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"Completely unnecessary, Mr. Olson." Kaylie hurriedly slipped Lia's coat over her arms and ushered her out the door. "Have a nice night. I'll be back on Friday!" If he didn't fire her before then. Kaylie had never walked the four blocks to the bus stop as quickly as she did that night. Her cheeks felt like they would never cool.
She tried to blame the brisk evening air, but it was more than that. There was a hint of anxiety about her job. A note of embarrassment at his obvious disapproval of their transportation. And a whole lot of confusing emotions about the way he’d interacted with Lia and the way her own body had reacted to him.
Kaylie needed to be very careful, because she had a strong suspicion that Anthony Olson could be very dangerous. And an unwise attraction to dangerous men is what had gotten her into trouble before.
CHAPTER
TWO
These two-hour-long briefing and strategy sessions were the bane of his existence. Tank could feel himself getting jittery, desperate to get out of this getting-smaller-every-minute conference room.
But Black Tower Security didn't leave anything to chance. Every contingency was explored, every escape route, every possible player considered. It paid off, of course. No one was as good as Black Tower when it came to personal security.
In the ten years since Ross McClain and Flint Raven had started the small firm, BTS had become a major player in the security industry. When the former CEO of one of the largest security tech firms moved into the tactical sector, people were bound to pay attention.
Absently, he checked his phone. The only people who usually texted him were in this room. With one notable exception. But there was no message from Kaylie on his phone. He tapped out a quick message.
Tank: I’m not home yet. What’s for dinner?
He scolded himself for reaching out the moment the message was sent. She was his housekeeper, nothing more. It had been months since he’d even seen her in person. But the little updates she sent him were just enough to keep her constantly on the edge of his awareness. That and the way his house somehow always smelled like her after she’d been there. Flowers and lemon.
With a barely restrained growl of frustration, he turned his attention back to the table. Most of the BTS team was gathered. This job was all-hands-on-deck.
Ryder McClain, the team lead and brother to co-founder Ross McClain, was running the meeting. "And that brings us to the final stage. Delivery. We've got three armored SUVs, aerial support, and motorcycle escorts from our friends at the Virginia State Patrol."
"Overkill much?" Jackson Kelley asked with raised eyebrows.
Tank was tempted to agree, though he was never as quick to speak as Jackson. The man had no filter. Tank had learned long ago that silence was almost as powerful a weapon as his size. At 6'6" and the body of an NFL linebacker, people tended to assume he was stupid. And since his default expression wasn't exactly friendly, they quickly assumed he was angry.
Ryder quickly corrected him. "It's not overkill. It's misdirection. We've got the most expensive piece of modern art headed to the Smithsonian. Two hundred million dollars."
"In that case, do we think that is enough? Maybe we need an army tank." There was Jackson again–speaking before thinking.
"Don't you listen? He said it was misdirection," Tank said. Jackson's immediate wide eyes let him know that he'd come across as gruff and angry again. Well, if they ever wanted this meeting to end then they needed to get a move on. "What's the plan, Mac?"
"Dolores." The one-word answer from Ryder was the exact opposite of expected.
“You've got to be kidding me," Jackson groaned.
Tank felt his lips stretch into a half-smile. "You've got guts, Mac. I'll give you that." Dolores Pinkman was the receptionist for Black Tower Security. Although, anyone who knew Dolores also knew that receptionist was a dramatic understatement of the former CIA operative’s skills and value.
Ryder's eyes lit with a spark of excitement. "Come on. We've got armored cars and a police escort... All eyes will be on the motorcade, and Dolores will fly completely under the radar in her gray Civic, with the painting safely tucked away in the trunk."
"You've lost your mind," Marshall Kelley said, shaking his head. Jackson’s brother was his opposite in many ways. Cool and calculating, with an eye for detail.
"I have to agree," said Will Gilbert, another lead operative.
Tank wasn't the least bit surprised that Gilbert and Marshall weren't on board. Gilbert was as predictable and by-the-book as anyone Tank had ever met.
"What do you think, Tank?"
He shrugged, taking a moment to weigh his words. "I think Ryder's right."
The outbursts of disagreement and cheers from opposing sides quickly rang out. Ryder held up his hand to silence them.
Ryder explained. "There's two ways to play this. One, we reinforce the motorcade so heavily that it can actually withstand any attack. That means more outside people involved and even more risk of a breach. Or, we go low-key, with minimal people behind the curtain and a million possibilities on the off-chance that someone figures out that the motorcade is a red herring."
"Well, I like it." All eyes turned to find Flint Raven in the back of the room. Their founder could command a room, a skill he’d acquired through years as a billionaire tech CEO and only honed as he added combat skills to his impressive intellect and charisma.
