Eliza Meadows had a BA in political science, a master’s degree in economics, and a doctorate in public policy. She was the daughter of the current chief of staff and was probably destined to someday run the country.
But her true passion? Cooking.
When she wasn’t managing their missions, keeping the president apprised of their progress, or researching situations that required BKI’s intervention, she could be found in the kitchen, whipping up something that tasted even better than it looked.
And her creations alwayslookedfantastic. Like something one might see at a Michelin Star restaurant.
“Eliza.” He gestured toward Grace. “Let me introduce Agent Beacham. I helped Grace with that operation in Michigan a few years back. You remember the one? My cousin and the Michigan Militia?” When Eliza nodded, he continued, “Grace, meet Eliza Meadows. Eliza is the brains behind all the brawn in this place.”
The women exchanged pleasantries from afar. Then Eliza pointed to the mud caking the knees of Grace’s suit pants. “You look like you’ve had a bad night.”
“That’s putting it mildly.” Grace grimaced and Hunter felt his heart turn over.
She was putting on a brave face, but there was no hiding the fear in her dark eyes. The hammer of her too-fast pulse in her neck. Or the way she nervously twisted her fingers together.
He was tempted to take her in his arms and reassure her everything would be fine. Tell her she’d come to the right place. Whisper he’d do whatever it took to get her out of the trouble she was in.
Of course, those were all ridiculous notions since they barely knew each other.
Just because he’d spent the last three years conjuring up scenarios where they’d becomemuchbetter acquainted, that didn’t mean she’d done the same.
“Let’s go upstairs and you can tell us what’s going on and who that man was who followed you onto the road.” He indicated she should precede him up the metal staircase.
Her cheeks, chapped by the warm wind, instantly paled. “Okay, but I should warn you. You’re not going to like the answers.”
“Since it took you three years to call me, and since the first words out of your mouth once you did were, ‘I’m in trouble,’ I pretty much figured that’d be the case.”
Her expression turned apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know who else to turn to.”
“I’m glad you finally made good use of my number.”
He decided too much of what he was feeling was showing on his face when her expressive eyes searched his.
“Come on.” He lifted an arm to herd her upstairs.
“I’ll bring up fresh coffee,” Eliza announced. “I’ve also got a quiche in the oven. Anybody hungry?”
“When are any of usnothungry?” Sam blinked at her in confusion.
“True,” Eliza chuckled. “What was I thinking?” She turned back toward the kitchen.
Hunter made himself concentrate on the small tear in the back of Grace’s suit jacket to keep from ogling the tick-tocking sway of her sweet, heart-shaped butt as she made her way upstairs.
The old factory building was comprised of three floors. The lower level, a soaring space, housed the kitchen, the fabrication shop, and all the tools, machines, bells, and whistles that came part and parcel with building custom motorcycles.
The second floor was the beating heart of BKI’s covert operations. Even though Boss and Becky had offices on that level—and ran the motorcycle design business out of them—the main square footage was taken up by what Hunter and his team called “the war room.” It was a large space opened on one side to the shop floor below. It was filled with computer screens, a bank of servers, a conference table, and a cupboard full of high-tech gadgetry that would make James Bond weak in the knees.
The third floor was home to the Knights’ living quarters. A TV room with a ping-pong table and pool table opened at the top of the stairs. And multiple bedrooms, each with en suite bathrooms, lined the hallway.
None of the original Knights still lived onsite. The old factory building, with its cache of state-of-the-art electronics, not to mention its shed full of all things that wentboom,wasn’t exactly the best environment for raising kids. Which meant Hunter and the others on his team had the run of the place.
Pulling out one of the rolling chairs pushed beneath the conference table, he gestured for Grace to sit. She sank into the cushioned seat and sent him a smile that made his jaw clench. The look was meant to express her gratitude, but there was no mistaking the desperation that tightened the skin across her cheeks.
He was beginning to suspect the kind of trouble she was in started with a capital T and ended with her kicking her oxygen habit and becoming worm dirt.
Not if I have anything to do with it,he thought resolutely as he snagged the chair next to her.
Sam plopped down in the seat directly across from them and steepled his hands on the table as he regarded Grace expectantly. She didn’t notice his expression. She was too busy craning her neck around, gawking at the war room.
