His to Protect - Em Petrova Page 0,2

a movie about an oil rig with dangerous practices that break environmental codes. Looks like it’s hit too close to the truth, and some workers in the Gulf of Mexico walked off the job.”

Oz leaned over Madeline’s shoulder to stare at her screen, where interviews about the movie and the trailer rolled along with headlines about yesterday’s huge uproar in the Gulf.

North searched the screen, his mind running over the issues he’d deal with on his end, behind his screen, following maps.

Or I could take the mission.

He’d been hiding too long.

“I’ll take her on,” he heard himself say.

Madeline and Oz turned to him in the same motion. Their stares cut through him.

“Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you, North.” Lines bracketed Oz’s mouth.

He narrowed his eyes. “About what?”

Oz leaned on Madeline’s desk and faced him. “You sustained some major injuries with that leg. It won’t be totally right again. And you’re too valuable here in this chair. When we almost lost you, we realized how necessary your skills are. Nobody knows tech like you do, especially when it comes to locating people and moving them on the chessboard.”

North darted a look at Madeline. She stared back.

Jesus Christ, she already knew what Oz was going to say.

Anger welled in his chest. “What the fuck are you saying, Oz?”

“That if you step down from missions, you have a permanent place right here. Then you’re out of the main action and we won’t be in danger of losing a man.”

Irritation steamrollered over him. He pushed away from the desk and stood, huffing against the need to bellow. They already decided to shelf him? Put him on desk duty alone, and not even give him another shot to prove that he could still guard a human being like the best of them?

“Hell no,” he grated out.

Oz straightened from the desk. “We’re not making this into a punishment, man.”

“No. You’re saying that I can’t handle it, because I’ve got a steel plate in my leg.”

Oz shook his head. “You proved you’re physically up to par.”

“Damn right.” He set his jaw.

“You sure you really want to do this, Bodhi?” Oz rarely used his first name. Everyone knew him as North. Hell, he hadn’t even heard that name for so many weeks that it jarred him when he did. And Oz fucking knew it—he used it now to get his attention.

“I’m sure. I’m fucking going. It’s my mission.”

“North.” Madeline’s voice brought his attention around. He met her gaze. “If something happens to you, it hits us where it hurts. Maybe you should reconsider.”

“I’ll be back to take over the maps. In the meantime, get the new guy into this seat.” He referred to their newest member, Sanders.

“He’s still in training, but if you’re set on taking this mission, we have no other choice.” Oz waved to Madeline. “Get Sanders on it.” He pivoted to face North.

They traded a look, each determined, but North felt he’d gotten the upper hand. It still pissed him off beyond belief that Oz and Madeline had discussed him behind his back. Of course, he bore the blame as well. From the start, he never should have grown passive. He should have jumped straight into the dark, shark-infested waters and accepted a mission from day one of his return.

He and Oz stared at each other for another second and then North dropped to his chair again. His fingers flew over the keys, and he brought up the main owner of the oil rig impacted by the new box office hit.

“Usually these rigs are owned by men with more foreign names.” He looked at a photograph of a man in a business suit, blond and blue-eyed.

“He owns two of the eighteen biggest offshore drilling companies. The guy’s got more money than God.” Madeline had his financials on her screen. “His company employs thirty-thousand people. And they all walked off yesterday after the movie premiere. This must have been brewing, but I don’t believe it’s coincidence.”

North rasped his knuckles over his five o’clock shadow. “No wonder they want to pin their anger on someone. But the actress isn’t to blame.” He searched Sloane Sailor’s face again. The beauty gazed at him from a headshot linked to her latest role, dark eyes almost appealing to him for help.

“I’m going now. I’ve got enough information to find her and keep her safe.” He turned to his boss. “I need the jet.”

* * * * *

Sloane eyed the bucket of raw meat she’d dug out of the