rooted around in the drawer some more. Where was that damn tie? It was Sawyer’s first day back and he wasn’t about to walk into Burgamy’s office without a tie, despite the fact that proper office dress was not high on the priority list at Omega Sector.
As a multiagency task force, Omega Sector had much more perilous concerns than whether or not the people who worked there—all handpicked and highly qualified—were dressed too casually. Sawyer, a five-year Omega veteran at thirty years old, especially did not worry about it. Usually.
Sawyer cursed under his breath as he continued his search for a tie, smashing a finger in one drawer while opening another. He heard a throat clear from behind his back and turned to find Evan swinging a tie from his finger.
“Thanks, man.” Sawyer took the tie, figuring one with little golfers on it was better than no tie at all. “I’m just trying to do anything I can to get back toward Burgamy’s good graces.”
Evan gave a bark of laughter. “And also attempting to keep yourself from desk duty for the foreseeable future. Or the next twenty years if Burgamy has his way.”
Sawyer rubbed a hand over his eyes at the thought of desk duty. The normal charm and charisma Sawyer counted on seemed to escape him—he had no idea what he was going to say to Burgamy in their meeting. Lord, Sawyer hoped it wouldn’t come down to him being forced to a desk.
He was an agent. That was all Sawyer knew how to do. All he wanted to do.
And damn it, he was a good agent. Sawyer knew his strengths: he was likable and friendly. And people—witnesses, victims, hell, even perps a lot of times—had a way of opening up to Sawyer. Unlike his brothers, who tended to be the strong, sullen type, Sawyer was the strong, charming type. And people loved him for it.
He’d used his friendliness and charm to his advantage multiple times over the years. Sawyer just hoped he could figure out how to use them now when it mattered the most.
He gave another pull on the tie, straightening it at his collar. “Do I look okay?”
Evan gave the knot a mock straightening. “Yes, dear, you look as pretty as a princess.”
Any other time Sawyer would’ve harassed Evan back, but he was too caught up in the thought of dreaded desk duty to bother. “Wish me luck, man.”
Sawyer struggled not to compare the walk to Burgamy’s office to a death march, but he had to admit he was distinctly nervous knocking on his boss’s door. Not a feeling Sawyer was used to.
And damn his brother for all his falling-in-love stuff that had put Sawyer in this position in the first place. Sawyer would take his confirmed-bachelor existence any day.
Cameron entered the office at Burgamy’s barked command.
Burgamy sat back in his office chair, dressed in impeccable officewear. His tie definitely had not come from a desk drawer, nor did it have little golfers on it. Burgamy obviously put a great deal of stock into the saying “Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.”
Evidently the job Dennis Burgamy wanted was the director of the United States intelligence and/or fashion community.
Burgamy was always prepared in case he had to take an unexpected meeting with someone important. And often, Sawyer and his three siblings thought, went out of his way to make those meetings occur. Burgamy had butted heads with each of the Branson siblings, all of whom worked or had worked at Omega at one time or another. None of the Bransons liked Burgamy much. Although Sawyer was, to his knowledge, the only one of his family to have ever knocked his boss unconscious.
“Branson, come in and sit down,” Burgamy told Sawyer without any pleasantries. Burgamy’s nasally tone negated whatever credibility the man built with his impressive fashion sense.
Sawyer entered the room and sat at one of the chairs across from the desk.
“I want you to know that if it was up to me, you’d be fired right now,” Burgamy began. Sawyer nodded; he didn’t doubt it. “But since I’m the bigger man, and because your brother Cameron swears you actually tripped, I am willing to not push for your termination.”
Sawyer didn’t relax. Burgamy still had the authority to take Sawyer off active duty.
“Not to mention we have bigger problems than your lack of coordination or outright insubordination, or whatever you want to call it,” Burgamy continued.
Sawyer nodded. “It won’t happen again, sir. I can assure you of that.”
Burgamy’s eyes narrowed. “It best not, Branson. That little stunt you and your brother pulled? Well, you’re damn lucky it all worked out the way it did or being fired right now—which you both would’ve been, believe me—would be the least of your problems.”
Burgamy continued without even giving Sawyer the chance to speak. “The Ghost Shell technology in the wrong hands would be a disaster. Thousands of lives could be lost if terrorists got their hands on it.”
Sawyer decided he better stick up for himself before Burgamy spun into a complete tizzy. “Absolutely, sir. But there was never any danger of the Ghost Shell technology falling back into DS-13’s hands.”
Sawyer didn’t mention what an utter lie that was. Telling Burgamy that he and Cameron had basically delivered the encoding technology to the crime-syndicate group definitely wouldn’t help Sawyer’s case for non-desk-duty.
“Ghost Shell is in our custody, sir.” Cameron continued with his most engaging smile. “So, all’s well that ends well, as they say. And I really am sorry about the—” Cameron made a popping sound with his tongue as he mimicked a punch to the chin.
Burgamy’s eyes narrowed. “Well, Branson, I found out yesterday that all isn’t as well as we think. You and your brother arrested Smith and some of the other key members of DS-13, but it looks like some others within the organization have taken Smith’s place.”
Sawyer wasn’t surprised. In a crime organization the size and caliber of DS-13, removing one head usually just caused another, uglier one, to grow in its place. DS-13 was more than any one person; eliminating a single person—no matter how high up—would not bring the organization down.
“And we’ve found out that Fred McNeil, the FBI agent on DS-13’s payroll, has gone completely off the grid,” Burgamy continued.
“That’s not surprising. McNeil had to know we’d be coming for him next. He’s probably with DS-13 full-time now.”
Burgamy nodded. “Intel confirms that he is. That’s not the problem. Ghost Shell is the problem. We were able to trace Ghost Shell back to the company that made it.” Burgamy slid a file across his desk to Sawyer. On the outside it was marked Cyberdyne Technologies.
Sawyer shook his head. “Cyberdyne. Can’t say I’ve really heard of them.”
“No reason you would have. They’re a tech-development company based in North Carolina. Evidently, earlier this year one of their senior computer scientists got concerned about some software they were developing.”
“Ghost Shell?”
“Yes. They were actually working on encoding technology for medical records and account-security type stuff.
