Code of Conduct, page 10
“I’m just... overwhelmed.” And a bit terrified. “But Stuart destroyed my credit. Won’t that affect my ability to qualify for a high-security clearance like yours?”
“Oh, that.” Ted waved the worry away with his other hand. “I reversed the damage the second Stuart flipped his screen around from showing you. The incompetent idiot did a piss-poor job and never properly uploaded the changes. Only that barely-visited site showed the altered score.”
Tears gathered in Doreen’s eyes. Torment and worry the past week, gnawed her gut. She had no experience motivating the credit bureaus to investigate the changes and restore her score. She’d gathered all her credit card statements, bank statements, and previous credit reports, wanting to have all her information pulled together before starting what was bound to be a long, aggravating ordeal. But now, it was just... fixed. And she had three job offers waiting for her that could give her and Parker a new life, including moving out of her parents’ farmhouse into their own home.
“Oh,” Ted continued, “and don’t worry about his other threats. Since I had the server shut down, he couldn’t access anything. He just kept banging on the keys to scare you.”
The last vise squeezing her chest disappeared. “So, it’s all over?” she whispered, hope blossoming in her heart, all centering around this impressive man. “The identity theft ring, I mean. Did you catch them?”
The grin splitting his face had so much boyish satisfaction, she laughed. “Damn straight,” he declared. “In a well-executed strike, the FBI raided the locations at once all across the country, shutting the ring down. I suspect it’ll be all over the news in a day or two, once the feds are certain they’ve caught everyone.”
“And Bruce?” She bit her lip.
“He and the FBI are hammering out a deal. I don’t know all the details, but he’ll lose his physical therapy license for sure.” Ted grimaced. “In case you care, Bruce didn’t have sex with a seventeen-year-old. I found a record of the extortion transaction The Institution used to reel Bruce in. Stuart was desperate for a new source since his others were about to dry up. The Institution sent in their pro, Brandy, who’s really twenty-two, to hook him.”
Unexpected relief zinged in her veins. “Did you tell Bruce?”
“Not yet.” He pointed to his bruised face. “The asshole needs to squirm a bit longer.”
“Agreed.” Doreen stepped into Ted’s space and leaned against him. Sliding her hands up his chest, she laced them around his neck, loving how his Caribbean eyes turned stormy with heat. “In that case, I’d love to accept the position with SBG.” She rose to her toes to whisper in his ear, “As long as management don’t mind me falling in love with the IT director. Oh, and as long as I’m the only one on staff who gets to play with his... uh staff.” She rotated her hips against him.
He jumped, then pulled her tighter. “I find those terms acceptable and very much encouraged.” He angled his head and sealed his mouth over hers.
She parted her lips to kiss him with everything she had—
“MOM!” Parker yelled, then whooped, “All right!”
She ripped her mouth off Ted’s with a groan. “Dammit,” she breathed.
“Grady told me all about Ted.” Parker jumped off the man’s back. “Ted’s just like me! Isn’t that awesome?” He took off running, slamming into Doreen’s side and extending his arm to hug Ted too. “Does this mean Ted’s going to live with us like dad except not go away so much? I could really use some help building my go-karts and the code for my video game is giving me a fit.”
“Uh.” Yikes! She looked to Ted for help.
Ted’s body shook as he laughed. “I’ll let you field this one until I learn your rules.”
“We have little ways to go before deciding if we’re living together.” Doreen patted Parker’s head. “How about we start with ice cream first?”
Parker dropped his arms and studied Ted. “What’s your favorite flavor?”
“Good question.” Ted stroked his chin. “I’m not into anything fancy. I guess I lean toward butter pecan.”
“Butter pecan?” Parker groaned and dropped his head. “I have to teach you up your game.” He blew out a breath. “It’s a good thing my mom already likes you. That flavor is boring.”
Ted laughed and shrugged. “I warned you I didn’t like fancy.”
Parker took Ted’s hand, then grabbed Doreen’s with his other one. “Have you tried rocky road?”
Allowing her son to lead them toward the exit, Doreen’s heart swelled. With her two men at her side, she looked forward to the future.
SPECIAL PREVIEW
Read on for a preview of the next full-length SBG novel from P. A. DePaul
CROSSING THE LINE
Available from Northfair Publishing
CHAPTER 1
CROSSING THE LINE
Eight Months Ago—Somewhere between Ohio and A Small Mexican Town
Magician curled her fingers around the thick wire encompassing her cage. The metal bit into her bare legs and hip, but she didn’t say a word. From the moment she had allowed herself to be kidnapped, she had been bullied, threatened, hit, and stripped of her dignity—all within the first five minutes—and it hadn’t let up in the past four days.
Cocksuckers. Humiliation threatened to choke her at the memory of the sex-slave supplier tearing off her clothes that first day and taking pictures. From every conceivable angle.
The sick bastard.
It had taken everything she had to remain in character and not kill the son of bitch for the abasing treatment. Appearing petrified and meek while the foul-breathed supplier fondled her breasts and stroked the bulge in his jeans in front of his men was the hardest thing she’d ever done. When he scraped his fingernails over the two distinct moles near her left aureole, then twisted her nipple hard, she had barely stopped herself from breaking his fingers and jamming the camera up his ass.
She’d had fire and strength running through her veins that day. Now . . . She was a ghost of herself.
The supplier had occasionally snapped a photo, then repeated the stroking process, all the while taunting her with his plans to sell the pictures to the sex-slave traders for their disgusting client catalog.
It’s a mission. Her fingers protested the burrowing metal wires from her tightening grip. These assholes will pay. She had to believe it. Trust in it or she’d lose the last tenuous grip of hope. A kernel of fear blossomed into sticky strands of terror anyway. Pressing a hand over her stomach, she prayed the small tracking device inside still worked.
Vibrations drumming up through the floor itched her skin and agitated her nerves. For days, the bastards had kept her locked in a three-foot-squared cage in the back of a delivery truck. Unable to stand or move much the entire time except for the small respites each evening.
Whomp. The lock on her cage rattled (a tired excuse for security she could easily pick if she had something, anything to use). A few squeals echoed as the truck’s wheels dipped in and out of potholes . . . at least, that’s what Magician assumed them to be. Without windows, she could only guess they traveled on a poor-conditioned road.
Soft crying filtered across the trailer from the other three women locked inside their own cages on this journey to hell. Magician strangled the metal wiring. She applied the term “women” to their gender, not age. The youngest had to be fourteen, with Magician being the oldest at twenty-eight (though she looked more youthful thanks to genetics), and the other two ranged somewhere between. The cages were bolted in a single line, leaving a walkway for their doors to open. The kidnappers placed Magician in the deepest part and the fourteen-year-old stationed closest to the doors.
On the first day, Magician had tried to comfort and soothe the others by assuring them everything would be okay, but no one listened. Not that she blamed them. After four days of these conditions—no real air, no light, no water, constant degradation, a few scraps of food once a day—it wasn’t a shocking surprise. Add to it the harassment, beatings, and terror when they did pause in the journey, it was a miracle they all weren’t incoherent messes.
Her head slammed into the wire. Shit. She rubbed her forehead, relieved no blood coated her fingers. With the dirt and obvious turn-around of women, she’d probably die of infection.
“Come on, Mag,” she whispered, needing to break the monotony. “Delta’s tracking you. Your team’s not going to rest until they destroy this ring.”
Her empty stomach cramped, and she smoothed a hand across it again. Dear God, please keep this thing sending signals. After she had swallowed the tiny device, she felt queasy as light, steady tingles pulsed in her veins. Now, she felt nothing. Damn technology. The lack of food and water messed with her body’s functions, so the device should still be lingering somewhere.
She had agreed to infiltrate the ring—hell, it was her idea—with the understanding her teammates tracked her and followed the supplier to the Osvaldo Cartel’s sourcing warehouse in some Mexican shithole. They had been after the cartel for too long without any real success and this was their last-ditch effort to end the Osvaldo’s lucrative trade.
She continued to rub her gut, unable to ignore the malignant whispers overtaking her thoughts: Her team lost her. The tracking device stopped working. She was alone. She’d never break free of the suppliers. She’d die before she saw her team again . . .
One by one, the faces of Delta flitted through her mind: Talon’s scowl, Cappy’s intense but blank expression, Wraith’s obvious disagreement with the plan, and Romeo—
Her breath caught at his image. Her partner, her best friend. The man just three minuscule months younger than her. He had tried to hide his emotions, but she knew them anyway, having worked beside him for five years. He was worried, upset, and disagreed with the bold move. Vocally, he argued that she’d be on her own with no one in Delta to back her up in an emergency, but she knew he was really saying he wouldn’t be there to help her. She clung to the mental collage with a desperation she’d never admit, siphoning every bit of strength it provided. Sitting in the dark, caged like an animal, starving, dirty, and naked, she missed her team fiercely. Okay. She missed Romeo fiercely. She hadn’t realized how much she had gotten used to his constant presence until it was gone. Yes, he could be annoying as shit and a complete tramp, nailing every twenty-something woman who gave him a chance, but he was her partner, tethered to her from the moment they met that fateful day Delta Squad was born . . .
Her mind drifted. Uninvited musings of Romeo’s epically gorgeous face, courtesy of solid Italian genes, filled her inner video. The first time she saw him had been at a distance. He shamelessly flirted with a receptionist, making the cute woman laugh while he flashed coy smiles. The player routine had repelled Magician, yet to her annoyance, had captivated her. The immediate, gripping attraction left her floundering.
But the second she accepted a position as an operative on Delta Squad, she became Magician, his teammate. As a member of a clandestine black ops team for SweetBriar Group (AKA SBG)—a global environmental company that was actually a front for a large, privately-funded black ops agency—forced her to push Romeo into her “Unavailable-Keep-Your-Distance” category. Distractions in the field led to mistakes and death, and nothing was more distracting than a relationship. So, she cultivated a friendship instead. One that went beyond her expectations. She had pegged him to remain a shallow horn-dog whose maturity level only reached puberty. She couldn’t have been more wrong. He only allowed a few people to see the warm-hearted, humorous, intelligent man hidden underneath the superficial layer. A man she wished was beside her now, teasing her until the foreboding and fear receded.
The vibrations through the floor lessened as the truck began to slow. Shit. They’d reached the next pitstop. Her stomach clenched. She had come to love and hate these breaks. Love because that meant food and, if they were all “good,” a bathroom break with one of the guards watching, of course. Hate because at least one of the men decided he was allowed to touch whomever he wanted, causing the other three women to scream, cry, beg, or do whatever to make the man stop. Once that circus started, the suppliers confiscated the food, beat all the women for disobedience, then shoved them back into the cages.
Dread slid down Magician’s spine. The last guard who’d gotten handsy with her slinked away with three broken fingers. The bastard had grabbed her breasts, she flung his hands off, he punched her in the gut, and she’d forgotten her role for a split-second, instinctively breaking bones to protect herself. As the other men pulled him away, he promised to get revenge at the next stop . . . this stop. She shuddered against the revulsion and horror mixing with the persistent fear. What had started as a simple plan to end the ring, morphed into a psychological descent into a depraved hell.
Brakes squeaked, the motor downshifted, and the slow, heart-pounding crawl ended with the driver shutting the truck off.
The other women’s crying became louder.
“Hush,” Magician admonished in a harsh whisper. “They’ll take away our food if you keep that up.”
The sound lessened but not the tears. Better than nothing. She didn’t think she could hold any food down, but she had to force herself to eat. She needed strength for when they finally reached the sourcing warehouse.
Loud clanking and banging vibrated the two back doors, then, they swung open.
Magician shaded her eyes against the sickly yellow fluorescent lights beaming in from the ceiling. Fresh air whooshed through the trailer, and she drank it in. Please, God, let this be it. Let this be the final warehouse. She couldn’t take much more time in the rancid truck or the anxiety of not knowing when they’d reach the end.
The guards shouted in Spanish while brandishing battered guns. Her travel companions wailed, drowning Magician’s ability to decipher the men’s yelling. Shut up! She knew better than to snap the command.
“Silencio!” one of the guards ordered as he jumped into the back of the truck.
The other women didn’t.
He kicked their cages and slammed the butt of his rifle against the wires, but that only made it worse.
A second guard tossed in a smaller, black plastic case, and hopped into the back. He opened the container on top of the fourteen-year-old’s cage and pulled out a syringe. Shrieks and loud crying crescendoed. Quick as a snake, the guard plunged the needle into the cringing, youngest captive’s arm, the cage not allowing her to escape. Her crying ceased, and she slumped, unconscious.
Oh Jesus. Mashing her lips together, metal bit into Magician’s shoulder blades as she pressed backward. A part of her wanted the escape—a venomous part becoming larger that insisted Delta had lost her—while her primal synapses knew it’d be the end of her fight. If this was the end game, she had to remain conscious. Fingers crossed, Delta knew her location and was ready to strike. They needed her to take down the suppliers and guards while the rest of the team concentrated on capturing the dual heads of the cartel, Carlos and Sanchez Osvaldo. Intel stated the brothers always inspected new shipments.
The guard pulled out more needles and cold-heartedly administered the drug to the other two, knocking them out. When he reached Magician’s cage, he held up a syringe and smiled—enjoying the power he wielded too much. “An’ you, puta?” His accented English was barely understandable. “You sleep too?”
Magician shook her head, knowing better than to vocalize the answer. The first day into the journey, she had replied to one of the guards. A fight instantly broke out—with her in the middle—over who roved his grubby hands over her body first. Luckily, the lead kidnapper/supplier hustled the women back into their cages before someone won.
Syringe Guard’s feral eyes scraped over her body. “Maybe I keep you quiet another way.” He grabbed his crotch with his free hand and rubbed the bulge forming behind his dirty jeans.
Hatred burned through her veins, scorching all the other emotions and allowing her to channel the desolation and lost faith. Instinct insisted she hold his stare, show him she wasn’t afraid, that she’d kill him without remorse, but she couldn’t. Goddammit. She still had to play the submissive part, and lately, the role had become a reality. Bad enough, she had already injured a guard; she couldn’t afford to do it again. Inhaling, she purposefully widened her eyes and visibly gulped, urging her trembling body to shake harder.
He brayed like a donkey.
Is he . . . laughing?
A garage door motor whirred, and the guard instantly shut up, jogging to the truck’s opening. Magician drew in an unsteady, thankful breath. Her long black hair and baby blue eyes—features she used to love—were now a liability she may have to break cover to survive.
“We’ve got another day’s ride left,” a different, heavily accented male voice stated from beyond her sightline.
Dismay shattered the anger fueling her fragile strength. Her team wasn’t outside. Wasn’t about to strike. Wasn’t about to end this hell. Dear God. She clapped a hand over her mouth, muffling the wrenching sob forcing itself outward. I can’t do this anymore. Another silent sob racked her aching shoulders.
You have to stop. Her survival instinct tried to surge, but the anguish refused to listen. You can’t cry. It’ll make it worse.
Syringe Guard shifted, clearly eavesdropping on the conversation.
Her ragged breathing threatened to draw his attention. She still had to survive whatever nightmare this pitstop had in store. That realization almost broke her.
Romeo’s precious face swam before her. A phantom finger lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his warm brown irises. “You can do this,” the apparition promised. “You are Magician, a highly trained operator for the most badass and successful squad in SBG history.”
