Strategic Maneuvers - Jemma Westbrook Page 0,1
The mechanical whir of a motor cut through the silence dragging out between them. The bed under his upper half began to angle up, raising Zeke to a sitting position. “They’re after you.”
His body stilled as every inch of him rejected the thought.
The potential truth it held.
“I’m the owner of Alaskan Security. Of course they’re after me.” His company was standing in the way of whatever goals the men attempting to take it down had. That was all.
Zeke eyed him. “You talked to Vincent yet?”
“Only to make the deal that brought me here.” He was willing to do whatever it took to end this. Even find his way to beds he might never make it out of.
Zeke’s eyes narrowed. “You made a deal with Vincent?”
“You left me no choice.” Pierce pulled the hand from his pocket, forcing his fingers to lay loose at his side. “You put me in a position where I can’t win.”
“I don’t think you understand the position you’re actually in, Pierce.”
“And you do?” It was easy to believe you understood things from the outside looking in. So easy to question a man’s actions. To know you would do something differently.
Better.
It was clearly what Zeke believed and he’d acted on that belief, putting both Heidi and Shawn, along with Alaskan Security, in danger.
“I know enough to understand things aren’t what they seem.”
“Lovely.” He didn’t have time for this. Pierce turned for the door. “Best of luck with your future endeavors.”
Zeke snorted behind him. “God you’re a prick.”
Piece paused at the door, staring ahead at the solid plane.
The color.
The texture.
Focusing on anything but the swell of rage tugging at the control he held so tightly.
He reached for the knob, the sound of the latch as it worked evidence of how far he’d come in his life.
It wasn’t so long ago he wouldn’t have walked away from the insult.
From the punishment that deserved to be doled out.
The hall was empty when he stepped into it.
Seemed empty.
Pierce glanced toward the camera tucked into one corner and waited.
“Get what you were hoping for?”
He didn’t turn toward the voice at his back. “You know I didn’t.”
Vincent’s steps were even and measured as they came closer. “I can’t say I’m surprised.” He didn’t pause as he reached Pierce’s side. “Come on.”
The order grated on the deepest parts of him, digging into old wounds and buried bones. “And where is it you wish for me to go?”
Vincent stopped, turning toward where Pierce still stood. “If you want to have this conversation here we can.” He looked up and down the hall. “But I assumed you wanted a little more privacy.”
Vincent was older than Pierce. Mid-forties. Maybe fifty, but years of government work made it difficult to tell from mannerisms or speech.
Because they all acted the same. Cool. Calm
Detached.
That was what made them different from him. The ability to separate their feelings from their actions.
Pierce eyed the camera in the corner, hiding it with the pass of a sweeping gaze and a sigh intended to project frustration. “Fine.”
He allowed Vincent to lead him down the hall and through a set of double doors into another, more narrow hall. At the end they made another turn, one that put them at the back corner of the large hub disguised as a warehouse. The head of GHOST opened the final door on the left, standing to one side as Pierce went in.
The office was large enough that it should feel spacious.
It did not.
The walls were lined with monitors, each connected to a different feed. Some displayed city streets. Some showed vacant buildings.
One fed to a camera outside Alaskan Security.
“I wouldn’t think you would need a camera there considering how many men you have inside.” Betrayal made the words sharper than they should be. He was always aware Zeke and his men all had a foot on different soil.
He just believed their allegiance leaned a certain way.
“You wouldn’t think.” Vincent rounded the desk in the center of the room, dropping into the chair behind it before motioning to the single office chair on the opposite side. “Yet here we are.”
The comment didn’t sit right.
Pierce eased down into the chair, carefully positioning himself into the relaxed pose he wore like the skin it was. “What is it you want from me, Vincent?”
Vincent was as known of a figure as any member of GHOST could be. His name was whispered in theories and discussions. Suggested when no other options existed. Maybe not by name, but by reputation.
The Hunter.
He was exactly