Page 37 of Every Last Breath

That was about as clear as if she’d spoken in Tagalog. “What do you do here?”

“I take care of problems.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “What exactly is this?” He pitched a thumb at the building.

“Let’s go inside. I called my boss in the car to tell him I was bringing you in. Sign the NDAs, then we’ll talk. Okay?”

Not his first rodeo with a nondisclosure agreement, but this was not okay. “Who in the hell are you, Maddox? What’ve you become?”

Squaring her shoulders, she gave him the iciest look he’d ever seen from her. “I could ask you the same.”

Touché. If that’s how she wanted it, he could play this game. “All right, Miss Secret Agent, lead the way.” He dropped his hand from her arm.

“In the CIA, MI6, this”—she gestured to the building again as they headed toward it—“we’re officers. It’s a common mistake. Agents are foreign assets for us. Unless we’re talking about the FBI or DEA.”

“I’m glad we cleared that up,” he quipped, following her to the front door.

Inside, Maddox swiped her badge along an automatic turnstile, opening the retractable barrier flaps while a metal detector screeched as Cole passed under the rectangular arch.

“His helmet must’ve set off the alarm,” Maddox said to two more plainclothes guards. “He’s clean.”

“Then your guest is cleared, Kinkade,” said one of the guards.

“Thanks.” She waved as they headed for an elevator.

Security sat behind an elegant, curved white marble desk veined with gold and grayish blue. The floors and walls were dark concrete polished to mirror perfection. Pretty sweet.

Crossing the lobby, her gaze floated upward. He followed her look to a balcony filled with rows of shelving units. As he scanned the second floor, the base of his skull tingled, his shoulders drawing tight.

At a biometric reader mounted on the wall, she lined her eye up with the ocular identifier. After an iris scan, the elevator doors opened.

This level of security was the kind he encountered at billion-dollar companies safeguarding proprietary rights against corporate espionage.

“A crazy budget paid for this. You guys must be rolling in government dough.”

“The spare-no-expense budget that created this agency and facility came as a response to the Patriot and Bioterrorism Preparedness Acts after 9/11. Over the last few years, funding has dried up. We still have enough to stay operational and pay for our topside security contractors.” She nodded to the plainclothes guards. “They don’t have access to the facility below.”

“Below?” He followed her into the elevator.

She hit the button for the sixth floor, and the doors closed. Green lasers scanned them—for listening devices and unauthorized signal waves, at his best guess—and then the elevator lowered in a mad-money-smooth motion.

Into a sub-facility. Underground.

Now, he was really impressed. Restricting access for topside security was also the type of smart recommendation he’d make to someone dealing with sensitive information.

“Working here, I’m surprised you don’t live in a fortress,” he said.

“Or perhaps a gilded tower fit for a princess?”

“Nope. You killed my fairy-tale illusions of you a long time ago.” Her gaze cut to the doors, and he decided to finish his point. “Only took me twenty seconds to break in.”

“When did B&E become your hobby?”

“Since I started working as a consultant for Rubicon Security.”

She eyed him hard. “You used illegal off-market tech to get into my place, didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “Are you going to dime me out? I know it’s not beneath you.”