Edge of Danger (Edge Security Series Book 3) (4 page)

Marc slapped the man on his arm. “Don’t worry, asshole. We don’t want to run your show. We just need you to listen when we speak.”

Masters shrugged off Marc’s hand and stormed off.

Zach raised an eyebrow at Marc. “Seriously? Do you think that helped?”

“Nah, but it felt good.”

Zach rolled his eyes. “Come on, Spooky. It’s time for us to get to work.”

“You know I fucking hate that name.”

Zach smiled. “I know.”

T
he next morning
, Alyssa shoved in a yoga video after waking too early from another nightmare. She preferred to run, but wanted to be able to tell Dr. Martinez when he next tracked her down that she’d tried his suggestion. And who knew, maybe yoga would be the stress reliever she needed.

Yesterday had been an exercise in futility. They’d gone over patterns, potential bomb sites, airline passenger manifestos, trolled the net for more videos. They’d come up with nothing. Her heart started to beat faster with the thought. Al Shabah was out there, and they had nothing.

So. Yoga.

She put away the scotch and glass from last night, while a man’s voice droned on about mountain pose. She glanced over. A guy with a long black ponytail just stood there with his eyes closed. He wore spandex that left little to the imagination. She snorted and stuck some bread in the toaster before pouring herself some orange juice.

Now he touched his toes.

She contemplated her own. She could probably touch them, but from experience she knew the slight headache she had would only get worse if she bent over.

She went to her medicine cabinet in the bathroom and grabbed an Advil. Back in the living room, Ponytail Guy was standing upright again and talking about deep breaths.

She slathered peanut butter on her toast while she watched him. He went through a series of moves that were similar to what she’d experienced at the steam yoga she’d gone to. She plopped on her couch to watch while she finished her toast and juice. His voice was a monotonous haze of sound in the room, making her sleepy.

She closed her eyes and listened to him drone on. Maybe yoga was good for her. Her muscles released their tension and she melted into the couch.

Minutes later she bolted upright, her hands raised as if she held a gun. She blinked away the nightmare and waited for her heart to stop thundering.

She shook her head and stood, stretching her arms over her head, trying to get rid of the last vestiges of adrenaline. She bent over to touch her toes. The Advil was working. She stood straight and then flicked off the TV. Screw yoga. If she was going to survive another day like yesterday, she needed to go for a run.

She’d go to Central Park again. Her choice to run, she told herself sternly, didn’t have anything to do with the fact that she’d seen Zach in the park yesterday.

Z
ach had timed
his run so he could loop the park and then be at the same location he’d seen Alyssa running the day before. He’d convinced Marc to swim in the hotel pool this morning rather than run with him. Marc had just rolled his eyes. “Remember we’re on a mission.”

He’d had to beat him a little for that remark. Zach grinned as he remembered tackling Marc to the ground; their rough housing ended up breaking a lamp, but got rid of a bit of stress for both of them.

He needed to talk to Alyssa alone, and he didn’t want to do it at the office. He’d watched her work on the surveillance footage for the rest of the day, yesterday. Her talents as an analyst were wasted. He’d also noticed the dark circles under her eyes, and the fact that she hadn’t eaten anything all day.

He was running in the same direction on the paved path near Strawberry Fields when he saw her. She ran at a good clip for someone her size. Her legs pumped hard and fast, her face determined, as if she were trying to outrun something.

He knew the moment she saw him. A slight hitch in her stride and then her chin lowered and she ran faster.

Huh. So that’s the way she wanted to play it.

He turned so he ran in the same direction and kept pace with her. She ran faster, still without looking at or acknowledging his presence. He checked her face just to make sure she wasn’t scared of him. It was a typical reaction to his size and, let’s face it, the color of his skin. He wouldn’t be surprised if she was, since he was so much bigger than her. It was early morning and they were away from the safety of the work environment.

One time, he’d approached a woman he’d thought was a friend on the street after dark. He’d seen her waiting for a bus and offered her a lift home. He could see the tension around her eyes and in the way she’d held herself. He’d spoken in the soothing tones one uses on spooked animals, but it had done no good. He’d had to leave her there waiting in the dark, but she’d been more scared of him than of the night. He understood, but it still didn’t stop the little twist in his gut when he thought of it.

The look on Alyssa’s face surprised him all right. A fierce scowling determination gave her the look of a warrior going into battle. He pictured some ancient Irish warrior maiden with her red hair flying out behind her. He almost laughed in delight.

Almost.

“Good morning,” he said, as if they weren’t racing down the pathway, faster than any other jogger out there.

She grunted at him and ran faster, her shapely legs enticing him to watch.

Now he grinned, and easily kept pace. “It’s a nice morning for a run. You meet so many friendly people when running in the park, you know?”

“What do you want?” She spoke between breaths.

You.

Again, the whispered thought took him aback. But he schooled his features into the same easy grin. “Just a chat.”

She pulled up, so he stopped too. She scowled at him. “I’m not going to be able to get away from you, am I?”

Too many years of being careful not to intimidate with his size had him holding up his hands. “I’m not chasing you, I just want to talk. If you’re uncomfort—”

She sliced her hand through the air. “I know that. I meant, I’m not going to be able to stop you from talking, am I?”

He let his hands drop and his grin came back. This woman kept surprising him. “Actually, no. We either chat here or in the office. I figured you’d rather not have any kind of audience.”

She put her hands on her hips. “Fine. Are we going to talk about why you’re following me?”

“I told you,” he said. “Your brother asked me to look out for you.” Though he knew Jake hadn’t intended him to watch quite so closely, or so much.

“You’re a fool if you think I need someone to look after me.”

He cocked his head as he studied her, her tank top showing tantalizing glimpses of her chest with each panting breath, the skin there glistening with sweat. “I’m no fool,” he said.

Her lips parted and her eyes darkened. He moved forward. She gave a little shake of her head and stepped back.

A man in a ball cap and running gear stopped beside Alyssa. A German shepherd stood at his heels. The man looked between Alyssa and Zach.

“Is this guy bothering you?” he asked her.

Zach wanted to roll his eyes, but that would only inflame the situation. So he held still and kept his face blank. “We were only talking.”

“I wasn’t asking you,” the man said, and his dog growled.

Alyssa turned her scowl on the man. “We’re talking and we’re both cops. Beat it before I give you a ticket for running with your dog off leash.”

The man stepped back, his face surprised. “I thought…”

“I know what you thought,” she snapped. “Now get lost.”

He muttered something and took off, his dog pacing him.

Alyssa watched the man go. “Do you deal with that a lot?”

“You mean instinctive prejudice?” he said. “In some places more than others. Besides, that guy thought he was helping.”

The scowl was back and directed at him. “Don’t defend him.”

He laughed.

The way her lips compressed, he suspected that she smothered a smile. Or maybe that was wishful thinking on his part. “It was nice of you to defend me,” he said. “I don’t get that often. I’m a big black man. Most women are scared of me.”

He wasn’t sure who was more surprised at his words, him or her.

Oddly, her scowl seemed to increase. “I’m not most women.”

That’s the truth
.

She studied him a moment. “How long have you been taking care of others?”

The question rattled him, and he wasn’t sure why. This woman made him feel like he was walking into an ambush. He turned and started walking back the way they’d come.

She kept pace. “Your nickname is Doc. You notice when others need help. You seem to always be the one taking care of people,” she said. “Most people like that grow up to be doctors or nurses. You grew up to be a soldier.”

He looked sharply at her. “How di—” He bit off his words but knew it was too late.

“I didn’t really,” she said. “Until now.” She shrugged. “Don’t feel bad. It was a logical conclusion, since you know Jake and you’re here helping with the investigation. I’d lay odds that you’re some type of special operations soldier like him.”

He didn’t say anything.

“The silent treatment? That means I’m close.” They ran a bit more, and he thought she’d dropped the whole topic until she spoke again.

“My brother works at a company called E.D.G.E. Security, but he acts exactly like he did when he was a SEAL. He leaves suddenly on trips that can’t be verified and sometimes he comes back injured. More injured than a person should be from guarding civilian companies.”

Smart woman, but again he didn’t confirm or deny.

She sighed. “So you work in some kind of secret soldier organization, but that’s not the question I have for you. What I want to know is, how does such a nurturer become a soldier?” She studied him when he didn’t say anything. “Or is it that a soldier became a nurturer?”

He forced himself not to flinch or reveal anything to her probing questions—questions that had taken a different tack, more personal, like little pricks of a knife on his skin.

“Why do you want to know?” he asked.

She chewed on her bottom lip and a little surge of heat swept through him. He wanted to haul her up against him and kiss that lip.

What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn’t here to give up his life story. Or spend time fantasizing about his friend’s sister. This was supposed to be a talk about her. He needed to take the reins in this conversation.

“You obviously came here to discuss something serious with me,” she said in answer to his question. She looked at him. “I think it’s just quid pro quo.”

He frowned. “If I answer your questions, then you’ll answer mine?” He shook his head. “I won’t be able to answer certain questions.”

“About E.D.G.E. Security?”

Again he didn’t say anything.

“I can deal with that,” she said. “But I want honesty in everything else. And I get to go first.”

He now knew what she was playing at. She was trying to force him to back off—a verbal game of chicken. She didn’t know who she was playing against. But she’d soon find out.

“How many questions?” he asked.

“Three.”

“Done. But I also want complete honesty.”

“Of course,” she said. She stared at him intently, as if she could detect a lie just by watching him. “Were you always a fighter?”

He sighed. “I grew up in Ottawa, in a fairly middle-class neighborhood. Nothing special except I was big for my age. Right from the beginning I had to defend myself from kids who wanted to prove they were tough so they picked on the big black kid. Like I was a gangbanger just because my skin is dark.” He shrugged. “But then I found out I was good at it. It’s one of the reasons I joined the military.”

She nodded. “So how did a soldier become a nurturer?”

Now he laughed. “I wouldn’t call myself nurturing. I’m a medic.”

“You take care of people,” she insisted.

He rolled his shoulders as if trying to get out from under those words and the memories they stirred. “Listen, I was a bit of a scrapper and then my dad died. My mom started to drink and…”

“And you took care of her,” she finished for him. She said it matter of factly and that made it easier to hear aloud, like it had happened to someone else. Like some other kid had come home from school to find his mother passed out on the floor again.

“Was it just you?” she asked.

“I have a younger brother,” he said, his voice tight, no longer happy with this game.

“How ol—”

“You’ve had your three questions,” Zach said. “It’s my turn. How long have you had PTSD?”

She took a deep breath. “Since coming back from Iraq two years ago. I’ve mostly got it under control.”

“At least you’re not denying it.”

Her pace quickened. Trying to outrun him again?

“Of course not,” she said. “Yesterday was unusual for me. I wasn’t expecting a flashbang.”

They walked in silence for a moment. He decided to dispense with games. “You know who we’re dealing with here. Next time it could be a real bomb, a real situation.”

She huffed out a breath as if impatient with him. “I get that. I
know
that. But I’ll be more focused next time. Prepared. It won’t catch me off guard again.”

He nodded. “So you won’t be affected by a real bomb going off? Or gunfire?”

“Is that one of your questions?” she asked, staring straight ahead.

Fuck the questions. “It’s nothing shameful to have a flashback,” he said softly.

Her head turned toward him slowly and a spark of anger lit her gray eyes to storm clouds. “Are you going to report me?”

He liked that she got right to the point. No dancing around or coyness from Alyssa Harrison. Just like her brother.

“No,” Zach answered. “But I need to know the extent of your PTSD and when it flares up. I need for you to be honest with me about it.”

Her lips compressed before she nodded. “I’m fine.”

“You need to talk to someone.”

“The Bureau has already assigned me a shrink.”

“Is that because of your PTSD or is it just the standard counselor?”

“Does it matter?”

“Have you tried a support group?”

“Dammit, I’m fine. I do my job, what more do you want?”

She stalked off and he let her, wondering as she did if he should tell Jake about his sister. Maybe she was fine and the flashbang had just surprised her.

Or maybe she was spiraling down and needed help.

He couldn’t afford to look after her. Not on this mission. It was too important. Alyssa Harrison would need to deal with her demons on her own. He was here for Al Shabah and nothing would get in his way, not even a beautiful firecracker.