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Shark swore softly with an edge to his voice.
“What did you do?”
“I looked into the president’s bedroom. The door was unlocked, and the bed made. There was no sign that he’d ever been sick. He just wasn’t there.”
“Oh, my God,” her father whispered. “Maddy?”
“There was a staircase and it led to a basement.” She took a hard breath, remembering the fear. She moved closer to Shark. “When I saw the guard in front of this locked door, I figured it was important.” She explained the rest in a rush. “Inside the room, there was a table…and a body.”
“No,” her dad groaned.
“President Baptiste is dead.”
Her father’s eyes flared wide. “Maddy!” She flinched. “Are you sure?” he asked.
Her hands trembled when she reached into her bag and fished out her phone. “I got pictures.” Her hands shook as she unlocked the phone. He scowled, impatient for the rest. He nodded at Shark, and he took over. For a split second, the color drained from his face as he brought up the picture, a flash of fear in his eyes, and nothing could have surprised her more. He was the kind of man who ran into battle, and fear wasn’t a part of that. She looked away, staring at nothing and having no trouble remembering the details. She felt Shark’s body stiffen, and with a quick look at her, he handed the phone to her father.
She’d never seen her father so devastated. He went ashen as he looked down at the man who was supposed to bring Haitians together. Everyone had agreed that Baptiste would be the best choice. Then he abruptly rose and came over to her, pulled her up into his arms, and for a silent moment, he held her so tight she could barely breathe.
“This was reckless and dangerous, Maddy. If they had caught you, there’s no telling what they would have done. But I can’t refute this intel. It’s vital, but I would never sacrifice my child to get it.”
“I know, Daddy. I know. It was my choice.” She hugged him back, holding on to him just as tightly. “But there’s a reason they’re keeping him in that basement under wraps, lying to his wife and the people he’s supposed to serve. It doesn’t bode well for relations between the Haitians. And that means the prime minister?—”
“Has a hidden agenda. It’s a coup d’état,” Shark said. “And my gut says it’s not finished.”
“No,” her dad said, “It’s not.” He let her go, and she might as well drop the other bombshell. He was already pissed at her actions.
“Dad.” She was all in with Bale Maddox, and it was time her family knew. She didn’t like disrespecting her father in his own home, sneaking around like they were teenagers, and Shark might not have said it, but he felt the same way. She was sure. “Shark and I are involved. I wanted you to know.”
Shark stiffened and huffed out a hard breath. “Christ, Maddy. Another coup d’état?”
Her father chuckled and gave her an indulgent look. “She steps to the beat of a different drummer,” he said. Then his eyes narrowed at Shark. “I thought as much, and your mother was convinced she was right. As far as I can tell, he’s far and above your other choices of late.”
“Daddy,” she said, her face flushing.
“Could you take my daughter down to the conference room? I need to call the secretary of state. She’s not going to be happy about this.” He turned toward his desk and picked up the phone. “Oh, and I need your CO and your team in on this. Give me about fifteen minutes.”
Shark nodded and grabbed her arm none too gently. Then he marched her out of her dad’s office at a clip. She had to speed up to keep up with him. There was going to be an argument, and for the first time in her life, she was going to engage instead of charming him. Although, it was part of her nature, so she couldn’t promise herself anything.
* * *
Shark opened the door to the conference room and dragged her inside. She wrenched her arm free. “Gimme a break, will you? I like this arm.”
He knew how Maddy’s father had felt when she’d told them what she’d found. Christ. Baptiste dead! He’d felt gut-punched, and sick and elated that she was all right, except all those emotions were too confusing, and edging up behind all that, moving in fast, like a frickin’ freight train, would be the anger. “Tell me. You like breathing too. What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking about Fabrice and the repercussions of something happening to Baptiste. It was a calculated decision, and I know what could have happened. But it didn’t.”
He waited for the flare of irritation to settle, then answered evenly as a chill of reality washed over him. He could have lost her. There was that gut-wrenching, gut-deep fear coming for him out of his childhood. The loss, the soul-sucking pain of it. Anger, he knew all about it. What he didn’t know was what to do with all of it—except put each overwhelming emotion into a box and put each box someplace where none of them would get mixed in together, because, man, that was one toxic brew. Compartmentalization—it was the only way.
“I was down the hall, in that damn waiting room while you were carrying out a black ops mission all by your pretty self. Did you think about me at all? How I would have felt if something happened to you on my watch? If something happened to you, period.”
“I’m not a hair-brained idiot, and I’m well aware that you’re not the kind of guy that cools his heels when there’s something to be done, but this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I took it. Get over it.”
Yeah, she knew who he was. It was written all over her face. And he sure as hell knew who she was—it was carved in his goddamn heart.
He laughed at her bravado. “Get over it? No, not with you in danger.”
“You think I’m not up to this kind of challenge? I was scared out of my mind, and I’ll admit I almost lost it once or twice, but I think I deserve some leeway here. I’m not some covert operator.”
