Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
T his was a terrible idea.
She’d known it from the moment she’d been handed this assignment, but her instructions were clear: “Clayton is instrumental to the US government, a High Value Target who must be protected at all costs.”
As she parked her car down the road from the Lydian building, she let out an unladylike snort. The guy was a criminal. His technology fueled illegal activities on the dark web. People had died because of him.
Okay, that hadn’t been proven, but the dark web was a cesspool of illicit dealings: weapons, human trafficking, money laundering, and terrorism funding.
Why the hell were they protecting this guy?
But she knew why.
He was helping the NSA trace illegal transactions tied to terrorist groups, including those orchestrated by an arms dealer named Aleksandar Markov. Markov had been a person of interest to the U.S. authorities for years, but nobody could pin anything on him. Now, with Clayton’s revolutionary new upgrade, they might be able to tie him—and a host of other bad guys—into any number of crimes.
That meant Clayton had a big red target on his head.
She scowled as she pulled her skirt down and tried to march in these ridiculous heels toward the front entrance of the building. She hoped to hell she wouldn’t have to make a quick getaway, because she wouldn’t get very far before falling flat on her face.
Better for everyone if Damian Clayton and his shady cryptocurrency vanished, but that wasn’t up to her.
Since joining Blackthorn Security as a private operator, she’d traded her life as an undercover operative for lucrative private security contracts. Pat, the resourceful ex-SEAL Commander and her new boss, had the inside track to government operations, ensuring his agency handled off-the-books missions for national security. Rose preferred it to a mundane job on Civvie Street.
“Why the sudden change of heart?” she’d asked, back at the office. Cryptocurrency Developers weren’t known for their altruism or government cooperation.
“He had an attack of conscience,” Pat had replied, offering no further explanation.
Rose scoffed.
An attack of conscience, my ass.
People like Clayton didn’t change. They didn’t suddenly wake up and think, I don’t want to do this anymore. I think I’ll turn myself in, cut a deal and go on the straight and narrow.
The authorities obviously had something on him, and were willing to overlook it, in exchange for his cooperation.
The Lydian building loomed ahead, a sleek three-story edifice of glass and chrome in Palo Alto.
Silicon Valley, a place she’d only heard about in tech circles, was now her battleground. It was a far cry from the dusty streets of Baghdad where she had once navigated through market crowds, tailing insurgents without them ever noticing. Here, the enemy wore tailored suits instead of combat gear, and the weapons were lines of code rather than AK-47s.Rose walked up to the building, holding onto her stylish leather briefcase. She planned to stride into the Lydian building looking every bit the sexy businesswoman, someone who fit right in at the sleek office block and wouldn’t draw any suspicion.
Opportunity struck when Rose saw a frazzled woman struggling with files, coffee, a purse, and a suitcase. The woman dropped a file, and Rose quickly stepped in. “Let me help you with that,” she said, bending down.
“Oh, thank you,” the woman replied, her cheeks flushed. “I'm having such a rough day.” The suitcase tipped over. “See what I mean?”
“Don’t worry, I totally get it,” Rose said sympathetically.
As the woman straightened up, Rose handed her the file, stealthily unclipping the laminated ID card from her waist. The woman, oblivious, thanked her and turned to grab her coffee.
Rose walked up the paved path toward the entrance, surrounded by blooming trees and landscaped gardens. She moved quickly, aware the woman might soon notice her missing ID.
A uniformed security guard stood on the other side of the revolving door. Rose sized him up: six-foot-two, muscular but a bit flabby. Threat level: moderate.
She slid the stolen ID through the scanner and flashed a bright smile at the guard, diverting his attention from the monitor. The machine beeped.
“Good morning, Reggie,” she called, having noted his name badge earlier.
“Morning, ma’am,” he replied, grinning as she passed. The man behind her scanned his card, the machine beeping again.
Rose entered the gleaming foyer with its high ceilings, marble floors, and metallic phoenix statue. Sunlight streamed through the tinted glass ceilings, creating an underwater effect.
Scanning the lobby for exits, she saw only the entrance behind her. The reception desk to her left was busy with people getting visitor cards. A directory was written in gold above the desk. She quickly found Damian Clayton’s office on the third floor and headed to the elevator.
Inside the elevator, she observed her fellow passengers—most wearing glasses, likely from long hours at their computers. She couldn’t understand the appeal of staring at code all day. To her, it felt like spending hours in a glorified prison cell.
The elevator doors swished open and she stepped out into a plush, air-conditioned corridor. Rose scanned the doors for Clayton’s office, noting the lack of visible CCTV cameras. Not that it mattered; she’d be in and out before anyone realized the threat.
The CEO’s office, as expected, was at the end of the corridor. She pushed open the glass door, conducting a quick risk assessment. A blonde receptionist in a chic trouser suit, her hair up in a tight bun, stood at the printer. Two burly security guards flanked the CEO’s door. Ex-military, two-hundred pounds, packing.
Threat level: high.
The guards checked her out, then relaxed, assuming she wasn’t a threat.
Big mistake.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist asked.
“I’m here to see Mr. Clayton.” Rose flashed the stolen ID. “Sarah Flannagan from Finance.”
“You don’t have an appointment.”
“No, but Damian asked me to bring some figures up.” She rolled her eyes. “You know how he is—wants everything yesterday.”
The receptionist gestured to the sofa. “I’ll let him know you’re here.”
“Thank you.”
Rose sat down, observing the guards. They wore earpieces and stared straight ahead. She tapped out a message on her phone to Anna, the admin assistant at Blackthorn Security HQ in Washington D.C. Moments later, the phone behind the desk rang.
“Hello. Mr. Clayton’s office,” the receptionist answered.
“What?” An urgency to her voice. “Okay, I’ll send them down.”
She hung up and addressed the guards. “There’s been a report that someone was seen tampering with Damian’s car. There’s a ticking sound coming from underneath. It could be a bomb.”
The guards dashed out.
Fools.
The receptionist appeared frazzled.
“Something wrong?” Rose asked, from the couch.
“No. I mean yes, but I’m sure it’s okay.”
Rose nodded. “All this extra security can’t be easy.”
“It’s not. I’m totally frazzled.”
“I can imagine,” Rose said sympathetically. “If you want a tea break, I’ll be fine here.”
“Oh, I’m okay, thanks. But I think I’ll use the restroom.”
Rose gave a friendly nod.
The receptionist left. Rose waited half a minute then followed, taking an item out of her purse. Bending down, she slid a wedge under the restroom door. Satisfied it couldn’t be opened from the inside, she returned to Clayton’s office.
Opening her briefcase, she took out her Glock, savoring the cold steel in her hand. Tiptoeing to Clayton’s office door, she listened.
Silence.
He was alone.
Slowly, she turned the handle and stepped inside.
“Who are you?” Clayton asked, looking up from his desk. “Where’s Christine?”
Rose entered, the pistol hanging at her side.
Clayton saw it and leaped out of his chair. He was fit, not the geek she expected.
Six two. A hundred and fifty pounds. Threat level: moderate.
“Who are you?” the CEO demanded, eyeing the gun.
No fear, just anger.
Surprising.
She raised the weapon. “I’m the woman who’s going to kill you.”