Chapter 31
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
Hudson sat in the reception area outside Richard Ravenscroft’s office, the leather chair too soft, the lighting too bright, everything designed to make visitors feel simultaneously comfortable and scrutinized.
His every nerve was on high alert.
The bug was planted. He’d pressed it against the underside of Ravenscroft’s desk when they’d shaken hands—a move so practiced it had taken less than a second.
Ravenscroft hadn’t noticed a thing—and neither had Natalie.
But that didn’t make Hudson feel any better about leaving Natalie alone in there with him.
He forced himself to appear casual, to check his phone like any boyfriend would while waiting. But he memorized every detail of the office space.
The layout. The security cameras. The exits. The distance from the elevator.
Margaret—Ravenscroft’s assistant—had offered him coffee, which he’d accepted more to be polite than from any real desire. It sat cooling on the side table, untouched.
Through the heavy oak door, he could hear the murmur of voices. Natalie and her father, speaking in tones too low to make out words. Having the private conversation Hudson had suggested, the one where she’d try to extract information without revealing what she knew.
He checked his phone—nothing from Colton yet about the men who’d followed Natalie. They’d scattered after the crash, disappeared into the area’s labyrinth of streets before backup could arrive.
“So how long have you and Natalie been dating?” Margaret’s tone sounded conversational, friendly.
Hudson looked up, shifting easily into Timothy Shaw mode. “About three months. We met at a cooking class.”
“How sweet.” Margaret’s smile was genuine. “She’s mentioned you a few times. Says you make her laugh.”
Something tightened in Hudson’s chest at that. Had Natalie really said that? Or was Margaret just making conversation?
“I try,” he said with what he hoped was a modest smile. “Though my Pad Thai still needs work.”
Margaret laughed. “Well, you’re doing something right. I haven’t seen her this happy in—”
Her desk phone rang, cutting off whatever she’d been about to say.
“Excuse me,” she said, reaching for the receiver. “Ravenscroft International, executive offices.”
Hudson stood, stretching legs that were starting to cramp from sitting. He moved toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Elizabeth River, giving Margaret privacy for her call while also scanning the area.
The executive floor was quiet—tastefully decorated with maritime art and ship models. It was the kind of place designed to impress clients and remind employees exactly how much power resided behind these doors.
Outside, he could see a cruise ship at the terminal waiting to leave. Could see the ferry running from Waterside to Portsmouth. All places where innocent people were conducting their lives as normal, without a clue as to what could be unleashed.
He was turning back toward his chair when movement down the hallway caught his eye.
A man emerged from one of the corner offices—tall, lean, moving with the controlled precision of someone with military training. Dark suit, expensive shoes, salt-and-pepper hair cut short.
Hudson’s heart stopped.
The profile. The way he carried himself. That distinctive scar above his left eyebrow.
Brass.
Derek “Brass” Brassen. His former teammate. His friend.
The man who’d died three years ago.
Hudson had attended the funeral. Had stood with Brass’s wife while she sobbed. Had carried the grief of seeing a colleague die.
But that man walking down the hallway—
The figure turned slightly, and Hudson got a clearer view of his face.
It did look like Brass. Older, maybe. Harder.
Hudson took an involuntary step forward, his mind reeling.
You’re seeing things. It’s stress. Lack of sleep. The operation getting to you.
But his training screamed otherwise. That was Brass’s gait. Brass’s posture.
The man—Brass—disappeared around a corner, heading toward what looked like the secure elevator banks.
Hudson should follow.
But doing so might blow his cover.
He only had a second to decide what to do.
“What really happened?” Natalie’s father repeated, his hand resting gently on her shoulder.
She forced herself to meet his eyes—the same eyes that had looked at her with love on a thousand ordinary days.
Were these the eyes of a terrorist?
“I told you what happened.” A tremor entered her voice. “These men came out of nowhere. If Timothy hadn’t been there—”
She broke off, wrapping her arms around herself. It was time to use emotion in order to stop her father from asking too many questions. She didn’t want to get caught in her lies.
Instead, she covered her mouth with her hand as if fighting off a sob.
“I can hire security for you,” her father rushed. “Professional protection. The best in the business.”
“No.” The word came out sharper than she intended. She softened her tone. “I mean, I appreciate that, but I feel safe with Timothy. He already proved he can protect me. And I—I trust him.”
The lie tasted bitter on her tongue.
Her father’s expression tightened. “What about when he works?”
“He said he can work from home, and he doesn’t have any trips lined up for the immediate future.”
Her dad sighed. “Natalie, you barely know this man.”
“I know him well enough. And after last night, I need him close. Please, Dad. Don’t make this harder than it already is. I wouldn’t feel comfortable with strange men following me around and hovering.”
She watched him wage an internal battle—the protective father versus the pragmatic businessman.
Finally, he sighed. “Fine. But I want to have dinner with both of you. Tonight. I need to know more about this man you’re trusting with your safety.”
Natalie’s stomach clenched, but she nodded. “Of course. That makes sense.”
Her father moved to the window, looking out over the river. “There’s something you need to understand. In my line of work, I’ve made enemies. People who would use you to get to me.”
Her breath caught. “What kind of enemies?”
“Business rivals. Competitors who don’t like how Ravenscroft International operates.” He turned to face her. “I’ve always tried to keep you separate from that side of things. But after last night, I think you need to know the truth.”
“And what’s that?”
“The truth is that being my daughter makes you a target.”
“Are you saying those men came after me because of you?” She didn’t have to fake the emotion in her voice now. Her fear and confusion was genuine.
“I don’t know that for certain. But it’s possible.” His expression was grim. “Which is why I need you to be careful. Very careful. And why I need to know everything about this Timothy Shaw.”
Natalie nodded slowly, processing the new information. Her father had just admitted he had enemies dangerous enough to kidnap his daughter.
But were they business rivals—or something far more sinister? Was her dad trying to explain away the attack without revealing his connection to Sigma?
“I’ll be careful,” she promised. “And you’ll like Timothy. I know you will.”
Her father’s expression suggested he doubted that very much. “We’ll see. Dinner tonight. Seven o’clock. My house.”
“We’ll be there.”
As Natalie left his office, her mind was already racing.
She needed to process what she’d just heard. Needed to decide whether to trust what her dad said. And she needed to update Hudson and see what he thought about the conversation.
But when she stepped into the hallway and saw him waiting—Timothy Shaw, the concerned boyfriend—Natalie had no idea if anything he said could be trusted either.