nothing more than the clothes she wore. She didn’t blame them. Not specifically. But she wasn’t going to be pushed aside either.
“Are you rapid firing questions to keep me from having a second to change your orders to Joel about fetching Pax?” he asked.
Smart man. “That and to get an answer or two out of you while your defenses are down.”
“Effective.”
She crossed her arms over her stomach. “It will be once you answer me.”
He stared at her. When she didn’t move or even break eye contact, he exhaled long and loud. “Garrett’s job is top secret.”
Not exactly the comment she was expecting. “How very Hollywood of you to say that.”
“It’s true.”
She dropped her hands to her sides. “Jeremy, come on. After everything that’s happened today, the least you can do is level with me. I think I deserve better than the ‘if I tell you I’ll have to kill you’ nonsense.”
“It’s not my secret to tell.”
“What, you think this has all been an elaborate scheme to get you to give up information on your brother’s job?”
The silence stretched out long enough to be comical. Finally, he gave a clipped response. “No.”
“You have trust issues.”
“DIA.”
It took her a second to realize he’d given her the answer. Well, an answer. Not that she understood what he said. “I don’t even know what that is.”
“Defense Intelligence Agency.”
“Never heard of it. The name I know starts with a C.”
“He collects military-related foreign intel.”
The extra information didn’t bring any clarity. “Is he in the military?”
“Former army sergeant.”
“And now?”
“Black ops stuff.”
The curt responses raised more questions than they answered. Instead of calming the racing in her stomach, his comments kicked the churning to top speed. “That explains the travel.”
“It also means it’s not that easy to find him when he wants to stay missing.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that.”
Chapter Six
Bruce Casden stared across the table at his five-hundred-dollar-per-hour lawyer, Stephen Simmons. The Third. Simmons never forgot to add that annoying reminder of his old-money family whenever he introduced himself.
Even now, framed by the dingy gray of cement prison block walls, Simmons acted as if he sat in the middle of a country club, all stiff with his perfect posture. The designer glasses and tailored suit—Bruce had paid for it all. The guy threw in the condescending smile free of charge.
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