I know he’s right, but it still rankles me that I have to be sidelined.
“Okay?”he prods.
“Fine,” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Fine?”he asks, and I hear a tinge of amusement.
“Fine,” I snap.
Cole chuckles and then shocks me to my core when his hand drifts over to take mine.He drags it back to rest on the center console, his left still on the wheel.
And he holds my hand, the way he used to whenever we drove somewhere together.
I’m not sure what it means.Yes, we crossed the line into a sexual relationship, but this is a level of intimacy that speaks only to the heart.
I don’t pull away.It feels too good.
CHAPTER 15
Cole
Thebarsitsonthe ground floor of a boutique hotel property two blocks off Pike Street.It’s the kind of place that attracts mid-level corporate travelers and the occasional tech consultant but isn’t frequented by locals.The after-work crowd has thinned to scattered pairs leaning over high-top tables, a group of women celebrating near the window, and two men in suits at the far end of the bar nursing their drinks.
I arrived eleven minutes early, which wasn’t an accident.I took the corner table against the far wall with a line of sight to both the entrance and the back hall that leads to the rear exit, ordered a beer I don’t particularly want, and spent the time considering my approach.
Kynan had made the call himself to arrange the meeting.That surprised me slightly—not that he did it, but the speed of it.Within four hours of Malik presenting the idea, Kynan had a name, a number and a confirmed meeting time.Which told me two things: One, Kynan’s reach across this industry runs deeper and faster than even I appreciated.And two, whoever was on the other end of that call picked up immediately.
People who pick up immediately are either very eager to help or very eager to know what you want.I’d thought about that distinction for most of the drive over.
The man’s name is Danny Kowalski and his dossier was sent to me digitally by Josie.Thirty-eight.Army ranger, two tours in Afghanistan, one in Syria.Joined Jameson Las Vegas six years ago, left after eighteen months for SAPG.Kynan hadn’t elaborated on the circumstances of the departure, just said it was amicable, that Kowalski was good at what he did and had taken an offer to move back to the Pacific Northwest where he’d grown up.
He comes through the entrance precisely at eight p.m.with assured confidence.Medium height, broad through the shoulders and a military haircut.He’s dressed casually in dark jeans and a quarter-zip pullover.He scans the room in the same automatic way I do and finds me in about two seconds.
We recognize each other the way operators do, just a mutual acknowledgment that the other person is speaking the same language.
He crosses the room and extends his hand.“Mercer.”
“Call me Cole.”His grip is firm and brief.“Appreciate you making the time.”
“When Kynan McGrath calls personally,” he says, pulling out the chair across from me and settling into it with a toothy grin, “you make the time.”
The bartender appears and Kowalski orders a bourbon neat.
“How long were you at the Las Vegas office?”I ask, keeping it conversational.
“Eighteen months,” he says, a fond smile playing at his lips.“Good outfit and even better people, as I’m sure you know.I learned a lot there.”He glances around the bar briefly, a reflex rather than a threat assessment.“How long you been with Jameson?”
“Just a few months.”
He nods.“Kynan builds good teams.I always respected that about him.”He says it with the warmth of genuine feeling.“You come up through military?”
“Army,” I say.“Special Forces, 5th Group out of Campbell.”
“Green Berets.Impressive.”
I lift a shoulder, then jerk my chin up and even though I know the answer, I ask as if I don’t.“What about you?”
“Rangers,” he says with the slight lift of someone who’s just found common ground in a foreign country.“Second batt.”
