Page 4 of Nothing to Fear

The guys thought Gideon was an expert pickup artist based on his appearance. In truth, he was a magnet for flirtatious bombshells and let them pick him up instead. He was good at asking questions, not at having bullshit conversations.

“I’m capable of getting close and finding answers without…complications,” Gideon said.

“Capable, maybe, but not without complications. I’ll take her instead of handling Doc.”

“Our leak divulged classified mission details, compromised you and nearly cost your life.” Ares stabbed the air at Maddox. “Harper’s at the top of the list of suspects, and we’re worried about her feelings? Lives are on the line, national security is at risk, and the clock’s ticking. We find the mole, no matter the cost.”

An uncomfortable silence settled around the room.

“Gideon takes Harper,” Ares said. “You’ll keep Doc.”

Maddox raised both palms. “Fine.” She slid her hand in her pocket and dumped a pile of memory sticks in a clatter on the glass table.

Flash drives loaded with a cloning program. The small device plugged into the USB port of a personal computer and would copy the hard drive. Those were courtesy of Maddox’s fiancé, who worked at a private security company that specialized in corporate intelligence gathering.

“Anything I should know about her?” Gideon asked Ares as he swiped a flash drive.

Everyone would assume anything not in the surveillance report that Gideon should’ve read by now, but snooping on Willow’s personal life was a temptation he’d resisted.

“She wrote in a notebook two nights ago. Keeps it in her bedside table. I haven’t had a chance to break in and look at it with that old bulldog on patrol. And she has insomnia.”

Something they had in common.

“You don’t need me for the rest.” Gideon threw on his jacket, covering his holstered Maxim 9, and shoved through the door before bickering kicked up over the remaining targets.

The sooner he proved Willow’s innocence, whittling down the list of suspects, the better.

Muted blue partitions, beige walls, and pale-gray carpet gave the interior offices a serene atmosphere. News chatter flowed from nine large-screen TVs lining the main wall of Intel. Gideon glimpsed a report on a tropical depression over the Bahamas as he skirted the periphery of the open layout, bypassing small talk with the others. Only Willow was on his radar.

He spotted her nestled in a remote corner, facing the wall. She was typing on her dual-monitor workstation, automatic-fire keystrokes. A sleek, chocolate-brown bun with never a hair out of place showcased her slender neck and sophisticated string of pearls. But the vulnerability of her position—her six exposed and earbuds in—grated on his operational wiring.

Worst of all, the angle at which she sat deprived him of seeing her face as he approached.

Whenever he set eyes on her, he smiled, even if he didn’t show it on the outside.

He hesitated behind her, within arm’s reach. Her long, unpainted fingernails clicked keys in a blur. Lines of source code materialized. Interrupting her would be like disturbing Picasso.

In the screen’s reflection, her gaze darted up to his. She swiveled, giving him her profile, and yanked out an earbud. A lithe leg extended from her pencil skirt.

She wasn’t a classic knockout, but her haunting beauty knocked him on his heels.

“Yes?” Her surprised look read pure professional. “Did you need something?”

Now to turn on the charm. Too bad he didn’t have any. “Hey, I was wondering, would you maybe like to get a drink with me after work?”

“No, thank you.”

Ouch. He blinked like a dumbstruck idiot. Willow had little reason to be interested in him. She was demure, brainy, better than he deserved, and most of all, she knew what he really was, but he hadn’t expected such a rapid shootdown.

He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets, regrouping. “I was impressed with your work on the last op, hacking the cell phone. You helped us find Maddox. Means a lot. Can I buy you dinner as thanks? Or a cup of coffee? I know a cozy café. Good music. Great espressos.”

She stared at him with those enigmatic hazel eyes, the barest flush to her porcelain skin, looking sweet enough to eat. “No need to thank me. I was doing my job. That’s why I get paid.”

Damn, she intrigued him. The sensation was unfamiliar. But at this rate, he’d have better luck playing Russian roulette than finessing his way past her defenses.

03

Gray Box Headquarters, Northern Virginia