Zero Hour: Brotherhood Protectors World Read online

  And she knew time was getting short. Max Jaeger’s anonymous source had sent him a message that things were moving rapidly and whatever was going to happen, it would be within the month.

  Crap. That’s all she could say. Crap.

  But she couldn’t push without creating suspicion.

  She’d been here two weeks, following him around on her assignment as much as he’d allow, and hadn’t even gotten one whiff of whatever he had planned. She was irritated and frustrated and upset with herself for not being able to complete her real assignment. But Reed Morgan was an expert at keeping an invisible wall around himself and never letting information out in conversation.

  By now she could probably write Morgan’s bio based on his public character, she hadn’t found even a hint of what she’d been sent to learn. The man was a master at avoiding anything he didn’t want to discuss, and she couldn’t be too pushy or he’d get suspicious. He was, however, pleased about the so-called article and, on that front, extended her every cordiality.

  The only indication he gave that something might be happening was the first day she’d met him, in his office.

  “I have some exciting things planned for the future,” he told her. “This article comes at just the right time. I’ll have to thank the publisher.”

  “I consider myself lucky I got this assignment. You’re quite the legend in the firearms and munitions community.”

  He’d just shrugged. “I’ve been lucky. Had some good breaks. The business has grown more than I even anticipated.”

  She’d wanted to say something about his increased purchasing of raw materials but didn’t want to give him any reason to suspect her of anything. Why would a magazine writer know about that, anyway?

  Also, there had been no mention of Frank Vanetti. Not that she’d expected it, since his association was supposedly a big secret but she’d hope someone would accidentally let something drop. She couldn’t be obvious about it, but she hoped. She did text Max Jaeger and tell him they would probably have to go at that from another angle. If she found anything out it would be only by accident. She was focusing everything on finding out what the big project was.

  Before arriving in the city, she’d read everything on him she could get her hands on, searching the Internet for articles and news items. She’d seen enough photos and video clips of Morgan Reed to know he wore the image of a man with a steel core. In fact, he had turned out to be exactly what she expected—a man who was focused and in charge. And had a large ego.

  At forty-five he was a man who obviously worked at keeping himself in top physical shape. He seldom wore suits except for events like tonight, preferring instead soft-collared shirts and tailored slacks that showed exactly how fit he was. His square-jawed face was weathered, tanned, and topped by close-cropped brown hair threaded with gray. He looked exactly like someone who could be plotting anything from a murder to overthrowing a government and never blink until it was done. Despite the fact that he went out of his way to be pleasant to her, knowing he could be planning something disastrous sent chills down her spine, shivers that she worked hard to conceal.

  On the surface, though, things were progressing nicely. She had given him the story Jaeger had told her to use that her editor wanted her to spend a couple of weeks or more in San Antonio. Get a feel for what he did on a regular basis. Accompany him as much as possible without disturbing his responsibilities. Pick up on anything that would round out the profile on him and make it a better article.

  “You’re an icon of the industry,” she told him. “That’s why this is going to be the cover story, and we want to get it right.”

  Apparently, however, he wanted this article to develop in a certain way. She’d spent a day touring Morgan Arms Manufacturing, impressed with the size of the operation and learning to test a weapon on the firing range. When he admired her expertise with a weapon, he seemed satisfied with her explanation that she’d had a boyfriend who was military and taught her. She figured it was better than trying to hide it and getting caught unexpectedly.

  When she told him she’d like to talk to some of his closest friends, kind of round out the picture of him, he had no objections. In fact, he set up a dinner where she could meet them and explain what she was looking for.

  “Got to butter them up so they’ll say good things about me,” he’d joked at the time.

  Five people had joined them at the restaurant, including the man he introduced to her as his closest friend, Ed Gooding, who was there with his wife Nita. As soon as she shook hands with the woman, Terry’s antennae began waving, and she marked Nita as someone to be on the alert about. The tiny flare of jealousy in the other woman’s eyes when she learned the purpose of the visit was an indication of where Nita stood on this. But then she’d smiled and donned her cordial face.

  She hoped someone would mention the death of Frank Vanetti, but it never came up. It would have been awkward for her to introduce it, but it frustrated her just the same.

  During the days that followed, she sometimes found herself in other social situations with the woman. Morgan had Terry accompany him to all of his public activities. Knowing what she did, she had a feeling he was building an image for her that would help once whatever he planned hit the front pages. Maybe be a platform for his particular beliefs.

  When Morgan brought her to gatherings like this, telling her he wanted her to see both the business and pleasure sides of his life, more often than not the Goodings were also there.

  Terry had perfected that art of subtle questioning, which was another reason Max Jaeger had picked her for this assignment. She was pretty sure Ed Gooding wasn’t the new money man. He was too visible. But she did peg him as Morgan’s lieutenant in whatever group he had formed and whatever he was planning. And as such Gooding was also very good at answering questions without giving information.

  There was one particular thing she’d been on the lookout for, although Max Jaeger had assured her it would not be a problem. In situations like this there was always the possibility the subject would hit on her. She wasn’t vain, but she knew she was an attractive woman, especially when she took pains with her hair and makeup. She was relieved when Morgan made no move on her at all.

  You just never knew in an environment like this how it would go, and she’d had to deal with it before.

  There didn’t seem to be a steady woman in his life, but men like Reed Morgan didn’t waste emotion on people. She supposed when he had an itch to scratch he found a willing and discreet woman.

  Thank god he hadn’t expected her to fall into that category. Morgan was a professional all the way, even if that professional might be plotting to endanger the country. She was relieved to discover that he was a man who separated business and pleasure and obviously wasn’t about to do anything to screw this up.

  Instead, he’d been welcoming, his ego obviously stroked by the prospect of the featured article in the premier arms magazine, American Made. It appealed to him in a way not many other things might have. It made setting up a good relationship with him much easier than she’d expected. Although he was a naturally suspicious man, he also had an ego a mile wide. He’d want people to know who he was and what he stood for. Create a persona people would admire. Max Jaeger had been right about that. Terry was sure he had his own agenda regarding this.

  She learned Morgan was also a man who liked to control the world around him, and as she got to know him she realized he knew exactly how to push people’s buttons to achieve that. When he’d agreed to have her shadow him so she could get a full picture of him, that had involved attending events like this one tonight. Part of her undercover assignment was to assess the people at these gatherings, see who spent time talking to Reed, who he might focus on. And, if possible, do a little eavesdropping.

  Of course, as Terry kept telling herself, whatever he was planning, he wasn’t about to discuss it or even hint at it around her. She tried as much as possible each time to see if she could casually snap
a picture of whomever he was chatting with. Sometimes, however, she’d turn for a moment to answer a question and, when she’d look back, he’d have disappeared from the room. Too bad she couldn’t go searching for him without sparking all kinds of questions and arousing his suspicions because she was damn sure whatever he was talking about with someone had to do with her reason for being here.

  Still, using the nifty little camera pin Jaeger had outfitted her with, she managed discreetly to get photos of some of the people. After she went back to her hotel, she’d email them to the office.

  One thing she noticed, and had to admire, was the way he sidestepped issues he didn’t want to address. She’d tried to question him about the effect arms-control protests and proposed laws had on his business. How he handled the names people sometimes called him or the constant stream of proposed gun-control laws. But Morgan was as adept at sidestepping questions as he was at running his business. Half the time she didn’t even know she’d been finessed, which was saying something.

  If there was anything that irritated her it was the continued presence of Curt Renshaw. He was a silent but almost threatening presence wherever they went. At small gatherings she would move away from the immediate area, but you always knew he was there, somewhere, waiting. She’d give anything to know the reason for him being there. Morgan himself was no pushover, so there must be some serious threats out there. But, she wondered, which side of the fence did they come from?

  Ostensibly he was Morgan’s driver, ferrying them everyplace. In reality, though, she’d come to realize he was Morgan’s personal bodyguard. She wondered whether he’d pissed off so many people he needed protection or if Renshaw was part of the militia they’d heard so much about and protected Morgan from people who violently objected to his beliefs. He was a quiet presence wherever they went, discreetly placing himself in the background but always on alert.

  She was reminded of the term eminence gris— a person who exercises power or influence in a certain sphere without holding an official position. She wondered just how much power Renshaw actually had. She’d managed to capture a picture of him and send it to Max with a request for information. So far all she’d learned was he was exactly what she thought—a bodyguard with a lot of power. But she wanted to know his background and just how he and Morgan had become such tight asshole buddies.

  In all the conversations, either between her and Morgan or with others, while she’d listened carefully for any mention of Frank Vanetti, there had been none. Max Jaeger had warned her not to bring the name up herself since it might be a hot button and make Morgan suspicious. Their connection was not known except to a tiny circle of intimates, but she kept hoping it would come up in conversation. No such luck. She kept hoping something someone said would trigger a mention, but so far nothing. When she subtly questioned him about his friends, looking for clues, he mentioned the Goodings and two other couples but no Vanetti. And when she’d asked hm if Morgan Arms Manufacturing had any partners, he quickly shut her down, telling her he liked total control.

  Tonight was yet another one of the gatherings he’d told her he was obligated to attend. Sometimes they were purely social, but usually they had a purpose. Raising money for some community need or some scholarship program or planning how to handle the latest upsurge in gun-control protests and proposed laws. The people on this guest list, as with the others, all had two things in common—they were filthy rich and controlled a lot of power.

  At the moment, this party was in full swing, the hum of multiple conversations overlaying each other filling the air. Bowing to the pleasant temperature outside, the doors to the covered patio were open, and some people had chosen to move out there to chat. A server quietly circulated in both areas with a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Morgan circulated the large room, smoothly identifying people he wanted to connect with. Answering her questions about the extent he wished to be involved in this latest project. She knew he was quietly trying to assess how much money he’d commit to it.

  At the moment, he was in deep conversation with a man he had yet to introduce her to.

  “Give us a second, will you?” he asked. “This won’t take long.”

  He didn’t explain why he needed to speak to the man alone or even introduce him. She tried to ease closer to the group he was in to see if she could overhear anything being said, but the big room was crowded, and there was too much ambient noise. Then the other man gave a short jerk of his head and the two of them slipped out the sliding glass doors to the patio. If she followed, it would be much too obvious, especially with Renshaw stuck to them like a barnacle. Morgan was very good at giving her the slip when he wanted privacy, and she was still working to find a way around that without creating suspicion. Maybe she could ease closer to the open patio door. She glanced around to see where Renshaw was and realized he had gone outside with Morgan. Interesting.

  She had just refilled her glass of club soda at the bar when a man in one corner of the huge room caught her eye and she blinked, sure she was hallucinating. He was tall and lean, with midnight-black hair tamed into place and a well-groomed scruff beard. The sport jacket and slacks fit him as if they’d been tailormade for his toned body. A sharp pain stabbed her at the sight and for a moment she stopped breathing. No. No, no, no. She was wrong. It couldn’t be him. What would Jesse Donovan be doing here, anyway? This was definitely not his cup of tea. In fact, he hadn’t even said goodbye just left before she even got up.

  She hated that the former had suddenly popped up in her memory banks after months of trying to keep him in a dark corner. The last time she’d been with him he wasn’t looking for company of any kind, hers or anyone else’s. Leaving the SEALs hadn’t worked out well for him and he hadn’t wanted “some well-meaning do-gooder” trying to help solve his problems and arrange his life. She’d been a lot more than that to him, or at least she’d thought she was. Thought they’d actually been a lot to each other. Apparently she was the only one who felt that way because he dropped out of her life as if he’d never even been there. She hadn’t seen him or heard from him in three years, and it shocked her that out of the blue someone reminded her of him.

  This is crazy. I have got to stop this.

  She blinked again, and the man came more sharply into focus. Not Jesse. Someone else. But someone who clearly resembled him. She didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed. But the ache was still lodged in her chest, damn it.

  “Enjoying yourself?” Morgan spoke quietly in her ear.

  His voice startled her, mostly because she’d been so preoccupied staring at the stranger she hadn’t even noticed him come back into the room, much less heard him come up behind her. She’d need to pay better attention. He rested a hand on her shoulder, lightly, not aggressively, but she knew that he was sending a signal to everyone. As he had at all the other gatherings, he wanted people to know that she was here with him. Not as his “date,” but as someone important. Whatever her role in his life, he was letting everyone else know they’d better stand back.

  She turned and gave him her practiced smile. “Of course I am. I have to say, Reed, I’m very impressed with the people who form your circle of friends.”

  He snorted. “Most of these people are only friends as long as I keep up with them financially and have something to offer them. And with each one it’s something different. They’re also a little envious of what I do, the perceived roughness of my business. It’s amazing how the rough edge of life entices them”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “That just seems to out of character for them.”

  “It is, and probably why it appeals to them so much.” He barked a short laugh. “Believe me, they’d love it if I gave them the brutal details of uprisings in Africa or rebels in South America. Of course, they’d never actually get close to any of it. Too nasty and too dangerous. But they like cozying up to me and then telling their weak-assed friends what a badass I am.”

  Terry laughed. “I’m sure they’d be disappointed to kno
w your opinion of them.”

  “They don’t care as long as they get to rub elbows with what they think of as the rougher side of life. And I don’t care as long as they cut political red tape for me. Why don’t I get you another drink?”

  “I’m good. I’ll just keep nursing this one.” She had managed so far to get her own drinks at these events and to nurse one glass of wine if she was with him at a dinner.

  “Evening, Reed.” Lyle Beckett moved over to where they were standing. His voice was deep with a slight gravelly sound.

  Terry had been introduced to him at another event and told he was the head of a hedge fund. That had perked up her interest. Was this the replacement for Frank Vanetti? Hedge fund owners could move vast amounts of money around at will and cover their tracks so well it would take a big shovel to dig deep and find the truth of transactions. Besides that, however, the little niggle that she’d seen him somewhere before grew in size as she stood next to him. But where the hell would she have seen him? And how? She needed to ask her boss about this, fighting the sudden feelings that whatever it was would not be good.

  Prejudiced much, Terry?

  Maybe, but she’d been involved with enough people like that to be able to get a good sense of them. The night she’d met him, he and Morgan had greeted each other but spent little time chatting. Was that deliberate? To her suspicious mind that could mean they didn’t want her to think they were intimately connected.

  Morgan smiled and held his hand out to the other man. “Good to see you here.”

  Beckett grunted an acknowledgement then shifted his gaze to Terry.

  “Nice to see you again, Miss Franklin. Hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

  His gaze raked over her from shoulders to shoes. She had the feeling he could see right through her skin, which creeped her out, but she just smiled and nodded. “It’s all very interesting.”

  Beckett turned back toward Morgan, an obvious dismissal of her.