“I’m guessing you’re not going to share the full scope of your nefarious plans with me.” Actually, she was torn between wanting to know what could possibly have possessed her stepfather and being too disgusted with his involvement to listen.
He shook his head. “The more you know, the less likely it’ll be possible to convince my business partner to let you move on with your life.”
“Promises to forget everything I’ve seen so far aren’t believable either, huh?” Rolling her eyes might be too much attitude.
Talking was good. Drawing things out. Buying time. And well, this was probably the longest conversation she’d ever had with her stepfather.
Her stepfather sighed. At least that was familiar. “Don’t insult either of us by playing stupid. Sarcasm will only shorten what patience I have.”
Zuccolin snorted.
Jones slanted an irritated look at the other soldier. “Isn’t it about time for you to check in with the rest of your team, Sergeant?”
Zuccolin stiffened but walked away, his footsteps striking the floor in measured cadence. Only marginally comparable to a toddler sulking and stomping his way out of the room.
“America’s finest?” She raised her eyebrow at her stepfather.
No. She hadn’t caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Had she? Nah. “All this for a choppy video hidden on a dog?”
“The problem with any shred of evidence is that it is still evidence.” Her stepfather strode over to a window and gazed out. “However, the canine is not the only reason we are here or even the primary objective. I placed what should have been sufficient resources on surveillance in order to ensure the dog would present no threat to our plans.”
“Sufficient might not be the correct term.” She bit her lip.
He turned and glared at her. “Over the years, you have made antagonizing me an art form. I assure you, it’s not as effective a tactic as you might believe.”
“Force of habit.” Keeping her responses shorter might be wise but she was running out of conversational cues.
He huffed. Then he continued to talk, surprisingly. “I’ve had interviews with several local candidates. There’s a land-bound military ship just over the bridge in New Jersey used as a training and testing facility. Many IT contractors with appropriate security clearances have gained relevant communications experience there but are dissatisfied with the temporary nature of their contract work. They’re looking for more exciting projects with better pay. Not a single one of them displayed the nimble intelligence you exercise just to deliver a witty comeback.”
A compliment. Sort of. “I’m guessing social interaction wasn’t exactly a part of any of their skill sets either.”
Her stepfather tipped his head to one side, considering. “Enough to communicate in a professional capacity, but you make a valid point. Cultural fit isn’t a high priority in our search but perhaps it should be. The teams we’re assembling will be isolated on occasion.”
“And you have to be able to trust the men who are supposed to have your back.” David had taught her that.
Jones frowned.
Oh, had she said that last bit out loud? Maybe. Though Captain Jones had always seemed to read her mind as a teenager. She’d like to think her adult mind was less transparent but around him, the temptation to succumb to petty immaturity was about as irresistible as a chocolate cupcake with fudge frosting and salted caramel.
“Building the right teams takes patience and time.” Her stepfather clasped his hands behind his back. “Sometimes you need to make do with what’s available and cherry pick when opportunity arises.”
Whatever he was getting at, they’d gone so far into the abstract she was wondering if maybe she had a concussion because she wasn’t tracking anymore.
A shout cut through her sluggish thoughts. A dog’s growl followed, loud and deep. It sounded familiar and she was hoping she wasn’t going crazy.
Atlas.
Hope shot through her—or adrenaline—she’d take either. She continued to wiggle in her duct tape bindings while her stepfather and the one remaining soldier focused their attention on the approaching chaos.
Sergeant Zuccolin was backpedaling, crossing past the doorway and back out of view in the hallway. A black and tan blur streaked past and a shot rang out.
A dog yelped in pain.
“No!” she screamed, jerking in her chair and tipping over. Her shoulder crashed into the floor. Lifting her head, she craned her neck to see the doorway. “Atlas! Atlas?”
Chapter Twenty-Four