Homeland Agent JasonRyker looked at the clock and cursed. He was supposed to be at Jake McQueen’s ranch for a surprise engagement party for Eric and Riley...and he was going to be late.
Story of my life.
He stood and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair. As he put it on, he glanced down at the file he’d just closed.
His gut tightened as he thought about its contents. About the situation brewing in the Middle East.
The meeting he had scheduled for tomorrow morning would hopefully prevent another deadly uprising from happening. With the President’s backing and the resources they had available, Jason’s hope was that the Djibouti government would listen to reason.
Stepping around his desk, he’d made it halfway to his office door when Betty, his trusted assistant, rushed inside.
“I apologize for just barging in, but I wanted to catch you before you left.”
Betty reminded him of his grandmother. Salt and pepper hair always fixed just-so. A shorter, slightly rounded stature, and a sweet yet stern disposition.
She was also one of the most competent and level-headed women he’d ever met, which made her alarming expression all the more worrisome.
“What is it?”
“It’s happening.” She handed him a new file. “This just came through via fax.”
Shit.
Jason opened the file and scanned the classified document. The tightening in his gut worsened.
“Call the others and set up a meeting. This can’t wait until morning.”
“Already done. I’m waiting to hear back from the White House.”
He closed the folder and walked back to his desk. “Forward the phone to my office and head on home. I’ll take it from here.”
“Are you sure? I’m happy to stay. I can call in for some food to be delivered, or—”
“I’m sure.” Jason slid his jacket from his shoulders and placed it on the back of his chair. “It’s going to be a long night. You’ve already been here well past your regular hours.”
See? I’m not always the asshole everyone thinks I am.
“Right.” The sly woman grinned. “Like we keep regular hours.”
With a chuckle—because the woman’s comment was spot on—Jason pulled out his chair and sat back down at his desk.
“At least let me put on a fresh pot of coffee before I go. From the sounds of things, you’re going to need it.”
“That would be great.” He nodded. “Thanks.”
“Of course.”
Better call McQueen and tell him you can’t make it.
Damn. He was actually looking forward to hanging out with the R.I.S.C. guys for the night. For a minute, there, it seemed like his professional relationship with the private security company had hit an irreversible impasse.
If it had, Jason knew he wouldn’t have anyone to blame but himself.
Himself and his job.
Because that’s all there was to him. This job. This place.
Those guys put it all on the line each and every day while he sat behind the scenes, calling shots and making decisions that often directly affected whether someone lived, or if they should die.
