Fair enough.”

She refused to be charmed or put off. Concentrating while Caleb stood there in his tight underwear was hard enough. “Anyone want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Adam is with Recovery.”

Adam’s shoulders tensed. “Caleb, what are you—”

“She knows.”

Adam looked back and forth between Caleb and Avery. “Not possible.”

The poor guy looked ready to vomit, which she figured served him right after the squeeze play he put on her midsection. “Totally possible.”

Caleb blew out a long, exaggerated breath. “Apparently it is.”

She saw Adam’s hand shift toward his gun. She saw it and Caleb saw it.

“Stop.” Caleb pressed his hands down as if trying to calm the situation. “Avery is safe. Trust me. I’m not worried about her alliances.”

She had no idea what that meant but the whole talking-like-she-wasn’t-there thing wasn’t her favorite.

“She does about Rod and Recovery.” She hesitated to make sure her sarcasm made an impression. “My question was really about why we’re in this condo and when exactly Caleb here had the time to call in the cavalry here.”

He had the nerve to shrug. “We all have contingency plans in case of an emergency.”

“I’m his,” Adam said.

They acted as if that explained everything. “I still don’t get it.”

“If the silent alarm trips—” Adam pointed to his watch as he spoke “—I come running. If Caleb isn’t here or on that fire escape, I know he needs help.”

“You got here before we did.”

“I live in the building and was already in the condo when the building’s fire alarm started blaring. Something tripped Caleb’s silent alarm before that.”

“You mean someone.” Caleb played with the buttons on his watch, as if the conversation bored him. “Avery broke into my apartment.”

“Impressive.” Adam’s tone and his slow nod suggested he meant it.

Caleb finally looked up again. “And now we’re stuck because there are police and bad guys roaming around, and I’m not sure which is which.”

“Do we know the identity of said bad guys?” Adam asked. “Just wondering who we ticked off this time.”

As much as she wanted to hear about whatever idiot would be self-destructive enough to come after these two, she jumped in. “You didn’t. I did.”

She waited until both men looked at her. She wanted to make sure she had their attention because she needed them to understand how serious the situation had become. “They want me.”

Caleb stared at her for a few seconds without saying anything. Then he wrapped his fingers around her elbow and turned toward the front door. “Then despite the danger, we have to get you out of here and somewhere safe.”

“You might want to put on some clothes first,” Adam called out, right before she could.

Caleb stopped in midstep and glanced down his front. “Good plan.”

Adam shook his head. “I’ll get them.”

She waited until Adam stepped into the bathroom to whisper her question to Caleb. “Can he be trusted?”

He stared after Adam, glanced around the room, basically did everything but give her the courtesy of looking at her. “Yeah. Adam’s one of the few people I do trust.”

There was nothing subtle in Caleb’s comment. “Unlike me?”

This time his gaze locked on hers. “Yeah, Avery. Unlike you.”

TREVOR WALTERS LEANED back in his oversize leather chair and stared at the men sitting on the other side of his desk. They were experts in their fields but he could control them both with a few phone calls, as evidenced by the fact they showed up on his turf before five in the morning, before the workday even started. Likely before these government workers normally woke up. They asked for a meeting. He set the unreasonable terms to see if they’d meet them. Not a surprise they had.

His company, Orion Industries, specialized in threat management. He advised governments and corporations, supplying assessments and muscle. Today his country’s government had come calling in the form of a fifty-something bureaucrat with graying hair, a runner’s build and a Georgetown Law class ring.

“We’re here on a sensitive subject,” John Tate said, then stopped. It was as if he thought his impressive title at the Department of Justice gave him the right to make demands.

Trevor wasn’t impressed by the deputy director of the Office of Enforcement Operations. The man oversaw complex surveillance and witness protection requests, including who got in and who didn’t. But with all that power the guy still had no clue about the corruption raging through his office.

Russell Ambrose, the other man in the room, knew all about deceit. As chief inspector in the D.C. office of WitSec and a career government official with the U.S. Marshal Service, he should have been crystal clean. Trevor knew from experience that wasn’t the case.

Trevor knew. Russell knew. Tate, the man at the very top, was the only one in the dark. Trevor almost smiled at the irony.

“You know I am always willing to lend my company’s services if needed,” he said.

John gave a quick glance in Russell’s direction before starting. “I’m afraid this is a bit more personal.”

Trevor had an idea where the conversation was headed but wanted to make the man spell it out. Let John squirm a bit. In Trevor’s view, powerful men always did the best squirming. “How so?”

“Your brother.” John brushed lint or something equally invisible off his pants. “I’m very sorry for your loss, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“I attended the service. It was very moving.”

“Agreed.” Trevor had planned it, headed the cover-up into the true cause of the death and saw to it everyone believed his brother died a hero. Their parents deserved to grieve with honor. Having the world view Bram as the model statesman and father served that purpose. It also ensured a steady stream of contracts for Trevor’s company. Bram got the praise and Trevor reaped the benefits. He could live with the deal, even though the sting of Bram’s loss pricked stronger than Trevor expected it would.

In the quiet of his home office with only his whiskey as witness, he had mourned. He’d let the weakness flow through him. Mostly, though, he simmered with fury that Bram had gotten pulled so far into the terrible situation that led to his murder. He had been so reckless and paid the ultimate price.

Russell tapped the thin file resting on his lap. “We need some information.”

“You should know I don’t have any access to Bram’s records. Those were in his congressional office and are confidential.” Except for the boxes Trevor had already destroyed. He had owed Bram that much. Preserve his memory and bury the evidence. That had always been their unspoken deal if the worst happened.

John nodded. “Of course, but—”

Trevor flipped through his Rolodex even though he knew the number by heart. “Bram’s former chief of staff, David Brennan, is handling everything in the office pending a special election to fill Bram’s seat. David is one of the nominees and the likely successor. You can call him to get what you need.”