Page 9

Two weeks ago, when one of the kids in the neighborhood rang her doorbell for a school fundraiser. Delivery drivers usually left any packages for her by the garage entrance rather than climb the hill of steps.
Itwaspossible. She had a lot going on right now.
Twenty minutes later, her doorbell rang.
She peered out the peephole, her shoulders caving on a sigh before she swung open the door with a wry smile for the tall, dark-haired man on the other side.
Lucas stood on her doorstep, dressed in a navy-blue suit, white shirt, and navy and green-striped tie despite it being the weekend. He reminded her of the lead character from the TV showMad Menand was what she’d consider a catch for a man in his early fifties.
His piercing blue gaze warmed as it met hers. “Are you okay?” He stepped inside.
“I’m sorry, it’s probably nothing.” Her face flamed as she kissed him on the cheek.
“Given what you’re working on, I’m not convinced. Tell me what happened.”
“The front door blew open.” She followed him around her home as he inspected every corner. “The last time I remember opening it was two weeks ago, but maybe there was a package out there I picked up and forgot about. I don’t know. I forgot to set my alarm when I went out earlier. At least I think I forgot. There’ve been burglaries in the neighborhood recently.” She pulled in a deep breath to halt her rambling. “I think I’m just rattled because of the black SUV—“
Lucas turned so fast she took a half step back. “What black SUV?”
She shivered at the dangerous undercurrent in his voice. “The one I thought followed me from the cemetery. I pulled into a gas station, though, and it kept going.” Her shoulders were tight as they lifted and fell in her attempt to appear unconcerned. “It didn’t follow me home.”
“Was it the first time?” Lucas asked.
“First time?”
“That you’ve been followed.”
“Yes. No.” She sighed. “I don’t think so.” Voicing her fears out loud should have made her feel better, but it didn’t. It had the opposite effect.
“From what you’ve been able to tell me, you’ve developed a piece of software that will vault the Next Generation fighter ahead of anything else flying today.” Lucas crouched to study the deadbolt on her front door. “I think it’s safe to assume our foreign adversaries or even a competitor for the NGAD project would want to get their hands on it. You need protection.”
“I don’t know…” She wasn’t naïve to the threat of industrial espionage. It was one reason she removed a piece of the code from her design each day. Kept it in her head. If anyone stole her technology, they’d be missing a key component.
The security training mandated by the Department of Defense focused mostly on cybersecurity awareness and proper procedures for handling classified information. Even the FBI case studies Lucas sent her all involved cybersecurity or personnel breaches. Corporate spies weren’t known to physically harm the creators of the technology they were after.
But following her and breaking into her home?
Floorboards creaked overhead, and she jumped, her heart racing.
Lucas straightened and shot her a look over the blade of his nose, letting her know her reaction hadn’t gone unnoticed. “I do. Let me make a phone call. I have friends who run a security agency. At least let them do a threat assessment and give you recommendations.” The stubborn set of his jaw told her he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Fine.” There was no point in arguing with him when he made that face. “I’ll meet with them. What’s the name of the company?”
“Dìleas Security Agency. I’ll call Lachlan right now.” Lucas wrapped an arm around Nathalie and kissed the top of her head. “Are you in for the night?”
“Yes.” She wasn’t in the mood to go anywhere, even if she had something besides work to do and someone to do it with. Which she didn’t.
“Keep your doors and windows locked and alarm on.”
“Yes, sir, Colonel, sir.” Her mock salute earned her a smile that reached Lucas’s eyes, something rare for him.
“Brat.” He shut the door behind him, but she could still hear his final command. “Expect a call from Dìleas.”
Chapter Two
“Wouldyoucareformore champagne, sir?”
Ryder Montague shifted from his moody contemplation of the flame-colored glass Dale Chihuly sculpture taking center stage in the lobby of Arborleigh Holdings to address the black and white-clad man holding a selection of half-filled champagne flutes. “Why not?”