I tipped my head. “A call’s supposed to come in from the FBI. Spyder told me to take the meeting.”
“All right, Chica.” He shifted the covers off him.
I wish he hadn’t.
Striker went to bed naked last night. His morning ready-for-a-tumble body was darned enticing—broad shoulders, tight abs, those thigh muscles, and—Whew!
If only I knew when this FBI call would be coming through, I might have taken advantage of waking up before the alarm rang.
“But I’m going to remind you,” Striker tapped my hip, refocusing me, “we already have a meeting on the books today at eleven hundred hours. Spyder wouldn’t have called like that if it wasn’t high priority. This meeting at the CIA is, too.”
I pulled myself up to sitting, punched a pillow, and laid it against the headboard, leaning back—the “ready for a conversation” position. “Do you know what’s going on at the CIA? A gist? A whiff?”
“This is what I know.” He pushed himself up to sit against the headboard beside me.
I would have felt a lot more guilty about his losing sleep if Striker wasn’t the kind of guy who could get by on four hours of shut-eye and then head out to compete in a triathlon.
Must be nice. That definitely wasn’t me.
Coffee would help.
“The original meeting was scheduled,” Striker said, “with a room full of people connected with a case. Once Iniquus Command confirmed with the CIA working group that I was bringing you with me, that roomful narrowed down to three.”
I shrugged. “So, maybe it’s not that important, and it would be okay if you take notes and catch me up later?”
Amusement twitched at the corners of his lips. So darned cute. “I’m going to speculate based on tone.”
“Okay.”
“This is an ongoing mission that needs to be solved. They can’t figure it out. They called Iniquus in, hoping for a fresh perspective.” I didn’t need to see his face. I could tell by his tone that Striker found this turn of events entertaining.
I drew my brows together. “And that amuses you. Why?”
“Because I don’t think they know what they have headed through their doors. Or maybe they do, and that’s why they made the changes from a roomful down to the three main players.”
“More?”
“I know exactly how this is going to go down. You’re going to listen to their information, then you’re going to say something so obvious that they’re all going to look like buffoons for not spotting it themselves. The fewer witnesses to the thrumming, the better. If the lore about your solve-rate spread to this group, they’re trying to limit the reputational damage.”
“Psh.” I got out of bed, picking up my cell phone as I moved.
“You think I’m kidding?” He clicked on the side lamp.
I turned just in time to catch the full-blown dimple action of his grin.
He wasn’t playing fair. I needed to be focused and professional for this incoming FBI call, not caught panting and sighing into the phone as I played with Striker.
Striker laced his fingers behind his head. Uh-huh. He knew exactly what he was doing with that display of his.
As my heart thumped a “go get him and have some fun” beat, I turned to my panties drawer and dug around.
“Iniquus Command has bets laid amongst themselves on the outcome of today’s CIA meeting.” Striker’s face had returned to stoic, but his voice betrayed him. He was enjoying this a tad too much.
I turned and stared at him. Bets? Again? I hated that. “No pressure, though.”
“I’m not worried about it. Neither is Command.”
Striker and I both worked for Iniquus Security. We do the things that the alphabets would like to do on their own, but red tape and politics shackled them.
At Iniquus, we didn’t have to deal with those kinds of constraints. Our sole purpose was to get the bad guys into the hands of prosecutors and protect the innocent.
Striker commanded Strike Force, one of the five specialized Iniquus operations groups. I was attached to Strike Force, though I wasn’t under Striker’s command.
A good thing.
I didn’t think I’d want to be in an intimate relationship with someone who had power over me.
I’ve been working at Iniquus ever since Strike Force stepped into my life to protect me from a serial killer four years ago.
Wow…four years? Yeah, though I was nineteen when that all went down, it still seemed like yesterday—a string of devastating events over a few short months—Mom’s death. My mentor, Spyder McGraw, went off-grid, leaving me rudderless. My apartment building burned to the ground. I met my (soon to be ex-) husband Angel, and a whirlwind romance led Angel and me to the courthouse for quick wedding vows. Immediately after Angel and I said, “I do,” Angel stepped onto the bus taking him to the airport and off to Afghanistan where his Ranger unit was deploying. And that was when a serial killer left his first letter under my door.
Striker strode into my hospital room, scooped me up, and stole away with me to an Iniquus safe house after I survived the killer’s attack. There, Strike Force’s job was to protect me and keep me alive, so I could testify.
I figured a few crimes puzzled out while I was sequestered in the safe house, and Iniquus Command recognized the skills taught to me by one of their own, Spyder McGraw. And that’s how I came to be part of the Iniquus family.
Spyder…
Wow, I haven’t seen Spyder since Christmas.
Hadn’t heard a word.
That he called, commanded, and hung up…
Typical Spyder.
It was a puzzle. To figure it out, I needed more pieces.
I was champing at the
