Copy That. HelenKay Dimon
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it kept him from exploding all over his new and supposedly brilliant assistant.
His throat ached with the need to scream, but Ellis fought back the rage. “I’ve run out of patience.”
“I understand, sir. But—”
“Stop there.” All the impressive grades in his Ivy League education hadn’t taught Andrew Hare the common-sense business principle of knowing when to shut up and listen. Ellis decided the younger man had better learn quickly or he’d have one of the shortest tenures in the Defense Intelligence Agency ever—four days.
Counterintelligence demanded a steep learning curve, and so far Andrew had spent most of his time repeating instructions. Book smart, maybe. Capable of reading reactions and completing difficult tasks? Not so far.
“Excuse me, sir?”
And he said excuse me far too often. “Hill has been out of contact and running for a week now. I’ve had enough. You bring Hill back here, now. In pieces if you have to.”
“We have a problem.”
“That’s not a sentence I want to hear.” Ellis leaned back in his big leather chair. He wrapped his fingers around the arms to fight off the urge to strangle Andrew. Human Resources hated that sort of thing.
“I know, but—”
His nails dug a little deeper. “I want results, not excuses.”
“Our man just got to the scene. He says the place is on fire.”
“What?”
“Witnesses said they heard a loud bang. An explosion. The windows blew out and the fire raced out of control almost immediately.” Andrew talked so fast the sentences ran into each other.
Ellis glanced over his shoulder. If his office had a window, if any of the offices on this floor had one, it would be right behind him. Instead, this part of the suite consisted of interior rooms. No one could look in, and thanks to a list of security procedures, no information got out. Or that was the theory.
“It was a gas leak.” He’d said the response enough times for it to become automatic. The cover worked well enough for him to have the appropriate form in his desk and an electric-company official on speed dial.
“How can you know that?” Andrew asked.
Ellis wondered if the idea of on-the-job training was such a good idea after all. From now on he’d insist on hiring the guy with street smarts and a B average over the one with the shiny résumé that appealed to a hiring committee worried about recruiting the best on-paper students available.
“Within a week we will discover the cause. It will be a gas leak. I can guarantee it.”
“I see.”
Ellis seriously doubted that. “Where’s Hill now?”
“Gone.”
With the news of the explosion, Ellis had started analyzing his options, but all of that slammed to a halt with this latest development. Every breath of air sucked out of the room until the dark-paneled room closed in like a prison cell. “Hill went up with the house?”
“I don’t…”
Ellis stood up, every muscle in his body snapping to life. “Either say what you need to say right now or I’ll transfer you to a field office in Alaska and find someone else to do your job.”
Andrew cleared his throat. When he spoke again, gone was the nervous newbie who shook enough to rattle his teeth when he talked. This time his voice rang clear and deep as his shoulders pulled tight into military attention. “Our guy on the ground is hearing reports about Hill getting away.”
“How?”
“In a car. He had help.”
“Who?”
“Unclear at the moment.” Andrew gave his report and checked his notes, suddenly acting like a seasoned pro. “Someone who drives a car registered to Foxtrot Enterprises.”
Ellis didn’t need to look up the name. Hill had created the corporate entity as part of his cover. Ellis paid the monthly lease on the car every month from the budget for Hill’s team.
“So, inside help.” An internal debate waged in Ellis as to whether that was a good or bad thing. Garrett alone was lethal. Operating with his dedicated team made him unstoppable.
“It would appear so, sir.”
“Keep in mind nothing is ever as it appears with Garrett Hill. We trained him to defy expectations, so confirm every detail before you take it as gospel.”
“I’ll see what I can find out.”
“You have an hour.”
Chapter Four
When the car eased around the corner and slowed to a stop, Meredith thought she’d gone to sleep and woken up in the middle of a strange action movie. She leaned forward, balancing her elbows on her knees. Her hands shook as she examined the cuts and scrapes on her palms.
Real people went to the hospital after being thrown by an explosion and nearly turned into a piece of burned toast. Real people did not chase after bad guys. Real people ran to the police and screamed for help.
Real life sure didn’t include finding out about a previously unknown twin brother or hanging out with men who carried guns. Not her life. Not anymore. She’d left violence behind in favor of stability. She didn’t run from the law.
She glanced over and saw the gun in Jeremy’s hand. Heard him tap his foot against the floor as his knee bounced to the steady rhythm only he could hear. “Who are you?”
His focus never wavered. He stared out the window. “Jeremy Hill.”
“You know what I mean.”
His gaze locked on her, all his intensity boring into her, and the next words she intended to say jammed in her throat.
“I’m going to protect you.”
The promises men made. “I’ve heard that before.”
At nineteen she’d heard and believed them. Vows of love and fidelity, talk of being together forever. But between the sweet touches and mind-blowing kisses he’d drop a line about her weight. About her friends being loud or dumb. About her leaving school and following him back to the Midwest because she wouldn’t need a job once they settled in their house.
She justified his behavior and made excuses for the way he isolated her. The latter made her nuts. She sneaked out to meet friends for coffee and ignored their concerned stares and dropped comments about male friends they knew who would love her. She pretended she didn’t hear the whispers as she walked away and fell deeper into his cocoon of supposed protection.
Just thinking about those days made her stomach tumble until she thought it would roll right out of her and land on the floor. The familiar fear rushed back and momentarily panicked her. The bile in her throat and trembling in her muscles—it all played like a broken record of a song she’d rather forget.
Clint had stolen something from her and she’d been fighting her entire adult life to get it back. Dignity. Selfrespect.
The safety classes and hours logged at the shooting range helped. But now, sitting in a car with men she didn’t know, all those old insecurities rushed over her. She fought off waves of debilitating self-bashing and reached for that inner balance she’d vowed never to lose again.
Jeremy’s eyes narrowed. “What does that cryptic comment mean?”
“I don’t need a man to take care of me.”
“This isn’t a liberation issue or some sort of battle of the sexes.”
“Really? Feels like it.”
“No