Page 37

Samantha Russo

There’s a tap on the conference room door, it cracks open, and the downstairs guard pops his head through. “Mr. Sutcliff is here.”

“Let him in.” I glance up from my computer screen and gasp.

Holy shit. A sullen dark angel, Sebastian Sutcliff AKA Suds, locks onto my gaze and holds it captive.

The guard, sensing the sexual tension, clears his throat and motions his charge toward a plastic chair on the opposite side of the table.

Turning to me he adds, “If you need anything, Sam, I’ll be right outside.”

“Thanks.”

Eyes locked onto my face, my interviewee lowers into the seat, and smirks. “Y’all gonna ask me some questions or just sit there and drool?”

I snap my laptop closed and continue to meet his stare. If not for the low drone of the air conditioner and the buzz of the florescent tube overhead, I’m sure he’d hear my rapid heartbeat.

Lowering my voice, I take a deep breath and try like hell to sound like I’m the one in charge. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Sutcliff.”

“I didn’t have much choice, sugar.” The former SEAL narrows his gaze, grins, and leans back in the flimsy chair until I’m sure it will crack.

When it doesn’t, I click on the recording device.

After I announce our names, case number, and date, I begin my first interview. “How long have you been working for Patten Securities?”

“Since I was honorably discharged.” His lids lower halfway with lashes so long, on another man, they’d seem feminine.

“And from what branch?”

“Why you askin’ me shit you already know? This is a waste of your time and mine.” He starts to stand and my cheeks heat.

“Ah… there are a lot of facts redacted in your service record.”

“Guess you don’t have high enough security, sweetheart.” He smiles again but it’s not the kind meant to put me at ease. “Get to the point, darlin’ or is there something else you need.”

He unbuttons his suit jacket, spreads his legs, and shows off a massive bulge behind his fly.

Zzzpt. Brain synapses misfire. Oh fuck me. Wait, no. Don’t fuck me. Shit .

Chuckling, Sutcliff scoots his chair under the table and puts his elbows down.

“Better like this?”

Damn. I had no idea that asking a few questions was so hard, rather, would make him so hard.

Maybe I can use his attraction to my advantage and salvage my career. I back my chair away from the table, cross my legs, and hike my pencil skirt high up my thighs.

Yeah, I’m that desperate.

“Can you tell me about your last assignment?” My heel slides out of my black pump and I dangle it off my toes.

His beautiful mouth curls up at the corners as he shifts in his seat. “I was guarding a diplomat overseas.”

“And before that?”

His eyes drift up and down my body like a lover’s caress. He pauses at my breasts before latching onto my lips and locks onto my eyes. “I was supposed to protect a few women at a baby shower.”

Bingo. I’m finally going to get some answers. I knew there was more to the gas explosion than Patten Securities let on. It was no simple robbery, it was a conspiracy.

“Go on. What happened?”

He leans further over the table, those dangerous cat eyes narrowing. “My intel was off.”

“Was it an inside job?”

“Not really.” His peppermint warm breath warms my lips causing me to imagine things I shouldn’t.

“Umm…” Think, Samantha, think. “Why say that?”

His dark orbs flick back to my partially gaping mouth. “I’m guessing you know but just to be friendly-like, I’ll tell you. The party was for a woman who invented some top secret shit. I can’t say more than that.”

“Did you know this at the time?” I squirm in my seat as liquid pools between my legs.

“Yeah.”

“Would you mind explaining?”

His brows go up. “Sorry, sugar. Patten keeps a pretty tight lid on his operations. I signed all sorts of non-disclosures. Hell, I don’t think I can tell you if I pissed that morning without him agreeing to it.”

I shove the document signed by the billionaire and he snickers. “It says here I can talk about my last assignment. Let’s see, now. As I recall, last week I was in Paris, guarding a diplomat’s daughter. Cute little five year old. Her name is Shanni. I drove her to school and…”

Dammit. My chat notification pings with a text from my boss. ‘Get your ass into my office.’

“Excuse me.” I stand, interrupting my guest’s southern drawl. “I’ll be right back.”

Dreading the inevitable, I walk the plank down the long hall. His door open, Special Agent Kessler paces in front of his oak desk. With no family photos or motivation posters, the room reeks of cold indifference.

“How do you think the interview is going, Miss Russo?” In his dark suit, white shirt, and plain blue tie, he glares under a military cut.

My heart sinks. “Not well, sir. But to be fair, sir, I need a little more time. I figure once I get him talking I can-”

A large, calloused palm appears in front of my face. “Stop. I was going to wait but you’ve made my decision easy. You’re being let go.”

At first the words don’t register, then my mouth drops open and my heart races. “Hold on, I’ve been a loyal employee for over fifteen years!”

“And as I’ve explained, we’re sending that work overseas. We have artificial intelligence, now. You’re being outsourced.”

His authoritative bass makes my soprano plead sound childlike. “But it can’t replace common sense, the human eye.”

“We hired some good men in Ireland. The only openings I have here in DC are in interrogations and frankly, you suck at it.”

“But it was my first attempt.” I can’t believe he’s letting me go.

“People either have the skill or they don’t. Pack your things and I’ll finish up with Sutcliff.”

“It’s nothing personal.” He holds his hand out to shake and I do.

As soon as I get out the door, I wipe his germs off on my skirt. What the hell am I supposed to do now? I haven’t written a resume or had a job interview since college. Mentally, I count out my net worth and moan. I have enough money to last one, maybe two months.

I’m a friggin’ senior FBI analyst. How had I missed the axe was about to fall?

A grim-faced George waits back at my desk with a cardboard box. So, with tears dripping down my face, I unpin my favorite photos from the fabric of my cube wall. There’s one of me and my boyfriend at Yellowstone, at my cousin’s wedding, and eating pizza in my living room.

The guard eyes me with sympathy and yet says nothing. He has to seem impartial, but it stings. Every morning, I ask about his wife or his grandkids. I know he vacations in Georgia and owns an RV. We’re friends, for goodness sake.

Finished with the wall, I pack away my awards and pause at a framed photo of me and the president. I wrap it in my spare sweater and place it on top of the pile.

No room left, I grab all the small animals I’ve crocheted over the last fifteen years and stuff them into my purse.

“Ready?” George gives me a sad smile.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

On the way out, we pass the open door of the interrogation room where Sebastian Sutcliff paces.

If he wasn’t such an asshole, maybe I could’ve kept my job. “I got fired. Thanks a lot.”