Chapter 3
Addison pulled her truck into a spot in front of the nondescript two-story building and shifted into park. This appeared to be the right place, at least according to the GPS. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but an old office building in the middle of an overgrown parking lot near the docks wasn’t it.
She glanced at the dash clock, then back at the front of the building. She wasn’t that early for her nine o’clock appointment, but there were no other cars in the parking lot. Maybe the employees parked in back and had a separate entrance?
The Leonidas Corporation. Addison huffed out a short laugh. Either someone was a serious military history buff or they’d watched the movie300one too many times. Not that she hadn’t—especially that scene with Gerard Butler’s butt on display.
She’d suspected from the name of the company that the owner had been in Special Forces. A quick internet search had confirmed her suspicions. It made sense. Most of them viewed themselves as modern-day Spartans—vanguards and defenders of freedom.
Who knew…maybe these guys were. She dropped her head against the headrest. Maybe she’d become too cynical and disillusioned over the course of too many deployments and no resolution to the problems of the world. It was hard to hold on to hope when the most important person in her life was missing.
She picked up the business card from the center console.
Devon Nash.
Shivers prickled along her spine. She’d racked her brain trying to remember if Braedon had ever mentioned him but kept drawing a blank. Not that it meant anything—Braedon had mentioned a lot of his teammates in passing, usually by call-sign, and other than the few he’d dragged home for random Christmases because their families were too far away, Addison had never met any of them.
Still, something about him was…familiar. Her reaction at Arlington had been visceral. Like a rubber band pulled too tight, waiting to snap back and yank them together, she’d felt incomprehensibly drawn to him. It had taken all her self-preservation not to ask him to hold her. If he’d offered, she would have curled up into him and sobbed out all her worries into his shoulder.
That reaction more than anything had her guard up. She was not that woman—the damsel in distress who needed all her problems taken care of by the big strong man. She did not damsel.
The dash clock showed 8:52 and there were still no other cars in the parking lot. Turning off the ignition, she threw her phone into her purse and hopped down. That was a lot easier to do in her normal boots than today’s wedges.
Clicking the key fob to lock the doors out of habit more than anything else, she approached the glass double doors, pushing through them into the empty vestibule. Another set of glass double doors led into an open foyer where a large security desk stood.
“Hi. My name is Addison Foster. I have a nine o’clock appointment,” she said.
The guard, an older man who bore a striking resemblance to Sam Elliott, flipped over a magazine and stood, holding out his hand.
“Aiden Graham.”
His rough palm enveloped hers, his index finger resting against the inside of her wrist.
Retired Special Forces—she’d bet another five dollars.
She cocked her head. “I’m meeting with Aiden Graham,” she said. “But I don’t think you’re him.”
“My son. Aiden Graham Junior. I’m Senior.” He walked around the desk and gestured to the corridor to her right. “I was apparently annoying everyone by hanging around doing nothing, so they put me on the payroll.”
“How long have you been retired?”
“Longer than I was not retired, but I like to be in the thick of things.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “So, Junior put me to work in the hopes of keeping me out of his hair.”
“Does it work?” she asked.
“It might. If he had any hair.”
Addison chuckled at his response. “Are you security or receptionist?”
“I fill in where I’m needed. Down in the range. Backfill for security every now and then. Today I’m filling in as receptionist since another one quit, and the temp agency doesn’t have anyone to fill the position. Or so they say.”
She felt like there was more to the story but didn’t have a chance to ask as they entered a large open office space. Again, not what she expected.
Except for the area toward the back littered with computer equipment, the entire area was open. Not a cubicle to be found. Instead it was a hodge-podge of desks and workstations.
“Don’t mind the mess,” Aiden Senior said. “We’re still moving in and setting up.”
“How long have you been in the building?” she asked.
