CHAPTER 1
MARSHALL KELLEY
Marshall Kelleygenerally lived his life waiting for the moment things went wrong–because he was the guy they called to put it back together. He and his team at Black Tower Security.
And something always went wrong.
The conference room smelled faintly of burnt coffee and the gunpowder residue everyone dragged back from the training range buried two levels down. Marshall slid into his usual seat halfway down the long black table, the chair cool against his palms, the room half-lit by the glow of the massive video wall at the front.
Ross McClain stood near it, flipping through a tablet. His jaw was clenched in that way it did before he delivered bad news. It was only Monday morning. Less than forty-eight hours since they’d toasted their victory in Old Town after rescuing Kaylie and Lia. Oh, and preventing the defense spending bill. Senator Collins and his defense lobbyist money could pound sand. Nothing ticked off a former military man more than draft-dodging bureaucrats using the defense budget to line their own pockets.
Forty-eight hours and already the weight of the world was back.
The room could hold thirty, but less than a dozen members of BTS were scattered throughout the room, Ross at the head of the table, Tank taking up enough space for two men, and Will Gilbert sprawled in his usual half-alert way. Miranda, poised and professional, sat near Ross with a notepad already waiting.
Joey perched in front of a laptop, half-standing as she worked, her curls caught up in a messy bun as she pointed out something on the screen to her protégé, Stephen. Others waited quietly for the ball to drop.
Ross lifted a hand, silencing the murmur of side conversations. “All right, team. Hope you had a good weekend off. It’s time to get back to work.”
Marshall straightened slightly. McClain’s voice had a naturally no-nonsense cadence. He was, as usual, part commander, part big brother. The former Secret Service agent had started Black Tower Security five years ago, along with Flint Raven, the former CEO of RavenTech.
“Joey,” Ross prompted, with a gesture for her to proceed.
She grinned, fingers flying across her keyboard as the screen behind her lit up with charts and connections. “This is going to take some brain power. Think you walking action figures can handle it?” She rubbed her hands together. “It’s going to be fun.”
Marshall almost smiled. Joey was the only one who thought digging through encrypted servers and shell company spreadsheets qualified as fun. She was the best he’d ever seen. Stephen was a close second, though. She’d brought him into the fold around six months ago, the week of President Waters’ assassination.
Joey launched into her briefing—her words tripping over each other as she outlined the latest threads she’d pulled from the Syndicate’s web of deception and murky machinations. “Trip Harrington’s moving money again,” she said, tapping the keyboard. Harrington was the Syndicate’s money man, anexpert at making their financial machinations seem innocent. Or hiding them altogether. A diagram blossomed across the screen, companies, accounts, and wires darting across continents. “He’s hiding it better this time, but the pattern’s the same. Offshore holdings, back through a Luxembourg account, then into a couple domestic conduits. Most of it’s what we’ve seen before.”
Marshall’s gaze slid to the blank stretch of table in front of him, the diagrams dissolving into background static. Numbers and shell companies weren’t his world.
Then she said it, almost a throwaway comment. “One of the conduits he used more heavily this round was Summit Capital. Could be nothing, but it’s worth learning more about.”
The name cut through the fog of his distracted thoughts. Summit Capital...Why did that sound familiar?
“Something wrong?”
Jackson’s voice cut into his thoughts, light and teasing. Marshall shot him a warning look, but his younger brother was already leaning back in his chair, arms spread wide and folding behind his head.
He nudged Marshall’s knee with his foot. “Isn’t that where Norah is working?” Jackson said with a whisper, apparently not satisfied with Marshall’s lack of reaction.
The name flashed red-hot in his mind, dragging with it a memory. Her face, her laugh, the way she’d looked at him that night before everything shattered. He forced his jaw to unclench and kept his expression flat. But he couldn’t stop the knot forming in his chest.
Jackson had briefly mentioned Norah and Summit Capital just the other night, but Marshall had just as quickly shoved the information—and the memory—out of his mind. But here it was again.
He told himself it was a coincidence. Summit was a big firm. Hundreds of employees. Just because Norah worked there didn’t mean there was any reason to worry.
“Can you please focus, Jackson?” Miranda asked from across the table.
“Anything you say, baby girl,” Jackson replied with a wink in her direction. Marshall shook his head at his brother’s antics.
Miranda’s cheeks pinkened, and she pushed her glasses back up, pressing her lips together.
Ross gave Jackson a long-suffering look, then gestured for Joey to continue.
“Right.” Joey’s tone sharpened. She clicked to a new slide, a grainy black-and-white photo of a woman in her fifties. Time hadn’t softened her. Her face was all hard planes and angles, framed by dusty blonde hair, her gaze sharp enough to cut. “This,” Joey said with a flourish, “is Ksenia Sidarov. And if I’m right, this is our Saltykova.”
Marshall leaned forward before he realized it, pulse ticking up. They’d been chasing shadows for months, but they didn’t know who Saltykova was. Just that they were vicious, Russian, and behind nearly everything the Syndicate was doing. And now Joey had put a face to the name. Possibly.
