Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“Some.”
It’s not a lie. It’s just not the whole truth.
“Coffee’s fresh,” he says, throwing a nod to the pot on the back counter and an empty mug there waiting for me.
The smell hits me then—dark roast, strong, real. Normalcy in the middle of a situation that is anything but and I hasten to pour myself a cup.
“Did you just move here?” I ask once I have my coffee in hand, leaning against the counter. “This place looks really new.”
“Yeah… few months ago when I came on board.” He looks back to his laptop.
I glance at him for clarification. “So, you work in this building too?”
His eyes dart to me, then back to his computer. “Housing’s one of the perks for the agents, if we want it. I’ll show you the rest of the place in a bit.”
“And what exactly do you do here?” I ask. And since he called me out on it last night, I go all in. “When I looked up Jameson Force Security, I wasn’t given much.”
“It’s more of a personal referral kind of business,” he says as he closes the laptop and pushes it back several inches.
“You know that answer won’t work with an investigative journalist,” I chide.
His mouth curves into an amused smile and I’d forgotten how much it ratchets up the man’s hot factor.
Cole sips his coffee. “We handle problems people can’t take to the police. High-risk security, extraction, corporate espionage, counterintelligence. Kidnapping recoveries. Protective details when the threat level’s more than a bodyguard and a suit can manage.”
My brows lift slightly. “That’s… broad.”
“It’s supposed to be,” he replies evenly. “We’ve got analysts who track digital footprints across borders, tactical teams that can move someone out of a hostile environment in under an hour, former federal agents, former military. If someone’s being hunted, extorted, framed, or targeted and the usual channels are compromised, we step in.” He shrugs one shoulder like it’s no big deal. “Think of it as private-sector insurance for when it goes sideways.”
“And you?” I press, because Cole is a man of many dangerous talents. “What’s your role in all that?”
His gaze sharpens a fraction. “Just a field agent who does a little bit of everything, but I specialize in fire behavior and terrain analysis. And if someone needs moving out of a bad situation?” He sets the mug down with a quiet thud. “I’m one of the guys who makes that happen.”
There’s no bravado in his tone. Just fact.
“And this building?” I ask, glancing around the sleek apartment, the controlled quiet of the space. “It’s both work and living. Interesting combo.”
“Front looks like a boutique risk-management firm,” he says. “Inside, it’s executive offices, training facilities, secured apartments for agents, operations hub in the basement that doesn’t officially exist.” A fond smile drifts over his face. “It’s really an incredible place the owner, Kynan McGrath, has created.”
“A fortress,” I murmur. “You guys don’t do subtle.”
“Subtle’s overrated.” His eyes meet mine again, steady and unreadable. “This would be the perfect place to keep you safe until this is all sorted out.”
I shake my head. “But you understand I’m staying—”
“Speaking of the team,” he interrupts, holding up his arm to glance at his watch. “We got to get going. Malik’s waiting for us.”
“Malik? Who’s Malik?” I ask, but Cole ignores me.
He grabs his laptop and opens the door to his apartment, tossing his head for me to precede him out the door.
“But I need a shower,” I protest.
“No time,” Cole says, jerking his head again. “Malik said eight a.m., so we need to be down there at eight a.m.”
No clue who the hell Malik is, but I take my first and only sip of coffee, risking a small glare from Cole that I’m not hustling. I set the mug down and look around for my briefcase. He had put all the documents as well as the flash drive in it last night and left it on his kitchen table.
“Where’s my briefcase? We’ll probably need that stuff.”
“I already got it in the right hands.” Cole makes a sweeping motion for me to get out the door. “Josie will have a handle on it by the time we get down there.”
“Who’s Josie?” I ask in irritation as I push past him into the hall.
“I’ll introduce you when we get there.”
We don’t take an elevator but rather a beautiful floating staircase of reclaimed timber that descends to the lobby, which is done in warm-toned wood planks, exposed steel ductwork and matte-black beams.
The far wall features oversized arched windows that look out onto South Main Street with Occidental Square across the way, the frames painted in a muted sage green.
To the left sits a long communal worktable in pale wood beneath a spiked orb chandelier, surrounded by mid-century leather chairs and industrial metal accents. Task lamps dot the surface.