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“Hasn’t had a chance,” Chad repeated. “What the fuck does that even mean? We know she has it. Her little trip to the fucking bus station proved that Whitman sent it to her. And don’t you even try to tell me that maybe it was just a letter to her in that envelope because I am in no fucking mood for games, Hoyt.”
Hoyt scowled at him. “Obviously, it’s the formula.”
“Kirkman should have taken it from her in the bus station,” Chad said. “Before she even had a chance to look at the flash drive. We can only fucking hope that she’s as dumb as we believe she is. If she figures out what the formula is for…”
He grimaced as his head ached and throbbed. “Fucking Kirkman. He’s useless. Your best man, my ass.”
Hoyt stiffened. “Kirkman is my best, and considering that the daughter has twenty-four/seven security from a firm of shifters, it’s not all that surprising that he hasn’t gotten the formula. He’s lucky that lion shifter didn’t kill him.”
“This is what I get for sending a human,” Chad muttered as he scanned his laptop screen. The words were blurry, and he rubbed at his gritty eyes as Hoyt grunted in annoyance.
“If you actually thought a shifter would be better than Kirkman, you would have already pulled him and sent someone else to retrieve the drive. But you know it won’t make a difference. You read the file I gave you on this Shadow Security firm. All of the employees are shifters, and most of them are former military. Fuck, four of them were in special ops. This isn’t just a typical security firm watching her back, Chad, and you fucking know it.”
Chad muttered a curse and sat back in his chair. Hoyt leaned forward. “We need to send in a team. She’s staying at an employee’s house, Wesley Masters, the lion shifter that nearly killed Kirkman. The team hits them middle of the night. They kill Masters, get the drive from Whitman’s kid, and then clean her too. We make it look like a simple home invasion.”
Chad shook his head. “Bradmore and the others won’t approve sending in a team. They think it increases the chance of exposure.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Hoyt said. “If we don’t get that drive back from the daughter, this whole program could be blown wide open. Do they not fucking get that?”
“I’m sending in Rourke,” Chad said. “He leaves today.”
“That’s a bad fucking idea, Chad,” Hoyt said. “You want them cleaned without a mess. Rourke’s gonna leave a mess.”
“He’ll be fine,” Chad said.
“Fine? You saw what he did to those people. They weren’t even part of the mission. Hell, they weren’t even fucking shifters. He tore them apart without a single hesitation or any remorse afterward. Whitman rabbited because of what Rourke and the others did. You can’t trust him to take back the formula and clean Whitman’s daughter without leaving a trail of fucking carnage behind him.”
“We tweaked the formula, remember? The aggression is lowered, and the impulse control is better. ”
“Whitman said it didn’t work,” Hoyt said.
Chad sucked in a deep breath. “Hey, Hoyt? Do me a favour? Stay in your fucking lane. Your job as security head was to keep the formula here in the facility. You failed. You’re lucky your head isn’t on a fucking pole right now.”
Hoyt’s face reddened, and his big hands clenched into fists. He stood and headed for the door. “Fine. But don’t you fucking look to me for help when Rourke gets himself splashed all over the six o’clock news.”
He stalked out of Chad’s office, slamming the door shut so hard, the frame cracked. Chad rubbed at his throbbing head, wished he had a regular job like a fucking accountant, and then picked up the phone.
“Yeah, it’s me. We’re sending Rourke in. Get him ready. I’ll be downstairs to speak to him in an hour.”
* * *
Saturday morning, Wes found Eleanor in the kitchen, flipping pancakes with her hair still wet from the shower and wearing a cotton pajama set with tiny pink turtles printed on the shirt and pants.
He grinned at how adorable she was. He’d woken alone in the bed but heard Eleanor in the kitchen before panic could set in. He’d brushed his teeth and showered, then pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
He slid his arm around Eleanor’s waist and nuzzled her neck before marking it. He loved that his scent covered her, and his lion was positively giddy about it. She relaxed against him, smiling when he kissed the tip of her nose. “Happy Birthday, Wes. I hope you like pancakes.”
“I love pancakes. Thank you.” He pressed a kiss against her mouth. “I like your pajamas.”
She laughed. “Honestly, if I’d known that we’d hook up, I would have brought sexier ones.”
He marked her neck again before cupping her breast through her shirt. “I think these are sexy.”
Her low moan as he teased her nipple with his thumb made him purr happily. But she took his wrist when he started to slip his other hand inside her pajama bottoms.
“What’s wrong, Butterfly?” he said.
She smiled at him. “The pancakes will burn if I let you distract me.”
