Austin ran one hand along his shaggy beard. “Is management okay with us patching into their feeds?”
“They didn’t voice any objections when I mentioned it. I’ll re-verify a few days before the event to avoid any surprises.” That would give them time to install their own equipment if the need arose. Jackson didn’t think that would be the case. The folks at the Grand Formosa understood the value of an event of this magnitude. If things went well, they’d get a ton of good press, and good press meant more business.
Austin’s phone rang again. He glanced at the caller ID and scowled. “Shit, I better take this. Thanks for the update. Let me know if you need anything on my end.”
With a nod, Jackson left Austin’s office. It was the end of his shift, but he and Essie had driven in together, so he couldn’t leave until she was ready. It took a bit of searching, but he finally found her in the conference room, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she stared at the screen of her laptop.
Just looking at her made his heart race and filled his head with filthy fantasies. Today she wore black dress slacks and a green fitted blouse that showed the barest hint of cleavage. Her makeup was minimal, while her dark hair hung in soft waves around her shoulders. The perfection was marred by the bruise on her neck, an enormous, jaundiced yellow reminder of how close Bazarov had come to killing her. It made him wish the prick was still alive so he could kill him with his bare hands.
As if sensing his presence, Essie’s gaze shifted up, catching his, and he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. There was something in her eyes that he couldn’t identify, something dark and dangerous and not quite civilized, but then she blinked and it was gone.
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. Why?”
“You looked like you wanted to rip somebody’s throat out. I hope it’s not me.”
A note of amusement warmed her lips. “No, it’s not you. I’m going through the files Larissa pulled off Bazarov’s phone.”
That explained why she was so tense. “Find anything good?”
“Nothing yet that we can use.” She glanced at the screen, and her lips pressed into a thin line. “He had four kids, three boys and a girl. The youngest was nine.”
Ah, so that was the problem. He understood why it got under her skin—it was a perfectly normal reaction—but it wasn’t her fault those kids didn’t have a father anymore. “Don’t blame yourself. That’s all on him for being dumb enough to try to kill you.”
“I know.” There was a slight edge to her voice—a rarity for her—as if she were annoyed that he’d noticed how much the information affected her. She drew a deep breath, and as she let it out slowly, all emotion drained from her face. “I take it you’re done for the day?”
He nodded. “How much longer do you think you’ll be working?”
Essie glanced up at the clock on the wall. “About an hour. Is that okay?”
“Sure, no problem. I’ll squeeze in a workout while you’re finishing up. Meet me in the gym when you’re ready to go home.”
“Will do.” Her gaze went back to the computer.
Ever since the attack, there had been a noticeable chill in her demeanor. She was all business all the time, with her spy face firmly in place and her walls more impenetrable than ever. Each night after dinner, she went straight to her room, closed the door, and didn’t come out until morning. It frustrated the hell out of him, because they’d been so close to fixing the things that had poisoned their marriage. Now it felt like they were back to square one.
At a loss for how to tackle the problem—hell, even if he knew, he wouldn’t attempt it at work—Jackson went out to his truck, grabbed his gym bag from behind the seat, and headed back inside. It had been a few days since he’d squeezed in a workout, a record of sorts for him. During normal times, he hit the gym daily, but with everything going on, he’d just been happy to get a decent night’s rest.
As he strode down the hall, he heard a low, thumping noise. The closer he got to the gym, the louder it got, until he opened the door and was greeted with a blast of death metal music that made his teeth rattle. That could only mean one thing.
Wade Flint was back in town.
Sure enough, there he was on the seated leg press, pushing an obscene amount of weight, his black hair back to its usual high and tight and his face clean shaven. His skin was still tanned from all that time in Central America, and it made the cross-shaped scar on the left side of his face even more pronounced. Face flushed from exertion, sweat beaded his brow, but he didn’t look as though he had murder on his mind, a stark contrast from a few short months ago.
The man had gone through some unspeakable shit during his time as a DEA agent, but he’d finally achieved some semblance of justice—and the love of a damn fine woman, who’d managed to smooth out a few of his rougher edges. Still, the dude had plenty of rough, and Jackson decided a long time ago that he never wanted to be on his bad side.
As he approached, Jackson raised his voice to be heard over the music. “Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”
Wade’s gaze flicked up, and he gave a curt nod as he cranked out the last of his reps. When he finished, he reached down to the floor for his phone, and with a few taps, the volume on the overhead speakers lowered to something south of eardrum-shattering.
“I didn’t think you were supposed to fly in for another week,” Jackson said as he crossed to the rowing machine.
After their ordeal in Mexico, Wade and his woman had traveled to Virginia, where Hope’s uncle lived. From what he understood, it was one part reunion, one part meet-the-family, and one part rest and recharge.
Wade scowled as he got off the machine. “That was before I learned some asshole put a hit on my sister-in-law.”
Aw, hell.This conversation had quickly turned into a minefield, and Jackson proceeded with caution. “You just found out?”
