Nolan
I set up the conference room’s projector as the rest of Redstone’s employees filed in. All fourteen of them were veterans, about half former Special Operations. I felt at home in the testosterone-packed atmosphere, but sometimes I wished my job featured a little more eye candy and a little less machismo.
Not everyone had left their military rivalries behind. Cocky taunts and trash-talking were the norm. Mixing a roomful of former SEALs, retired police officers, and ex-Delta Force was delicate enough, but when you added in the guys who bled the mantra once a Marine, always a Marine, forget about it.
I didn’t understand why people hung on to their old identities, anyway. As far as I was concerned, I’d be happy if I never heard another hooyah! ever again. And Jerry Barton, my current boss and former SEAL team leader, had evidently felt the same way. Commander Barton had walked away from a promising officer career to start his own private security firm as a civilian.
I might have been sitting in a conference room, but as I waited for the meeting to begin, my mind wandered right back to that evening with Lacey. The curious way she watched me, her eyes wide with wonder and attraction. The luscious curves hidden under her modest clothing that I couldn’t wait to rip away. The sadness hidden in her eyes when she spoke of her background. It made me want to gather her up and fix whatever had put that frown on her face.
Deep down, I knew I should leave her alone. She was a nice girl. Sweet. Unspoiled. But I had no intention of walking away. Not because I lacked discipline, but because it would be way too much fun to have her. Under me. On top of me. And these days, my life was all about taking what I wanted, when I wanted it. I’d learned the hard way that you never knew when you might draw your last breath.
The screen flickered on and filled with Barton’s stern, weathered face, snapping me out of my erotic daydream. He’d been leading the weekly company meetings by video chat, since he was busy in DC for the rest of the quarter. All chatter in the room died instantly. Their founder was roughly fifty-five years old, but the only thing that gave it away was his salt-and-pepper hair; he was fitter and trimmer than most men half his age, the picture of discipline.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Barton announced. “I trust you’ve all reviewed my e-mail about this week’s available contracts.”
Everyone nodded. Nobody on earth had balls big enough to ignore one of Barton’s dictates.
“I’ll be happy to coordinate the team’s preferences and e-mail them back to you later this morning,” Greyson offered.
Many of the jobs listed had been on the table before. Guarding the same corporate bigwigs, helping law enforcement conduct advanced intelligence training, consulting with state agencies on counter-terrorism techniques. Repeat business from faithful customers.
Barton lifted his chin to the side. “I’ll review and approve it later today. I have intel on something new that I’m not quite ready to share with the team.” His eyes cut over to mine and lingered there.
Interesting.
Barton had an expert sense of which jobs matched best with which team members. But to keep everyone happy with their schedules, he always presented his opinions as suggestions rather than orders.
The room grew loud again as people discussed which contracts each man wanted to tackle. Real squabbles were rare, even for the choicest gigs; everyone had good manners and their own unique skill set, preferences, and schedules. There was always somebody who couldn’t work too far from home because his wife was pregnant, or needed to return in time for his nephew’s wedding, or whatever the hell.
I tuned out most of my coworkers’ chatter. I was still wrapping up my last assignment—a vulnerability assessment and risk mitigation for a major telecom company. And my bank account was plenty fat, so why drive myself nuts by taking on more work? Of course, I was curious about what Barton was holding so close to the vest, but he’d bring me in on it when he was ready.
After about twenty minutes of discussion, Barton interrupted. “All right, gentlemen, I get the picture. Keep yourselves safe this week, and I’ll be in touch. You’re all dismissed.” But while everyone was leaving, Barton called out a brusque, “Maxwell.”
I stopped in my tracks and faced the screen again.
“You did an excellent job these last two weeks. You’re making quite a name for yourself among the FBI, specifically with Special Agent Donovan.” Barton inclined his head. “He didn’t ask me to pass on his comments, but I thought you’d like to know.”