Chapter Seven
Leaning over the bathroom sink, Jamie soaked a plush washcloth in warm water and brought it to his face, chasing away the last vestiges of jetlag. He hadn’t slept a wink on the red-eye to Houston. Their last-minute booking had landed them in the back row of coach, and there was nothing his charm or Aidan’s badge could do about a full first-class cabin. Despite the tight fit and upright seats, Aidan had slept most of the three-and-a-half-hour flight, so once they deplaned in Houston, Jamie had let his partner lead the way.
Past the rental car counters to a Mercedes E350 convertible in long-term parking.
Past the valet who’d greeted Aidan by name when they’d pulled in front of a private oceanfront complex.
Past the opulent lobby, into the glass elevator, up four floors, and through the living area of an open-plan condo.
Jamie had only had eyes for the guest bedroom Aidan directed him to and the California king bed waiting there.
Four hours of dead-to-the-world-sleep later, Jamie took in his surroundings anew. The bathroom was floor-to-ceiling white marble, including the sunken whirlpool tub and glassed-in spa shower, and he quickly availed himself of the latter. Freshly showered, he spotted his luggage on a rack by the bedroom door. He tossed out clothes until he unearthed his athletic shorts and a gym shirt. Once dressed, he padded across the smooth bamboo floors to the far wall and found two wooden rods in the heavy blackout curtains. Pushing them apart, he gasped at the view revealed—rolling dunes, white sandy beaches, and the blue-green waters of the Gulf.
Opening the French doors set in the wall of windows, he stepped out on the balcony and let the hot, humid air surround him, fondly remembering beach vacations as a kid. Money had been scarce growing up, but his mom always saved enough for a week at the coast. They’d never stayed anywhere this nice—motor lodges were all they could afford on a waitress’s tips—but sand, sun and water were entertainment enough for him and his sister, and his mom had been content reading a book on the beach beside them. Nothing had made Jamie happier than buying her an oceanfront house at Oak Island with his NBA signing bonus.
Wandering down the balcony, he reentered the condo at the next set of open French doors, unsurprised to find the living area as lavish as his room. A gourmet kitchen was equipped with top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances, expansive granite countertops, large center island, and a raised breakfast bar, stools tucked neatly underneath. In the adjacent dining area, a long, rectangular piece of beveled glass sat atop two white stone pillars, surrounded by eight chairs, their blue gingham cushions matching those on the barstools. Beyond the kitchen and dining areas, in front of where Jamie stood, a pair of oversized couches and two swivel chairs faced a sixty-inch wall-mounted plasma television, a media unit underneath with the requisite cable box, Blu-ray player and gaming system.
Noticing the open door to his right, Jamie poked his head into the other bedroom. Finding nothing but Aidan’s exploded luggage, he searched the main area for a note or other clue as to his partner’s whereabouts. As far as clues went, a lukewarm pot of coffee and a covered skillet weren’t a lot to go on. Lifting the lid on the skillet, he inhaled the enticing aromas of chorizo, peppers, eggs and cheese, all arranged on a picture-worthy breakfast tostada. He poured himself a mug of coffee, slid the tostada on a plate, reheated both in the microwave, then carried his breakfast out to the balcony.
As near as Jamie could tell, glancing above and below the waist-high stucco balcony wall, the condo was on the top floor of a four-level structure, four units wide, except the first floor, which only had two units on either side of the lobby. The building was a narrow beach and row of dunes back from the ocean, which was calm today. A few kids played on the sand, two teens floated on body boards just past the breakers, and, a little farther out, someone swam parallel to the coast. Shoveling in the last of his tostada, Jamie set the plate aside and picked up the binoculars on the table behind him. Adjusting the dials, he focused on the swimmer.
A shock of blond hair and broad, powerful shoulders breached the water’s surface in smooth, practiced strokes. Jamie’s face warmed, not from the late morning sun but from the memory of that amazing body in his arms last night, tight in apprehension then relaxing as they’d danced. He’d gone to the Tavern with the single intention of making sure Aidan was okay. After learning about Katie’s outburst and Aidan and Gabe’s anniversary, he figured his partner needed a friend. But the intimate atmosphere of the place and their conversation had had Jamie thinking about more. Wanting more. Once Aidan had mentioned the quinceañera, the thought of dancing with him had become irresistible.
And that right there was problem one. Aidan was his partner, his mentor. Jamie admired him, had wanted him from afar for years, but fraternizing with a fellow agent was frowned upon by the Bureau; with one’s partner was taboo. He loved his job and didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize it, especially now that SAC Cruz was eyeing him for promotion. While he preferred to stay in the cave, out of the public eye he’d already had enough of, he wanted to do well and advance, which meant doing good, clean fieldwork and keeping his hands off Aidan.
Problem two, Aidan was very much taken. The flood of guilt had been painted clear as day on his face after Cruz called last night. Gabe still had a firm hold on his heart.
Problem three, Jamie recognized his own inclination to move too fast, to fall head over heels at warp speed and ignore the danger-ahead signs lining the path to destruction. The shrink he’d seen during physical therapy after his injury, when he’d been at his lowest, had said his instant attachment tendencies came from the loss of his father at such a young age. She was right, to some degree. He didn’t want to waste time when he knew how short life could be. Another part of it, though, was the happiness hoarder in him that wanted to grab onto the good and keep it hidden close, out of the ruthless public eye that could destroy it with a single headline. While clips from his highlight reel still aired from time to time, the media had mostly left Whiskey Walker alone since he joined the FBI. Getting involved with his wealthy, older, widower coworker—a man—would be sure to thrust him back into the headlines. Their lives would be exposed and their jobs at risk. This time, Jamie had to pay attention to the warning signs. He had to curb his desire and steer clear of any romantic attachment to Aidan.
His partner, though, wasn’t doing him any favors. Sauntering up the wooden walkway from the beach, towel slung over one shoulder, Aidan’s swim trunks were molded to his lower body in a way that left nothing to the imagination. Groaning, Jamie turned his back on Aidan and the ocean and adjusted his shorts.
By the time a key turned in the front lock and Aidan stepped inside, Jamie had his body and imagination mostly under control. Running soap and water over the dishes in the sink, he glanced over his shoulder, grateful to find Aidan had wrapped the towel around his hips, even if it did draw his gaze to the strip of auburn hair leading beneath the towel.
“Morning, partner,” Aidan said, and his eyes snapped up.
Hiding the warmth on his cheeks, Jamie turned back to his task. “Sorry I slept most of it away.”
“Judging by your A-plus walking dead impression after the flight, I’d say you needed it. Can’t sleep on planes?”
“Fifty-fifty shot, if I’m in first class. Coach, never.”
“Ditto, but with enough whiskey...”
Shutting off the sink, Jamie turned and braced his hands behind him on the counter. He felt like he needed to apologize, like he’d somehow taken advantage. “Listen, about last night—”
“Thank you,” Aidan said, as he fiddled with the coffeepot. “I had a rough day and you were a good friend, so...thank you.”
Jamie spun back to the sink before Aidan glimpsed the disappointment on his face. Friend. Not the zone he wanted to be in, but where they had to be. Hell, it was better than merely partner. He’d take friend; he’d be happy with that. He didn’t have a choice.
“You know, you don’t have to do that.” Aidan appeared across from him on the other side of the bar, two mugs in hand. “Daily housekeeping service.”
His mood improved instantly. He shut off the water and wiped his hands on the dishtowel over his shoulder. “This ain’t exactly the Holiday Inn.”
“The building’s owned by families with business in the area, mine included.”
Grabbing the other mug, Jamie took a careful sip of the coffee, unsure how hot it would be, and was surprised to find it prepared how he liked it. Suppressing the threatening grin, he asked, “What else is on the agenda today?”
“I called the field office before I went for a swim. It’s Sunday, so skeleton crew, but Gary and his team will meet us at noon. Then we’ll head over to GNL.”
“How are we playing the field office? Friendly or foe?”
“I may have ruffled some feathers the other day.”
“You think?”
“You’ll need to flash that gorgeous smile and win us some friends.”
Gorgeous. So much for holding back that grin and blush. “Who do you want to interview at GNL?” Jamie asked, feigning ignorance of both.
“Everyone who has access to the BSL-4 labs. I want to look them in the eye and see if we’ve got a coconspirator inside.”
“And I have some follow-up questions for the network security team.”
Aidan downed the rest of his coffee and handed Jamie his empty mug. “You’re on point there. Technobabble and all that.”
“Can you at least say jargon or lingo?”
Aidan used his forearms on the bar to lever forward, mouth twisted in a smug grin. “No promises.”
“Asshole,” Jamie grumbled, though it morphed into a laugh.
A laugh that died when Aidan gave him a wink, turned and walked, sans towel, across the living area to his room, his firm backside on display beneath those damp swim trunks.
Partner, mentor, friend, Jamie repeated to himself. Nothing more.
Good luck with that, came a voice in his head, one that sounded suspiciously like the cause of his torment.
* * *
Luck was not on Jamie’s side.
Not when Aidan came out of his room dressed in worn cowboy boots, dark wash jeans, and a faded gray Western-style button down, looking right at home in Texas.
Not when they crested the causeway bridge and his partner shot him a smile, his hair windswept, the midday sun reflecting off his silver-rimmed aviators.
And definitely not when a good-looking young man dressed in jeans and a V-neck tee entered the room and gave him a slow-once over, eliciting a rumbling, sexy, hands-off growl from Aidan.
Before Jamie could ponder the stranger’s interest or Aidan’s reaction, an older gentlemen joined them.
“Agents Talley and Walker, I’m Gary Clark.” Hand outstretched, Gary rounded the table to greet them. Despite his thinning gray hair, Gary’s shoulders were broad, his figure trim, his skin wrinkled and bronzed from a lifetime in the Texas sun. This was not a man you wanted to meet in a bar fight. “Pleasure to meet you in person,” he drawled, his accented voice deep and commanding. “SAC Cruz speaks highly of you both.”
“Aidan, please,” his partner said, all trace of hostility gone. “Mel says the same of you.”
“Glad to hear I’m on her good side. That woman scares the piss out of me.”
Aidan laughed. “Try being her brother-in-law.”
“Married to her sister?”
“Brother.”
Gary’s eyes widened slightly, but the Texas City SAC betrayed no other reaction. Jamie wondered how that reaction would differ if he’d made such a statement.
Aidan’s introduction interrupted the thought. “My partner, Jameson Walker.”
“Whiskey Walker.” Gary shook his hand with enthusiasm. “It’s a real pleasure, though I’m still holding that Final Four loss against you.”
“I’d expect nothing less of a Longhorn alumnus.” He’d read up on their host during the flight from hell last night. “And your nephew made my Heels pay for it in last year’s College World Series. Hell of a pitcher. He’s going to make some major league team very happy.”
Gary’s milky blue eyes lit with pride. “Rangers and Astros are already scouting him. So are a dozen other teams, but it sure would be nice to keep him close to home.”
“May the draft gods be with you.”
“From you, I’ll take that.”
Most people would. He’d been fortunate, or so it seemed. Drafted by the Charlotte Bobcats, back before they became the Hornets again, he’d stayed close to home. That had ultimately been his downfall.
As if sensing his discomfort, Aidan spared him further draft talk by extending a hand to the younger agent. “Agent Talley,” he said, a more formal greeting than he’d offered Gary. “Agent Torres, I presume?”
“Yes, sir.” The striking, dark-haired man—Jamie guessed near his own age—tucked the files he carried under his left arm and shook Aidan’s pale, freckled hand in his brown one. “You received those additional reports?”
“We did. Thank you very much.”
He turned to Jamie, a blinding white smile splitting his tan face. “Oscar Torres.”
“Jamie Walker.”
“I’m a big fan, too.” Using their clasped hands, Oscar pulled him close and lowered his voice. “That demo you put on at the Black Hat convention in Vegas last year was something else.” Oscar’s hazel eyes gleamed with mischief and flirtation.
Jamie was surprised into silence by the fact Oscar knew of his not-so-legal recreational activities behind a computer screen. Before he could reply, a fourth voice joined the fray.
“Excuse me, coming through.” A wiry thirty-something hipster type entered with a box of files. He dropped it on the table and glanced between Aidan and Jamie. “I’m sorry I’m late. Agent Todd Barnes, at your service.”
After another round of handshakes, Aidan jutted his chin toward the files. “What’ve you got there?”
Todd adjusted his too-tight black vest and pushed his thick-rimmed glasses up his sharply angled nose. “First responder reports from each breach. I thought you’d want to see these too.”
Of course they would.
Frustration and anger flared in Aidan’s eyes and Jamie intervened before he exploded. “Thank you, Todd. Have you looked through them yet?”
“Briefly,” he said with a cautious look toward Aidan. “We just received them from the local departments yesterday afternoon. I spent all night collating them.”
Aidan’s irate glare shifted to Oscar. “And what were you doing?”
“Sweeping network logs,” he answered, then pointedly addressed Jamie. “I’d be happy to go through these with you.” He nodded at the folders he’d laid on the table.
Feeling the tsunami of tension rolling off Aidan, Jamie shut the solicitous agent down. “We’ll get to that later, Agent Torres.” Using Oscar’s own tactics against him, Jamie ignored him and spoke to Todd. “Tell us what you’ve found.”
Todd’s wariness vanished, Aidan relaxed, and Jamie breathed a sigh of relief. He pulled out chairs for him and Aidan. Oscar and Todd sat across the table, Gary at the head.
“In addition to the alerts to GNL network security, alerts were also transmitted to UT campus security, GNL and UT biohazard units, and local fire and police departments.” Todd pulled different colored files out of his box. “No tampering or interference detected with any transmissions. Response times varied from two to ten minutes, depending on the day and time.”
Jamie rotated his chair toward Aidan and rapped his knuckles on the table. “Knock, knock.”
One corner of his partner’s mouth quirked up. “This game again?”
Smiling, Jamie knocked again.
Aidan rolled his eyes, but played along. “Who’s there?”
“I don’t care. I just wanted to see how long it took you to answer the door.”
Understanding dawned, the other side of Aidan’s mouth lifting as his gaze sharpened. “Someone’s gauging response times.” He turned to Todd. “Was it a different shift for any of those response teams?”
“Yes. It varies by day and team. I’ll have a correlated report to you by end of day.”
Aidan was on his feet again, pacing the area between their chairs and the conference room windows, pen spinning around his thumb. Chair sideways, one eye on Aidan, the other on Todd and Oscar, Jamie asked the latter, “Any further breaches?”
“None, and the internal firewall behind the air gap remains untouched.”
He rattled off a string of diagnostic and penetration tests, making sure Oscar had run them all, until his chair was spun around to face an exasperated Aidan. “English, Whiskey. Translate the technobabble.”
Jamie shot out a hand, snatched the pen from Aidan’s grasp, and broke it in half. “Say ‘babble’ one more time, and I’ll break something else.”
By the challenge glittering in Aidan’s eyes, Jamie knew a repeat of the obnoxious word was on the tip of his tongue. Gary interceded before war broke out. “I’d appreciate an explanation too, Agent Walker.”
Smirking, Aidan raised both hands. “Last time, I promise.” He moved to stand by Gary, and Jamie split his gaze between the two of them, explaining in idiot’s English the pen-tests Oscar had conducted, including the one he’d missed.
“I should have caught that,” Oscar said, his tone a harsh rebuke of himself. “I’ll call GNL network security and have them run it right away.”
“No, don’t,” Jamie said. “We’re headed over there next. I’ll do it myself.”
“Planning to leave a little something behind?” Aidan asked.
“Maybe.”
“Would you like us to join you?” Todd asked.
“We’ve got it,” Aidan replied. “We’ll take the GNL security and biohazard responder reports off your hands.”
Todd dug the green and yellow file folders out of the box and pushed them across the table.
Jamie flipped through them as Aidan continued speaking. “That leaves you two with the fire and police responder reports, and Barnes, make sure you email us that correlated shift log. While you’re at it, crosscheck all responders with anyone who has BSL-4 access at GNL.”
“What’re you thinking?” Gary asked.
“Someone inside GNL is trying to move something out.”
Jamie followed his partner’s train of thought. “If they need to breach the internal air gap to do so, that inside person could be conspiring with someone directing response teams.”
“Directing or monitoring.”
Gary nodded. “Worth a look.”
“We’ll get right on it.” Todd scribbled notes on a legal pad.
“Be sure to include all agencies who responded, including this one,” Aidan said.
Todd’s hand froze, the lead of his pencil cracking under pressure. His green eyes grew wide as saucers behind those black-frame glasses.
“You don’t need to do that.” Gary drew their attention away from the junior agent’s blanched face. “I’ve personally questioned everyone here.” The SAC’s tone contained not a trace of defensiveness, only pure professionalism, and Jamie understood why Cruz regarded him so highly. For such a large man, whose bearing might frighten some, his demeanor was calm and steady.
Aidan nodded. “Good, one more thing off our plate. Can we use this conference room for the rest of the week?”
“That shouldn’t be a problem.” Gary pushed up from his chair and addressed his agents. “Todd, make sure Nora reserves this room first thing tomorrow morning. Oscar, get IT to set up some workstations in here too.”
“Yes, sir,” they both answered.
Jamie gathered files as Aidan shook Gary’s hand at the door. “We look forward to working with you.”
Todd followed them out, having a much easier time with his lightened box.
Holding his and Aidan’s share of the files to his chest with one arm, Jamie used his free hand to enter search parameters into his phone. Focused on his task, he nearly ran into Oscar, who was waiting in the doorway.
“Here’s my card.” Oscar dropped a business card in front of the files. “My personal number’s on the back.”
Jamie didn’t miss Oscar’s invitation. Neither did Aidan, judging by the pointed look he shot him once they stepped into the elevator. “Run that search on connections here to GNL.”
“Already on it.” Jamie flashed his phone at Aidan and almost dropped the files doing so. “Here, hold these.” He shoved the files at Aidan and turned his attention back to his search algorithm, disregarding Oscar’s card, which had floated to the floor.
“You can do that deep a search from your phone?” Aidan asked, snit forgotten.
Jamie waited until they were outside the building doors before letting his partner in on a little secret. “I can bring down an empire from this thing.”
“Speaking of, I didn’t know the FBI condoned its agents attending Black Hat conventions.”
“Surprised you caught that,” Jamie said without looking up from his phone. “Much less know what one is.”
“I’ve seen every Michael Mann film ever made. And you didn’t answer the question.”
The smack of file folders hitting leather seats halted Jamie before he ran into the side of the car. Search variables entered, he pocketed the phone and leaned his hip against the side of the Benz. “Jameson Walker has never attended a Black Hat convention.”
“I’m sure he hasn’t.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Guy’s gotta get his thrills somehow.”
Aidan’s eyes cut to the brick office building. “I’m thinking Torres would like to give you some thrills.”
“Not where I’m looking for thrills these days.” The words were out of Jamie’s mouth before he could catch them.
Heat flared in Aidan’s eyes, but he shuttered it quickly and tossed Jamie the keys. “Your turn to drive. Top up, though, with those files in the back.”
Catching the keys one-handed, Jamie ran his other hand through his hair, giving the top strands a frustrated tug.
Partner, mentor, friend, he repeated his new mantra. Nothing more.
He slid in behind the wheel, waited for the convertible top to lift, and clicked the E350 into sport mode.
Aidan arched a brow. “Another source of thrills?”
“The good kind,” Jamie answered.
An easy smile spread across Aidan’s face, melting the tension between them. “Just remember, you break it, you bought it.”
“Like you said, I’m good for it.”