John Fletcher stared at the release form in front of him. He’d been working with the Department of Defense for the last year, creating a prototype drone that would change the way surveillance operations were carried out around the world.
They’d passed the field tests and provided all of the information the Special Ops Unit wanted. Now all he had to do was sign on the dotted line and his bank account would be millions of dollars better off.
“You gonna sit there and stare at that paper or sign the damn thing?” Tank, his friend and one of the ex-Navy SEALs who worked with him, wasn’t known for his patience off the battlefield. But leave him in the middle of an alligator-infested swamp, and he could stay still for hours.
John glanced up. “Did Connor encrypt the schematics?”
“All done.”
“And Sam has sent all of the files through to Tanner?”
Tank focused his flat stare on him. “What’s wrong?”
John wasn’t about to admit that he’d had misgivings about this project long before they’d started the design phase. Tank didn’t need to know about the conversations he’d had with top-ranked officials in the Department of Defense, or the issues that had kept him awake for the last few weeks.
He picked up a pen and signed on the dotted line. “Make sure this leaves here today. I don’t want it getting into the wrong hands.”
Tank picked up the paper and slid it into a brown envelope. “It’s safe with me.”
John didn’t believe anything was safe. He’d learned a long time ago to listen to his instincts, and his instincts were screaming at him to be careful. “Take Connor with you. He knows his way around the Pentagon.”
Tank didn’t bother saying anything as he started to leave John’s office. The look he sent him said it all.
“And don’t spend too much time in Virginia. I’ve got another job for you.”
Tank grunted. “Middle East or Europe?”
“Neither. Texas. A senator needs an escort to New York in three days’ time.”
“I’ll call you when I get back. Try and get some sleep tonight.”
Tank left and John sat back in his chair. He turned toward his first-floor window and looked across the garden.
Fletcher Security was based in an historic building on the outskirts of town. It had been built in the 1860s as Montana’s first flour mill. When he’d bought the property, it had been derelict and in serious need of repair. Over the following two years, he’d rebuilt most of the interior, keeping as much of the character as he could, and recreating the rest.
No one seeing the red-brick building would know what went on inside the property. He provided high-risk security services for clients around the world. He’d gathered together an elite group of men and women, mostly ex-military, all dedicated to their roles in his company. Their list of clients, past and present, was impressive.
John didn’t advertise—he didn’t need to. Word of mouth traveled faster than an ad in the New York Times. The uber-rich of the world knew how to find him. What most people didn’t know was the other side of his business. The side that had been giving him sleepless nights for the last few weeks.
Developing state-of-the-art surveillance software had been a side product of what they did. Out of necessity, they’d had to look at other ways of keeping track of their clients and their property. When Samantha Jones joined his company, she’d quickly slipped into the role of Technical Development Manager. She had a PhD in electrical engineering from one of the most prestigious universities in the world and a mind that was never content with the word ‘no’.
Sam pushed the limits of whatever project she was working on, and the drone was no exception.
The phone on his desk rang and John reluctantly answered it. He’d told his secretary not to put any calls through unless they were urgent. Apart from World War III breaking out or anything to do with his daughter, he was hoping to have a few hours to work on another project.
“What is it, Gloria?”
“Sorry to bother you, but a Rachel McReedy is here to see you. It’s about Bella.”
The hair on the back of John’s neck stood on end. “What’s happened?”
“I don’t know.”
He ran through Bella’s schedule for the day. She’d still be at home. Her ballet class didn’t start for another hour and the people looking after her would have contacted him if something was wrong. He’d made sure that nothing concerning Bella turned into a life or death situation. Ever.
He glanced at the folders on his desk. “Send her through, but warn her that I don’t have a lot of time.”
He walked toward his office door. Whatever his visitor had to say would have to be quick. He had a project plan to work through and clients he needed to contact.
If he finished early, he’d meet Bella at her ballet class. Tutus and pink tights had to be better than worrying about surveillance drones. And a lot less dangerous, too.