Read Online Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2) by Stella Barcelona - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Stella Barcelona
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knew it and he guessed Samuel knew it as well. That’s why his tone had been near the far horizon of desperate.
As he reached the third floor hallway, two agents stepped to the side to allow him into the suite that he and Sam were sharing.
“Good to have you in the trenches, sir,” Jenkins said.
Hand on the doorknob, Zeus glanced at the younger man. Todd Jenkins. Two years with Black Raven. Solid. Dependable. Eager.
“Thanks.”
As Zeus turned the doorknob and shoved open the door, he heard John Miles, the second agent, say under his breath, “Impressive one of the bosses is pulling guard duty himself, right?”
There were no easy tasks in Black Raven. What the younger agents had no way of knowing was that being managing partner, especially in recent months with the uptick in terrorist attacks, had been one hell of a wild ride. Guard duty for Sam now, with what had happened between them in the past? A different kind of ride. Not one for which there’d be a long line among his agents, or any other man who’d made a mistake with a woman that haunted his nights and days.
Rewind? Redo? Try again?
Fuck.
He’d learned the hard way that some moments in time were etched in stone and were meant to be carried every day, every step, every moment, with every breath. Fortunately, God had given him oversized shoulders to carry the burdens that had been thrown his way.
He stepped into the living room that divided his and Sam’s bedrooms. His bedroom with its private bathroom was on one side, hers on the other. Both bedroom doors were shut. The living room, a beige and impersonal space, smelled of jasmine and rose—the fragrance in her soaps, lotions, and perfumes. His pulse quickened. Dammit.
Embrace the suck.
Hell, enjoy this suck because—he inhaled deeply—she’s here. A hell of a lot closer than she had been for seven years and now, instead of dreaming remotely about what being with her had once been like, he could at least lay eyes on her in person. Through her closed bedroom door, the whir of a blow dryer confirmed his guess that she wouldn’t have fallen asleep so fast after the bad news that Eric Moss had died, which had come as they’d arrived at the safe house.
They were in the Sixth Arrondissement, in a large three-story residence on the Avenue Saint Lorraine. Black Raven had used the home before as a safe house. View? Irrelevant. Floor to ceiling drapes would remain closed for the duration of their stay in Paris. The living room, with soft light and neutral tones, was designed for work and relaxation. There was a desk, a comfortable couch and chairs, a television, a small dining table, and a wet bar. Strategically placed lamps cast pools of warm light on polished wood and soft furnishings.
He carried his iPad, a new phone for Sam, and a first aid kit. The kit and its contents would only be necessary if she decided to stay on the job.
Black Raven had stripped the Amicus team, Sam included, of their telecommunication devices. At least he had tried to take Sam’s phones. She’d given him one personal one and her business phone. He needed to have a conversation with her about the phone she hadn’t relinquished.
He’d now give her the new phone, which she’d use for personal and business calls. The phone was not smart, in the conventional sense of the word, but genius, in the Black Raven sense, designed for monitoring incoming and outgoing communications and scanning communications for interference. It was tailored to keep her, and her team, secure.
He turned on the TV to see what the media was feeding the public. News shows were focused on the scene at Café Cliquot, where yellow tape kept the public out and red and blue lights lit the night. As he punched passwords into his iPad, his ears stayed tuned to the muffled whir of the hair dryer. He’d give her a few more minutes.
Ragno’s team had re-routed the phone numbers that Sam used for business and personal phone calls through Denver
As he reached the third floor hallway, two agents stepped to the side to allow him into the suite that he and Sam were sharing.
“Good to have you in the trenches, sir,” Jenkins said.
Hand on the doorknob, Zeus glanced at the younger man. Todd Jenkins. Two years with Black Raven. Solid. Dependable. Eager.
“Thanks.”
As Zeus turned the doorknob and shoved open the door, he heard John Miles, the second agent, say under his breath, “Impressive one of the bosses is pulling guard duty himself, right?”
There were no easy tasks in Black Raven. What the younger agents had no way of knowing was that being managing partner, especially in recent months with the uptick in terrorist attacks, had been one hell of a wild ride. Guard duty for Sam now, with what had happened between them in the past? A different kind of ride. Not one for which there’d be a long line among his agents, or any other man who’d made a mistake with a woman that haunted his nights and days.
Rewind? Redo? Try again?
Fuck.
He’d learned the hard way that some moments in time were etched in stone and were meant to be carried every day, every step, every moment, with every breath. Fortunately, God had given him oversized shoulders to carry the burdens that had been thrown his way.
He stepped into the living room that divided his and Sam’s bedrooms. His bedroom with its private bathroom was on one side, hers on the other. Both bedroom doors were shut. The living room, a beige and impersonal space, smelled of jasmine and rose—the fragrance in her soaps, lotions, and perfumes. His pulse quickened. Dammit.
Embrace the suck.
Hell, enjoy this suck because—he inhaled deeply—she’s here. A hell of a lot closer than she had been for seven years and now, instead of dreaming remotely about what being with her had once been like, he could at least lay eyes on her in person. Through her closed bedroom door, the whir of a blow dryer confirmed his guess that she wouldn’t have fallen asleep so fast after the bad news that Eric Moss had died, which had come as they’d arrived at the safe house.
They were in the Sixth Arrondissement, in a large three-story residence on the Avenue Saint Lorraine. Black Raven had used the home before as a safe house. View? Irrelevant. Floor to ceiling drapes would remain closed for the duration of their stay in Paris. The living room, with soft light and neutral tones, was designed for work and relaxation. There was a desk, a comfortable couch and chairs, a television, a small dining table, and a wet bar. Strategically placed lamps cast pools of warm light on polished wood and soft furnishings.
He carried his iPad, a new phone for Sam, and a first aid kit. The kit and its contents would only be necessary if she decided to stay on the job.
Black Raven had stripped the Amicus team, Sam included, of their telecommunication devices. At least he had tried to take Sam’s phones. She’d given him one personal one and her business phone. He needed to have a conversation with her about the phone she hadn’t relinquished.
He’d now give her the new phone, which she’d use for personal and business calls. The phone was not smart, in the conventional sense of the word, but genius, in the Black Raven sense, designed for monitoring incoming and outgoing communications and scanning communications for interference. It was tailored to keep her, and her team, secure.
He turned on the TV to see what the media was feeding the public. News shows were focused on the scene at Café Cliquot, where yellow tape kept the public out and red and blue lights lit the night. As he punched passwords into his iPad, his ears stayed tuned to the muffled whir of the hair dryer. He’d give her a few more minutes.
Ragno’s team had re-routed the phone numbers that Sam used for business and personal phone calls through Denver
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