Overture (North Security, #1)

Hassan joins us at the bar, throwing his arms over our shoulders. He’s already buzzed, which is maybe not ideal for jumping into the desert. “Let’s get this fucking party started,” he says.

I raise my eyebrow at Josh, who sighs. We’ll have to jump after Hassan and make sure he makes it to the rendezvous point. It wouldn’t do to have him die the night before his wedding. His fiancée would be pissed, for one thing. And all those hors d’oeuvres would go to waste.





CHAPTER NINE





The Helicopter Quartet was written by controversial composer Karlheinz Stockhausen. It involves sending four members of a string quartet into the sky in four separate helicopters and having each musician play their individual part. Meanwhile, they are recorded and broadcasted into an auditorium where they are all played simultaneously for an audience. Stockhausen reportedly composed the piece after a series of unusual dreams involving helicopters and a swarm of bees.


LIAM

The call comes when I’m ten thousand feet above the ground. A small buzz in my pocket, which reminds me to zip my phone and wallet into the harness so I don’t lose them on the way down. I glance at the screen. A notification that someone’s at the south rear exit.

Someone’s always coming and going at the compound. An overzealous security system monitors every single entry point. I’m anal enough to leave the notifications on even though I don’t usually need to see who it is. Except right now almost everyone is on a job or in the chopper. I left two men at North Security, one on guard duty, one off. I don’t expect trouble, but I’m a cautious man. Untrusting.

Which means there are very few people who could be leaving right now.

If I had to guess, it would be Cody in his beat-up truck that’s older than him with a hundred and fifty thousand miles on it. He probably visited Laney and Samantha, playing Mario Kart in the game room. There are a few people in front of me to jump, so I swipe to pull up the secure app that streams the video cameras.

Sure enough, there’s the white truck pulling to a stop.

The gate slides open, well-maintained and smooth. The truck pulls forward and disappears from view. Relief fills my chest, which is funny considering I’m about to jump out of the open side door of the chopper. This is an adrenaline jump. A good-time jump. A hundred times easier than having the sex talk with Samantha, pretending that I think of her as a daughter when I don’t.

Hassan jumps, and the men cheer.

The next few guys go quickly. They’re eager to get down on the ground so they can beat the groom-to-be. Either that or they’re hungry. Probably both.

Josh glances back at me, a question in his eyes. We’ve been through enough close calls that he can feel the unease inside me without me having to say a word. He can feel it even before I do.

Why the fuck am I uneasy?

Everything I do at home, the training and the security, it’s about precaution—not actual danger. That’s for South America and the Middle East. That’s for the fucking jungle that is Washington DC. In the hill country of Texas? This is my land. I shouldn’t be worried about a damn thing.

I give Josh a terse nod. Whatever it is, it can wait.

He offers a salute, lacking his usual ironic twist.

When it comes to the command structure, we don’t fuck around, not even on a bachelor party. He jumps, his movements as casual as stepping off a porch. The wind carries him sideways, so it looks like he’s floating. In the next moment a deepening fog swallows him whole. My stomach clenches into knots, but it has nothing to do with the men who just jumped out of the helicopter.

“Your turn,” comes a voice in my ear. The pilot.

“Sorry, Jeff. Looks like you’re our designated driver.”

“We’re all driving once we get to the cars,” he reminds me, his voice unnaturally clear as the wind buffets around me, pulling me toward the door even as it tries to shove me deeper into the belly of the chopper. “And I’d rather be behind the controls than jumping out.”

I glance at my phone again, sliding the little circle on the video replay back. There’s the white truck again. I can make out his silhouette, but only barely. It’s brighter in the air than it was on land. Dusk already fell. I narrow my eyes at the video, watching as the truck pulls forward.

There. A movement, breaking the flat line of the seat beside him.

As if someone had been crouched low to hide from the cameras, bobbing up a second too early. Who the fuck is in the truck with him? I’m afraid I already know. My gut was legendary in the navy. It’s not about a magical sixth sense. It’s a culmination of all my tactical knowledge and hands-on experience. A million different data points coalesced into a single decision—safety or danger. Life or death.

“Hell,” I say.

“What’s wrong?”

“Take me back to the compound,” I say, biting out the words. Except they’re already gone. Even at 150 knots it’s going to take twenty minutes. They already have a head start, and there’s only one place they would go, especially without telling me. Into the city.

To practice that safe sex you told her about, my mind says helpfully.

Jesus.

“Sir?” comes Jeff’s voice. He wouldn’t normally question an order, but this isn’t exactly a mission. If I stay quiet another two seconds, he’s going to turn the chopper around no matter what.

“Belay that,” I say, my voice harsher than I intend. “Keep going.”

“Yes, sir,” he says, which is basically the same as asking what the fuck I’m thinking.

I honestly have no idea. Why the fuck is she going into the city right now? The answer is simple: to put the safe sex talk into action.

Which means she could be hooking up with some frat boy right now.

All I can see is red when I think of some asshole in a club thinking Samantha’s an easy target. It would be easy to blame Laney for being a bad influence or Cody for helping her sneak out, but Samantha’s a smart girl. She knows how dangerous the world can be. There’s a fucking reason she isn’t allowed to drive around without an escort. But I haven’t told her every single reason. That’s on me.

Yeah, I’ll take this jump, but I have no intention of tracking down a dollar bill.

“Tell the boys not to wait up for me,” I say. That’s the last thing I get out before I step off the helicopter floor. The wind holds me tight in its grasp, sucking the air out of my lungs. I’m twisted and turned, and I let my body drift through it.

Adrenaline surges through my veins, but I save it, save it, save it. That’s for later, when I find Samantha somewhere in the city. And whatever fucker thinks he can put his hands on her.


SAMANTHA

Bass reverberates through rusted metal and torn leather. The truck pulls to a slow stop around the corner from the club, hiding in the shadow of an abandoned warehouse.

“I don’t like this,” Cody says, gripping the steering wheel like he’s forcing himself to keep it still. He looks about two seconds away from kicking the gear into drive and taking us home.

“Of course you don’t like it,” Laney says, fighting to open the door. It fights right back, struggling to keep her inside as if it’s an extension of Cody’s will. She gives it a kick with her black heels, and the door finally springs open with a bereaved grunt. “You don’t like anything fun.”

“We’re only going for an hour,” I say quickly before Cody can change his mind.

Cody lives with his father in an apartment in town. His father isn’t around much, which is probably a good thing. Most nights he’s in a bar starting a fight.

And spending the next day in lockup.