Adam Read online

  “Do you want me to wait for you, Miss Reagan?”

  Raul’s question jolted Shannon from her depressing reverie. He’d already pulled up to the curb and parked.

  “Yes, please,” she answered, glancing up at the five-story plate-glass windows of her destination. “I shouldn’t be long. Will that be okay? If you have something else to do, I can always call when I’m done.”

  His kind smile lit the rearview mirror again. “You know better than that. You’re my number-one priority every single day of the week.”

  “Thanks.”

  He ran around the limo to open her door. “No need to call. I’ll be waiting for you.”

  She gathered her courage along with the papers, drew in a deep breath, and accepted Raul’s hand up from the limo. “You’re too good to me.”

  “Oh, wait a minute.” He reached to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, a smile of approval on his olive-toned face. Dark brown eyes sparkled with encouragement. His pencil-thin moustache lifted with approval. “There you go. Picture perfect, as always. Knock ’em dead.”

  “I wish.” She rolled her eyes at that very gracious statement. Raul always had more confidence in her abilities than she did. “This won’t take long.”

  Shannon hurried through the heavy-looking glass doors that surprisingly opened automatically at her approach. The empty lobby accommodated an elevator and a brightly-colored mosaic tile of the American flag opposite the entry. The words ‘Never Forget’ were emblazoned in gold beneath the flag. It was so artistically done that it took her breath, hardly what she’d expected from an ordinary defense contractor.

  Beautiful. I like it.

  Taking that as a positive omen, she pressed the only elevator button and prepared to walk into yet another lion’s den. The elevator opened at floor two onto a red carpet that directed her toward the middle of a large room filled with cubicle-type offices. A quiet but steady hum of people at work met her ears. A pretty blonde woman with soft green eyes looked up from behind the customer service counter at the end of the red carpet. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m here to speak with Junior Agent Torrey,” Shannon replied in her most professional tone. No need to let this woman know she was scared out of her mind and way out of her comfort zone. She’d figure it out soon enough.

  “You must be Shannon Paxton.” The blonde must not have known what this meeting was about, or she wouldn’t be so exuberant. “Hi! I’ve been expecting you.”

  “Shannon Reagan,” she corrected, holding up her left hand with its naked ring finger. “Just Shannon.”

  “Okay, good enough. I’m Ember Dennison, one of Mr. Stewart’s admin assistants. I think Adam’s in the Sit Room. Follow me.” She came around the corner of her desk, and Shannon had to look twice. This secretary could’ve passed for Marilyn Monroe’s twin sister in that flowing white halter-top dress that accentuated her full figure. An elegant pair of tattooed angel wings graced her bare shoulder blades, but honestly. All Ember needed to step over an air vent, let the updraft toss that pretty dress, and she’d be on her way to fame and fortune instead of what Shannon hoped would be a boring meeting.

  A few guys glanced up from their desks. One particularly handsome, dark-haired guy winked at Ember. She fluttered her fingers back at him, but kept walking. No one seemed impressed or star struck. Only Shannon.

  “So, how bad is it?” Ember asked in a hushed whisper.

  “I’m sorry?” Shannon had no idea what she meant.

  “I mean how mad is your old man? On a scale of one to ten, is he like a fifty? Maybe a hundred?”

  Shannon smiled. Ember was a breath of fresh air in the dog-eat-dog corporate world. “I think he’s simmering somewhere around a solid ten... thousand.”

  “Wow. Not good, huh? My boss is boiling too, probably not for the same reasons.” She reached for the polished steel handle of the door labeled Sit Room, glancing at Shannon’s feet. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? Maybe you’d rather go shopping instead. I know a place. It’s kind of eclectic and a little bit crazy, but you could use some fun shoes, girlfriend.”

  When Shannon looked down at her very practical, low-heeled shoes, she caught sight of Ember’s. Another surprise. White high-top Keds with bright pink laces graced her elegant summer ensemble. “I want a pair just like yours,” she teased.

  Ember’s face lit up. “You’d look so cool in these puppies. They’re way comfortable, too. We ought to do that one of these days. It’d be fun.”

  Maybe this day wouldn’t end so badly after all. “I’ve got time after this meeting. Do you?”

  “You betcha.” Ember high-fived Shannon and swung the door open. “Alex Stewart. This very pretty lady is Miss Shannon Reagan, not Mrs. Paxton like we thought, because she’s not married to that dirt-bag anymore, and...” Ember made a small flourish toward the table, “she’s here to represent her father today concerning the missing Hummer.”

  A gentleman in a gray business suit, black shirt, and silver tie jumped to his feet, followed quickly by the other four men in the room. They’d very nearly snapped to attention as if she were someone important, perhaps her father.

  Anxiety spiked quicker than a lightning bolt up her spine. This room full of men looked like a delegation waiting on her. Or an ambush. That easygoing, yeah-I-could-shop feeling fled. I’m going to die in here.

  Mr. Stewart stepped forward, his hand extended. The appraising look in his icy blue eyes flashed up and down her profile in a quick second’s time. She tried to swallow again, but failed miserably. He radiated authority. This was his ballgame. She was so out of her league. “Miss Reagan. I’m Alex. It’s very nice to meet you. These are my Senior Agents Mark Houston, Harley Mortimer, and David Tao. They’ll be joining us today.”

  “Certainly,” she answered, trying hard to return his handshake with firmness “It’s good to meet you, too. I’ve heard so much about you. Gentlemen.”

  Mr. Houston, Mr. Mortimer, and Mr. Tao came around the table to offer their hands in turn. She couldn’t help but notice they were hunks, all trim, athletic, and dressed in business-casual: denim jeans and black polo shirts.

  Mr. Houston smiled warmly. He was big in that muscular, I-can-take-care-of-the-world way, that made Lois Lane fall for Superman. Mr. Tao seemed more subdued, but he wasn’t openly hostile, which she’d expected after her father’s less than stellar opinion of The TEAM. When the first drone went missing, he’d made Alex’s company out to be an illiterate group of mercenaries who operated out of a warehouse on the bad side of town. This place and the people she’d met so far were anything but.

  Mr. Mortimer put her more at ease when he winked. He had a definite drawl to his, “Nice to meetcha, darlin’. We don’t stand on formalities ’round here. I’m Harley. Mind if I call you Shannon?”

  A small sigh escaped her lips. “That would be nice.” She was nearly back to calm and rational when Alex nodded to the final man at the table, also standing in perfunctory politeness, his hands clasped behind his back like he was ready for a military inspection.

  “And this is Junior Agent Adam Torrey.”

  Oh… shit…

  Chapter Three

  All five senses sprang to life. Maybe six.

  Shannon had to look upward to meet his smoldering gaze, his closeness a tantalizing threat. Her heart skidded to a screeching stop. It was suddenly difficult to swallow. Or breathe. Her shaky façade of confidence tumbled to the floor at his feet.

  This was him? The miscreant? The troll? No way. Agent Torrey couldn’t be the man who’d lost the HH drone. He wouldn’t do that. Hercules might have. Adonis. Perseus. Possibly Jane Eyre’s Mr. Rochester. But Adam Torrey? She couldn’t imagine such a thing.

  Tall with sandy-brown hair combed in a closely trimmed cut she wanted to run her fingers through, he stood resolute at his chair, absolutely the handsomest male specimen in the room. Maybe the universe. All the runner-ups she’d just met couldn’t compare. She heard them out there so
mewhere, she just couldn’t see them any longer. They’d ceased to exist. She was caught in a vacuum, just her and—him.

  Of their own traitorous volition, her nostrils flared to inhale more of whatever men’s cologne or aftershave Agent Torrey had splashed on that rugged, muscular chin and neck. She caught herself from leaning toward him for another—closer—sniff. No angry man should smell that tempting or look so good.

  Broad-shouldered and more than six-feet tall, he made two of her. Easy. Muscled forearms bunched below the short sleeves of his black polo, itself pulled tightly over his pecs.

  The sheer mass of this man brought a fiery heat to her breasts, making it difficult to draw in a deep breath. Or think. There was no way she’d be able to function sitting next to him. Uh-uh. She just met this guy, and he’d already melted her butter. The second he opened his mouth, the moment he parted those masculine lips and spoke, she’d be lucky if she remembered her name.

  Boyish freckles sprinkled his tanned cheeks, but that’s where the adolescent charm ended. The half-smile on his face didn’t match the steely blues that stabbed her with nothing but distrust. Another emotion shifted across his face. Scorn?

  “Ma’am,” he said politely, taking her extended hand in a quick, albeit limp shake, as if he didn’t want to hold it any longer than he had to. Those steely blues offered no hint of friendship or reprieve. Their message was crystal clear. Back the hell off. You’re the enemy. That’s all.

  “Nice to meet you,” she croaked, her tongue too dry to come up with something clever like, ‘lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?’ When he didn’t respond in kind, she retrieved her hand, clenching it to her side to stop her fingers from trembling.

  “Do you need me to stay?” Ember asked at the doorway, giving Shannon a much-needed opportunity to break eye contact with Mr. Stewart’s stoic junior agent. She almost answered, yes! Just in time, she remembered that question wasn’t meant for her. She blew out several shallow breaths to stave off an attack of hyperventilation.

  “By the way, it’s the Hummingbird Hawk drone, Ember,” Mr. Mortimer spoke up, an amused glint in his hazel eyes. “It’s an unmanned aerial vehicle. A UAV. Not a Hummer. That’s a road trip waiting to happen.”

  “I know. I just thought I’d see if you guys were paying attention. You all look so serious. Call if you need me.”

  “Thanks, Ember,” Mr. Stewart said, and Shannon was left alone, the only cheerleader in the middle of a very intense football huddle. With her limited knowledge of the sport, it felt as if she were facing two halfbacks, a couple of quarterbacks, and a very intense point guard who might want to stomp over her with his cleats.

  “Please.” Mr. Stewart offered her the leather captain’s chair at the end of the table, putting her between him and Junior Agent Torrey. “Shall we get down to business?”

  Stoically, she took the seat and smoothed her fingers through her hair, fighting to regain a shred of her emotional footing. Just as fast, Agent Torrey folded his athletic self to the chair at her side and her silly heart leapt up her trachea.

  Alex opened the meeting. “First, I’d like to hear your concerns, Miss Reagan. Excuse me, I mean Shannon.”

  She didn’t have much in the way of concerns, other than ‘What on earth happened out there in South Dakota?’ But she’d have to face the man at her right for that question. She took extra time removing the file folder from her leather attaché case, hoping to be able to breathe again. Laying the unclassified file squarely in front of her, her fingers trembled, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Her knees knocked until she had to cross her ankles. She would’ve crossed them twice if it would have helped.

  At last, she raised her head and faced the guilty junior agent. Hostility and outright defensiveness flowed from him. No kidding. I’d be defensive if I’d lost a multi-million-dollar prototype. Focus on that. He lost it. This mess is his fault. He should be nervous. Not me.

  Her internal pep talk helped. “Thank you, Mr. Stewart. First of all, I’d like very much to hear your version of what happened, Junior Agent Tor—”

  “Adam,” he cut her off, his fingertips a sharp snap on the table. Raw male energy blew past her feminine façade, a gale force to her summer breeze. “Just Adam.”

  Oh. My. God. Deep baritone aggravation, along with a sultry hint of southern honey had just poured past her eardrums and into the cracks of her feminine soul. She licked her dry lips. Say it again. Say anything. Maybe my name...

  But the lapse in protocol also rattled her. She should’ve known better. Mr. Stewart hadn’t used formal titles. Swallowing hard, she started again, only meeting Junior Agent Tor... ah, Adam’s stare proved more difficult. Dark blue icicles stabbed at her, not a hint of first-name friendliness in sight. Compound that with angry brows knitted together with three definite V stitches, and she was in over her head and sinking fast.

  Her inner diva piped up. Be Ulysses. Be George Washington. Hell, be Aretha Franklin! Just be someone strong for a change. He’s not your father. Stand up to him.

  “So, Adam,” she said as confidently as possible, her gaze on the safety of her fingernails. “Please explain precisely what happened in South Dakota that led to the loss of the prototype.”

  “It’s in the final report,” he said icily. “Don’t you read?”

  Please don’t get mad at everything I say. I’m just asking.

  “Yes, I do read and I realize it’s in the report.” Gathering her nerve, she faced him again and softened her tone even more, not understanding how he could perceive anything she’d said as confrontational. “But a written report is one-dimensional. There’s a human side to this story, and I need to hear it. Please. Indulge me.”

  He glared across the table at Mr. Stewart, umm, Alex. “Boss, how many times do I—”

  Alex nodded curtly toward Shannon. “Tell her.”

  Expelling an impatient snort through his nostrils, Adam stared at the wall behind his boss and explained with measured, monotone control how he’d boarded the C-130 out of Joint Base Andrews in Maryland, flew to the requested altitude and coordinates over South Dakota, and HALO-jumped into the wide open prairie for no seemingly good reason other than her father had demanded it.

  Distracted by the fascinating way Agent Torrey’s brows arched, she almost lost the thread of conversation. Darn. He had gloriously beautiful eyes, glinting with tiny flecks of turquoise thunder. Maybe cobalt lightning. Fringed in decadently thick lashes, his terse gaze reflected the magnificent tumult of the deepest ocean depths. Wow. A girl could get lost in there. She’d become the wreck of the Shannon and sinking fast.

  “Wait, umm,” she stuttered, her face suddenly too warm for comfort. Gorgeous eyes or not, he’d just said something she didn’t understand. “What’s a HALO?”

  His nostrils flared. “High Altitude Low Opening, ma’am,” he replied with a hint of sarcasm. “It’s a risk-filled parachute jump normally reserved for more dangerous operations than South Dakota.”

  “Like?”

  “Like going in behind enemy lines,” he snapped. “Which is exactly what I was doing, wasn’t it? Only that little detail was left out of the contract my boss signed. I was sent to South Dakota thinking this operation was a piece of cake when all along, Reagan Industries had set me up, didn’t you?”

  Her internal filter failed the second he made it personal with that ‘didn’t you.’ “Maybe you shouldn’t have assumed it was a piece of cake.”

  She wanted to slap her mouth, but honestly, she couldn’t think straight sitting so close to him. Adam Torrey wasn’t just a man. He was a chunk of granite. An unbelievably sexy rock, and brimmed with so much male power that it leached out of him and into her.

  He spelled trouble with a capital D. A. N. G. E. R. He was not so much forceful, though he had been that in his anger, but more, a force to be reckoned with. He was that point of reference on a map that said, “You’d damned well better start here if you know what’s good for you.”

  Shannon se
nsed that he didn’t so much work for Alex as with him. That theirs was an employer/employee relationship built on mutual respect and trust. Better yet, that neither could be swayed by influence, power or gain. That one would willingly die for the other.

  Anger breathed from Adam’s flared nostrils across the table to her sweaty palms, and damn, she’d spoken before she’d thought. This man had every right to question his mission, before, during, and after. Unintentionally, she’d put him in his place, the last thing she meant to do. He’d only voiced his opinion, which made perfect sense. But she’d slammed the door in his face as soon as he’d opened up. The shades were down, and his true feelings shuttered. She’d won the battle, but lost the war.

  The blank stare commenced again. Adam straightened, rolled his neck once to his shoulder, and reacquired his civil but indifferent expression. “As I stated in the final report, which you have a complete copy of, I landed at precisely oh-two-forty-five on August thirtieth, per the specific directive of the Reagan Industries contract. I retrieved the HH drone, verified the serial number, and walked back to my rucksack to attach the airlift harness. Before I signaled the pick-up drone to assist, an armed assailant fired at me from a motorized paraglide. In order to return fire, I set the drone on the ground inside the LZ. I charged the individual firing at me—”

  “Wait. Armed assailant? Someone shot at you?” Not once had her father mentioned that very important detail. “Were you hurt?”

  Adam drew in a breath and released it slowly. He continued, his voice tight and his gaze distant. “I attempted to overtake the individual who fired at me. A male. Yes, shots were exchanged. At the same time, a woman in another motorized paraglide was able to secure the drone.”

  “Because you left it on the ground,” she clarified.

  “No.” His clenched fist hit the table. “Because the contract specifically demanded one agent for this son-of-a-bitchin’ mission. Because one person couldn’t possibly defend himself against multiple attackers with automatic rifles. It should’ve been a simple pick-up, just like your father insisted it would be. It wasn’t. But you already know that, don’t you?”