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Sebastian tapped the end of his pen against his desk, his mind a million miles away. The sun filtered through the lone window gracing his office, speaking of another day done and gone. Heart heavy, he scanned the bleak desert landscape and tried to ignore his longing to go home. Shifting his attention back to the computer, he bit his cheeks and studied the face staring back at him. There was something familiar about the man, something vague that he couldn’t quite place. Tapping his lip, Sebastian brushed the nagging sensation aside and committed every detail to memory.
Whether he knew it or not, Gavin Bradshaw had fucked with the wrong family, and the distinguished silver hair, ice-blue eyes, high cheekbones, and slight cleft marking his chin made his an easy face to remember now that he was a marked man.
The angles on the security footage hadn’t revealed much. Gavin had approached Taylor’s vehicle, briefcase in hand, and disappeared from view. Though his actions remained shielded, it was hard to dispute the facts when he was the only one who’d drawn close to her car. It also raised suspicions Sebastian wasn’t prepared to contend with.
Whoever this man was, he knew what to look for and what to avoid when it came to cameras.
Digging deeper had been of little use. The man was a smokescreen with no past which meant that wasn’t even his real name. With no visible ties to any government agencies, his reasons behind rigging the accident were unclear. Much like that gaunt fuck, Frank Burrel, Gavin was a ghost who’d appeared out of nowhere. One who seemed intent on haunting his ass at every turn.
Frowning, Sebastian wondered what had happened to his previous stalker as he cleared his history and shut the laptop screen. As always, he had too many questions and not enough answers. It was possible the man was retaliating for some operation SKALS had run in the past, but with everything going on, it seemed more likely the accident was a warning, a far from subtle message to avoid proceeding with their future agenda. That was where Marx had him bent over a barrel and twisted sideways.
The man was smart. He stayed behind the scenes. He pulled the puppet strings and called the shots, but Sebastian and his team were the ones who were out there day to day. Marx was the wizard, but they were the projection.
His was the face people saw and, ultimately, the scapegoat they blamed. Last night had proven that much. Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, he snorted. Maybe he should needle the bastard for a raise.
Annoyed, he glanced up when his office door swung open without warning. His glare locked with Marx’s briefly before he turned his attention back to tucking away the last of the files off his desk.
“Can I help you?” he asked flatly.
“As a matter of fact, you can. It’s been a while since I had a home cooked meal. I was hoping you and your fiancée would be generous enough to fix that.”
He gaped at the man. After what they’d been through the night before? Was he serious? Regaining his composure, Sebastian shook his head.
“No. Tonight’s not a good night,” he said, turning his attention back to the stack of paperwork.
“Nonsense. Tonight is a good of a night as any. I need to see how she is holding up under the strain and assure she isn’t going to crack. I’m not taking no for an answer. It’s time I see for myself just how beneficial this living arrangement of yours really is.”
“Marx…” He started to object, only to be cut off by a sharp slice of the commander’s hand.
“Not another word. Get your things together and let’s go.”
He closed his eyes with a miserable snort. That settled it. Any remaining doubts he might have had were gone. God, or any other powers that might be, truly hated him.
Sebastian’s stomach continued its relentless churning as the desert started to give way to the familiar streets of Flagstaff. The worry and fatigue he’d heard in Taylor’s voice continued to plague him. She’d been through enough lately. The pressure and strain of dealing with Marx was the last thing she needed.
His eyes searched the rearview mirror. The commander was hot on his tail, the gleaming silver Jaguar’s bumper mere inches away from his own. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel so hard his knuckles whitened. The bastard better pray he didn’t hit his car. Scrubbing a hand through his curls, he refocused on the road, trying to find a way to buy Taylor more time.
The answer came in the form of a quick mart on the edge of town. He whipped into the parking lot without warning, wincing as the Benz’s tires gave a sharp squeal of protest. A thick cloud of dust obscured the road as the Jaguar lost traction and Marx skidded in sideways behind him. Giving an exasperated roll of his eyes, he threw the car into park and yanked the keys from the ignition.
“What the hell are you doing, Baas?” the SKALS director barked. The canyons on his craggy face deepened in a show of annoyance, and the heavy line of his eyebrows inched even lower.
Sebastian’s cheeks flamed at the excuse that came to mind, but determination kept his pride at bay. “She needs some fucking feminine hygiene products or she’s going to bleed all over my furniture. Do you want to buy them for her?”
Marx’s mouth slammed shut with an audible snap. His broad face contorted into a disgusted grimace, and he shooed Sebastian away from the side of his car with a gruff wave of his hand.
A short while later, he rolled through the gates with Marx right behind him. Biting the inside of his cheeks, Sebastian parked in the drive, exited his car, and slammed the door shut. This was not the evening he had planned. He glanced over as Rupert approached.
“Is there a problem here, sir?” The head of security looked between the two of them and shifted his rifle. Concern lined his scarred visage making the pale lines stand out even brighter against his skin.
Marx’s eyes blazed with unspoken fury as Sebastian let the question hang between them. Lifting his chin, he regarded the SKALS commander, well aware of the cold gleam fueling his own gaze. The corners of his mouth twitched. It would be so easy right now. So damn easy.
“Sir?” the guard asked again.
For a brief moment, he considered it. If Marx hadn’t announced his plans for the evening on the way out, he would have followed through. There were too many witnesses, too many innocent people. Marx had his own guards planted in a car outside the house. Now wasn’t the time, but the man’s crimes were far from forgotten. Taking a slow step back, Sebastian spread his palms and forced a tight smile.
“Not yet, Rupert. My boss decided to join us for dinner this evening. We will see how long that invitation lasts.”
“And just what the hell is that supposed to mean, Agent Baas?”
Ignoring the director’s question, he clapped Rupert on the shoulder on his way past and signaled for Marx to follow with a sharp jerk of his head.
CHAPTER 7 ~
Taylor smoothed her hands over the loose, simple black dress she’d chosen and regarded her complexion one last time. She frowned seeing the ghostly pallor haunting her face. She tried pinching her cheeks to bring back some of the color but to no avail. Her heart hammered frantically in her chest as she hurried back into the kitchen. Sebastian had sounded beyond stressed on the phone, and the sparse contents she had to choose from after not taking anything out to thaw certainly wasn’t helping to calm her nerves. She hoped Marx was a fan of sausage fried with potatoes and onions.
Hearing the whir of the garage door, she turned and wrung her hands, her stomach rolling. Uncertainty paralyzed her. Did she hurry to greet him as usual o
r give him his space in front of his boss? All she had to go by was his past expectations. She edged toward the laundry room, her ears straining. Hearing nothing, she pulled the door open and froze.
Tension lined Sebastian’s forehead as he jerked the belt to his overcoat free and his eyes locked with hers. They weren’t just cold; they were tortured, haunted, and full of something she just couldn’t read. Marx loomed behind him, his massive shoulders all but filling the door leading into the garage.
Reaching out, she took Sebastian’s dress coat and draped it over the hook while he kicked out of his boots. The anger and tension rolling off him was strong enough to be an entity all of its own. Closing her eyes, she sent up a quick prayer that she got through the night without making things worse.
“Dinner will be done in a few minutes, if that is okay,” she said, before daring a peek at his boss. “Hello, Marx, sir. It’s nice to see you again.”
He grunted, one of his thick brows creeping toward his hairline. “Is it?”
Taken aback by the rudeness, her mouth opened and closed as she struggled to come up with an appropriate answer. “I…”
“Make yourself useful and go fix us a drink, Taylor,” Sebastian ordered, cutting her short. “I’ll take some tea.”
“Scotch, neat if you have it.”
Still reeling from the curt instructions, she bit her tongue and headed for the kitchen. Her skin prickled as the men followed behind her. Sebastian reclined a hip against the counter beside her, but it was Marx’s heavy gaze that tracked her every move.
“Dinner smells good.”
She whirled at the soft rasp of her fiancé’s voice. Clinging to the hope the small compliment offered, she smiled. He didn’t return the gesture, but the look in his eyes softened before he lifted the lid to peek inside the skillet.
“I certainly hope there is more to it than whatever that is,” Marx said, drawing her attention. The sudden shift caused the room to pitch and she squinted against the motion as the colossal man rubbed his belly. “I’m starving.”
