As I enter the downtown core, I pat myself on the back that since Ethan came down the stairs this morning, I haven’t once thought about Greer. Quite a record—almost a full forty-five minutes.
Except now, I’m thinking of her.
?
Jameson headquarters is a sight to behold, if you’re lucky enough to actually ever behold it. Located in a run-down section of Pittsburgh, to the casual observer, it looks like an abandoned building with weathered brick, grimy windows, and graffiti liberally painted on the lower part of the exterior. Inside, it’s a heavily fortified fortress boasting a security system to rival Fort Knox. The first floor was left as is when Kynan purchased the building. Should anyone wipe some of the dirt off the windows to look inside, wondering if the place is worth stealing from, they’d see nothing but concrete floors covered in layers of dust with garbage littered about.
Of course, should one still want to attempt to break in to take a closer look, there’s no coming in through said windows because while they look like they’ve been unwashed for years, they’re merely created to look that way. Truth is, those windows can withstand machine gun fire without the slightest crack.
The second floor holds the main offices, third floor a weapons cache and indoor shooting range, and the fourth floor is a communal area replete with the comforts of home, including a kitchen, living area, game room, and outdoor patio. It also houses personal apartments that Jameson provides agents on a first-come, first-served basis. They weren’t of interest to me when I joined the team since I had Ethan and needed a house close to a good school with plenty of room for him to play outdoors. Living in an old, abandoned warehouse in the rough part of the ’Burgh wasn’t going to cut it.
I bypass the second floor and take the elevator straight to the fourth where Anna will often bring in doughnuts, bagels, or if we’re lucky, a homemade breakfast casserole. How she manages that with raising a baby and working as Kynan’s assistant is beyond me, but I didn’t get a chance to eat this morning in my rushing Ethan out the door.
Also, the espresso machine in the kitchen beats the Keurig coffee station set up on the second floor.
As soon as I step off the elevator, I see Malik sitting on a stool at the island, eating what looks to be a bagel. It’s no breakfast casserole, but it will do.
His head swivels my way, and when he sees me, he says, “Hey, Kynan’s looking for you. Said he needs to see you right away.”
“Sure,” I reply genially. “Let me grab coffee and a bagel.”
Malik shrugs with a sly grin. “It sounded urgent, but if you want to risk the boss’s wrath, be my guest.”
“You wouldn’t be trying to hog all the bagels would you?” I ask suspiciously.
“Maybe,” he drawls, and I can’t tell if he’s serious.
I love that I can’t tell with him, because Malik has literally been through hell. He was a prisoner in Syria for almost five months and was only rescued in November. He came out pretty broken, but over time—and with Anna’s help—he’s left his demons behind.
It’s the twinkle in Malik’s eye that finally alerts me to the fact he’s joking, but I don’t waste time brewing a cup of coffee. Instead, I nab a bagel before heading to Kynan’s office.
Rather than take the elevator, I use the floating staircase that seems magically suspended between the floors by thin cables and support rods. While the exterior and first floor make this building look like it should be condemned, the inside is swanky and tastefully decorated. While we don’t get many visitors, we do get some by way of the secret underground entrance, and Kynan likes to project the level of success he’s achieved over his years of phenomenal work. It helps justify his high prices.
When I reach the second floor, I see Kynan in his office. All the perimeter offices are partitioned with glass, and the interior of the floor houses a collaborative design with the desks arranged near each other for easy communication.
I knock on the doorjamb and Kynan’s head pops up. His expression is grim, and it puts me on edge.
“Malik said you were looking for me?” I ask, standing just inside the entrance but moving no farther.
Kynan nods to one of the guest chairs opposite his desk. I take a seat, placing my bagel on a table beside me.
“Night before last, some Vecindario 18 gang members broke into Greer’s house and tried to kill her,” he says without preamble or lead-in.
The news is shocking and distressing. “Is she okay?”
Kynan nods. “She’s here—”
My head whips around, and my ass rises from the seat until Kynan clarifies. “Not here in the building. She’s in a hotel right now, but I met with her last night.”