Page 90 of Nothing to Fear

Lee rubbed his forehead. Deep circles under his eyes looked heavier and darker than the baggage Sanborn lugged around every day. “One more movie about our dirty laundry and I’m going to rip someone’s throat out and vomit in the cavity. What if Harper decides to talk to foreign press about the Gray Box? Use what she knows to protect herself from us? Can you imagine? Jeeeeee-sus! The president will burn it all to the ground before I’m called to stand in front of a Senate Select Intelligence hearing and he’s impeached.”

Tension knotted in Sanborn’s chest at the rash look of dread on Lee’s face. Frightened men made poor choices. “It won’t come to that. Trust me on this.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not the one calling the shots. You have forty-eight hours to fix this problem.” His old friend sighed, and Sanborn knew in his bones what words would follow. “Otherwise, the president has authorized two whitewash teams to be dispatched. One to find Harper and her accomplice, Gideon Stone. In the event they can’t find her, the other will clean the Gray Box, make it look as if it never existed.”

A shrill gasp flew from Sybil’s wretched mouth.

Sanborn stood, a reflexive fist clenching at his side. The president intended to screw over the Gray Box to cover his own ass, the lives of innocent officers be damned. And Lee wasn’t going to lift a finger to help. Sanborn wasn’t going to take it sitting down like a paper pusher. He might work behind a desk these days, but he would always be first and foremost an operator.

To this day, you’d never catch him unarmed or out of ammo. In a bind, he could shit bullets if necessary.

“The Gray Box is an unprecedented organization. We do what the other agencies can’t. We plug the hole in the shield that safeguards this nation.”

Not that he had to sell Lee on the merits of the Gray Box. His old friend had recruited Sanborn. More like coerced. The choice had been simple: stand up the Gray Box and run it for at least five years—to the detriment of his marriage—and in return, Sanborn’s CIA team, who had gotten themselves into trouble overseas, would be spared. His history with Lee was long and sticky. Ironic that Lee had been the catalyst to bring the Gray Box into existence and would be the one to oversee its demise.

If it came to that.

“Killing the Gray Box would be a major blow to national security in the long run,” Sanborn said. “I need sufficient time to send a team to France.” Not that he’d waste resources or precious time following a dirty lead meant to divert them from the truth. “Give me seventy-two hours and—”

“Not like you to make excuses.” Lee drained his glass of whiskey. “Hope it’s not an indication that the one man I know with a spine of steel and brass balls is feeling that four-letter word.”

Fear. To Sanborn, those four letters meant Face everything and (motherfucking) rise. “You know me better.”

The DNI poured himself another round. “Good. You have forty-eight hours.”

The videoconference screen went dark.

“Shit!” Sybil slammed her palms on the table, springing to her feet. “You’re going to get us killed.”

Well, he sure as hell wasn’t going to end up in a body bag. This wouldn’t be the first whitewash Sanborn had survived, but he’d staked everything he was on the Gray Box. He’d be damned if he abandoned them.

“I’ll handle this.”

His every move was being watched and he couldn’t play his hand too soon. He needed to wait until the last possible minute, then time for a Hail Mary. Gideon wouldn’t like it if he’d gone to such lengths to protect Willow, but his star quarterback, turned into the finest assassin still breathing, better follow the damn play.

“Well, la-di-fucking-da. I guess I’m supposed to feel better. But I don’t!” She stalked around the room, heels stabbing the carpet.

“Oh, come on. You have to have a heart to feel.”

Sybil froze, glaring at him with feigned offense.

It took everything in him not to roll his eyes. “Your conniving”—he pointed an indignant finger her way—“placed our necks in this guillotine, getting the DNI fired up to run to the president after I already had him managed.”

“How was I supposed to know you were besties with the DNI?”

And therein lay the problem. The vanity. The hubris. For her to think she would ever know more than him, much less know everything.

“You’ll shut your mouth and stay out of my lane.” Sanborn crossed the room, drawing so close to her, the fury in his eyes made her cower. “Don’t do anything else to jeopardize this mission. For your sake, I hope this is sinking in. If you don’t do exactly as I’ve said, so help me, Sybil, you won’t have to worry about a whitewash. Because I’ll bury you myself.”

36

Grand Cayman Island

Monday, July 8, 1:45 a.m. EST/2:45 a.m. EDT

The waves crashed on the shoreline in a soothing rhythm, the relaxing sound rolling in through the two open windows. Gideon spooned Willow with his face pressed to her hair, inhaling the heady scent mixed with light florals from the shampoo. They’d cleaned up together in the shower, and she’d let him wash her from her scalp to the soles of her feet.

Hands down, it had been the most intimate thing—without having sex—he’d ever done with a woman. And the sex last night had been different. Still off the charts, but more intense. Although he’d described it as fucking, they’d gone from screwing to something deeper, as if every touch and kiss was an investment of his heart and soul. He’d made love.