Page 8 of Red Fury

We go inside, and the Secretary’s office is exactly what I expected, the walls lined with photographs of Harrison shaking hands with presidents and foreign dignitaries. The man himself is in his early sixties, with silver hair and a wide smile.

“Laurence, it’s good to see you again,” Harrison says, rising from his chair. “And this must be Damien Marsh, our new close protection officer.”

“Yes, sir.” I step forward, extending my hand. His grip is firm, testing. “It’s an honor to meet you, Secretary Harrison.”

“Laurence tells me you have an impressive service record.”

“I’ve been fortunate to serve my country in various capacities, sir.”

Harrison nods approvingly. “That’s the kind of attitude I like to hear.” He gestures to the chairs in front of his desk. “Please, sit.”

We do, and Harrison launches into what sounds like a well-rehearsed speech about the importance of discretion and vigilance in his line of work.

“I specifically requested that all new security personnel on my team meet with me personally,” he says. “I need to know that the people protecting me understand what’s at stake.”

“Absolutely, sir. Your safety is my top priority.”

“Good.” Harrison checks his gold watch. “Now, I know Webb has probably covered most of the technical details with you, but I want to be clear about expectations. You’ll be working closely with my existing security detail, but you’ll also have access to—”

His cellphone rings, cutting him off mid-sentence. He glances at the caller ID and frowns.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I need to take this call. Webb can fill you in, Damien. I need you to see my PA on your way out. She has some paperwork for you to sign. It’s good to meet you. Welcome on board.” He’s already reaching for the phone. “Laurence, I’ll speak with you later about the revised protocols we discussed.”

It’s clearly a dismissal. Webb nods and gestures toward the door.

We leave the Secretary’s office, and his PA is waiting for us, a manila folder in her hands.

“Mr. Marsh,” she says, “I have some documents that require your signature before you officially begin tomorrow.”

Webb checks his watch. “I’ll wait for you both to finish up, then escort you to HR for the rest of your induction process.”

“This won’t take long,” she assures him, then gestures to a small seating area near her desk. “Mr. Marsh, if you could just have a seat here?”

The seating area consists of two leather chairs facing each other, with a small coffee table between them. I sit in one chair while she takes the other, crossing those impossibly long legsencased in sheer stockings. I may not have been on the Mainland very long, but this is the first time I’ve seen legs like this since leaving the island. Toned and—

I force myself to take my head out of my ass and to focus on the paperwork.

“It’s just a standard nondisclosure agreement,” she explains, opening the folder. “Given your proximity to Secretary Harrison and his family, you’ll inevitably be privy to sensitive information. This simply ensures that information remains confidential.”

“I understand,” I say, taking the document from her.

She reaches for a pen from the folder when it slips from her fingers and clatters to the floor between us.

“Oh, damn,” she mutters, immediately leaning forward to retrieve it.

I react on instinct, dropping into a crouch beside her chair just as she bends down to retrieve the pen. We both reach for it at the same time, and suddenly we’re face to face, close enough that I can see how long and thick her lashes are. How they frame her green eyes perfectly.

Close enough that I can scent her…really fucking scent her.

My nostrils flare involuntarily, and shock hits me like a wave. That distinctive scent – the one that marks her as one of my kind.

She’s a shifter. No question about it.

This is my mark. My reason for being here. It’s the Draiger.

Her eyes widen. “I’m so sorry.” She glances over my shoulder before straightening up with the pen clutched in her hand.

“No problem.”