Was that it? Somehow, Brock doubted it. Damian didn’t want to talk about what’d happened with Hank any more than he did. Brock looked around the office, noting the absence of a deskplaque. Okay. So, Damianhadjust arrived. “What exactly is your job here?”
Damian’s suit looked like it cost more than Brock’s truck. “I’m the head of security.”
Well, now. Curiosity prickled through Brock. “So, you can get into any department?” Oh, the tales they’d invented about this place while growing up.
Damian grinned, obviously remembering the best gory stories. “Most of them. There are a couple of labs with proprietary machinery. It’s my job to keep them protected and not infiltrated. Even by me.” His tone remained level and his smile in place. Anyone who didn’t know him could easily believe he had no issue with the situation.
Brock knew him, and Damian was not pleased. “Interesting.”
Elisa strode efficiently inside with a silver tray bearing a coffee carafe, mugs, and condiments. She placed it on the table. “Would you like me to pour?”
Brock watched her and pressed his lips together to keep from smiling.
Damian stopped smiling. “No, but thank you.”
The woman walked out without a word.
Brock snorted. “She doesn’t like you.”
Damian took the carafe and poured three mugs, handing two over. “No kidding.” He didn’t sound too bothered by the fact. “The last head of security was fired, and I think they dated each other for a long time. Well, not fired. Forced into retirement. They wanted somebody more on the cutting edge of security, and the guy couldn’t figure out his cell phone.”
“Unlike you,” Ophelia murmured, blowing on her coffee. “You’re cutting-edge?”
Damian gifted her with his most charming smile. “Rumor has it.”
Brock took a deep drink, letting the hot liquid burn his throat. “Why haven’t you contacted Christian? He’s worried.”
Damian rolled his eyes. “If C was worried, he would’ve already hunted me down. You know that.”
Truth. Christian could hunt and track anybody, even someone with cutting-edge security. “If you don’t return his call, he’s going to find you,” Brock warned. “When he’s done dogging Ace.”
Damian sat back, concern in his deep eyes. “I know about Ace’s plane wreck, but I didn’t realize he still suffered. How bad is it?”
Brock shrugged. If Ace wanted to talk about it with Damian, he would. “Call him and find out.”
Damian sighed. “Point taken.”
Ophelia took another drink, her pretty eyes missing nothing. “I’d like a tour of the facility.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s not possible.” Damian studied her and then looked back at his brother. “Even if the local sheriff is here with you.”
Damian had been in touch with somebody. Or maybe the gossip from town had reached EVE. “I’m not the sheriff,” Brock said evenly. “Won’t be, in fact. But Ophelia needed an escort, and here I am.”
One of Damian’s dark eyebrows rose. “The lovely FBI agent required an escort?” He looked back and forth between them and apparently saw something interesting. “Well, now. What a conundrum.”
Oh, Brock might actually hit him.
Ophelia watchedthe interplay between the brothers, trying to find the source of the tension. Conundrum? Definitely. “What exactly is this place, Damian?”
He waved a hand in the air. “This is a scientific research facility dedicated to studying the ionosphere—the layer of the Earth's atmosphere that's important for radio communications, GPS systems, and satellite operations.”
“That’s the line I’ve heard,” Ophelia murmured. “Is that true?”
“Of course. The work here focuses on understanding natural phenomena like space weather, solar flares, and how they affect our modern communication infrastructure.” Damian smiled, all charm. “Much of our research is done openly, with universities and scientists from around the world contributing to studies aimed at improving things like navigation and emergency communication systems. While we use powerful radio signals for research, these transmissions are directed toward the upper atmosphere and can't affect the Earth's surface or people directly. Our goal is scientific progress, not secrecy.”
Now that sounded like the company line, and she’d worry about it later. “Did you kill Hank, Damian?” she asked out of the blue.
Damian didn’t so much as jump. What was it with the Osprey brothers? They were unflappable. “No. I assume a hunter caught him by mistake,” he said smoothly. Waytoosmoothly. Brock’s rougher edges were easier to deal with, and not just because he kissed like a god.
