Page 9

9

CONOR

“Who are you?”

Black clucked her tongue. “We don’t really have time for this. Star would probably have told you I was called Temper.”

My brows rose as the text conversation Star and I had about a woman called Temper rammed me in the frontal lobe. “You’re related to Dead To Me?”

To none of my brothers would I admit that I croaked out those words.

She winked. “First cousins.”

Though I was relieved to know that she was on ‘Team Star,’ I was still confused as fuck.

Reinier groaned and a puddle of piss soon joined him on the floor.

Grimacing and taking a step back, I demanded, “What the hell is going on? Is this a trap?”

“Not for you,” she drawled then kicked out her foot and aimed it at the director’s head. “God, I’ve been wanting to do that for a fucking lifetime.” She clicked her neck and bounced on her toes before slamming him in the side like he was a football she wanted soaring through the goalposts at MetLife Stadium.

Brow still furrowed, I rasped, “This has to be a setup?” Either that or a goddamn joke.

“Meh, less of a setup. More a fortuitous chain of events.”

“Not for him.”

“For us. For Star. Definitely not for him.” She shoved the gun at me. “Do it. She’ll appreciate it.”

“She won’t,” I predicted, pressing my hands back against my chest to avoid the weapon.

Team Star or not, the woman was completely deranged.

How had Star described her?

Yeah, that was it—as temperate as a Category 7 hurricane.

Which, considering Cat 7 was only a hypothetical, didn’t say much for this super soldier’s sanity.

My refusal had her scowling. “If you’re too chicken shit?—”

“What is this? Kindergarten?” I laughed. “I’m very comfortable in my masculinity, agent, so you can’t peer pressure me into killing him. Star wants him dead, sure, but she’s got a plan. No smart man gets in the way of a woman with a plan.”

Her gaze locked on me for a handful of moments. “I can’t deny you’re smart. Tonight alone proved that. They really expected the Eagle’s Claw platform to hold up under your cracking.”

“This wasn’t a part of the scheme?”

“Nah. This is improv. Fortuitous chain of events, remember?”

“Nothing is ever that fortuitous,” I drawled, peering around the boardroom. “What’s going on, Temper? Why am I here? Why did he want to speak to me? The head of the NSA doesn’t shake my hand every time I work on a case for him.”

She hitched a shoulder. “You’re lucky that I wormed my way onto this division at Star’s request. That guard outside the door was supposed to take you out.”

“For dinner and dancing would be wishful thinking, I suppose?”

“Very wishful thinking.”

“I knew my gut was right.”

“Why do you think I got you the pizza?”

“Last meal just in case this didn’t work out? Except this isn’t a plan, is it? It’s improv.”

She clicked her fingers. “Exactly. They wanted you to be incapable of cracking the platform, then they were going to kill you so you couldn’t discuss Eagle’s Claw with anyone. The place is a ghost town so no one would see you come or go.”

“The coders saw me.”

“The coders don’t count. You’d be a cautionary tale of what happens when they don’t behave. Plus, that kid, the emo one, was supposed to be the next you.”

Ego tasered to shreds, worse than Reinier’s current state, I scoffed, “How the fuck could anyone believe that piece of shit messaging service would withstand a cracker?”

There was always someone better than you out there—I’d been battling Star for that crown for the past eighteen months and had no trouble sharing it when the situation warranted it, but that code had been a sieve.

I’d have been able to build something better when I was twelve.

Temper shrugged. “They manipulate the media so much that they’ve started to believe their own fake news. Either that or you’re just as good as Star says you are.”

That pricked my attention. “She’s talked to you about me?”

“She has. But this isn’t Kindergarten, remember? I’m not going to tell you if she likes you.” Her eye roll told me what she thought about that. “What are we doing with Reinier then?” Her hand tightened around the gun when he groaned and started to wriggle on the floor. “I could always shoot him?—”

“He’s Star’s,” I dismissed, reaching for her wrist and holding it firmly in my grip.

She tipped her head to the side. “She’s gone AWOL.”

“I’m well aware of that,” I groused.

“So you want us to hold him captive for her?”

I hitched a shoulder. “I can put out feelers. Maybe if she knows we’ve got him, she’ll come home.”

“She isn’t a lost cat who’ll come sniffing around for kibble, O’Donnelly! Jesus!” Temper triggered the Taser again when Reinier started flopping around harder than before.

When he released a shrill cry, I spat, “Watch it! The guard will come in.”

She sniffed. “If I do this, if I help you keep him alive rather than just kill the bastard, you won’t like it. Star won’t either.”

I glowered at her. “If you ‘do’ what?”

“Get him away from this place.”

“We have to leave him here and she’ll?—”

Temper shook her head. “I’m burned now. If I don’t handle this situation, I’m toast.”

I hissed under my breath. “Your improv sucks.”

“Yeah, that’s why I plan everything down to the detail.” She scowled. “Usually.”

“Stick to your day job in the future, huh?” I sniped, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Who would you call for help? I can’t involve my family in this. They don’t even know I have a sideline with the government?—”

“You don’t bring in kids to deal with this kind of shit,” she pshawed.

“Kids?” I snarled. “My brothers?—”

“You own New York. Maybe half the East Coast, buddy. I’m talking about the big boys.”

“The Camorra?” I countered in confusion.

“The Union.”

“The who?”

She ignored me. Tucking the gun back in her pocket, she withdrew her cell phone. I watched, finding faint amusement in her naivety as she tipped the screen away so I couldn’t see her input the code.

“548804,” I stated.

Temper glared at me but stopped angling her phone down. She dialed a number from memory then, to the phone, and not to me, drawled, “In our Brothers we trust.”