Hadley felt a cold shiver.
“He could be fooling the lot of us,” the man continued. “All those late nights at the office, alone. Where there’s smoke there’s fire, I always say.”
Jack scoffed. “That makes no sense. Why?”
The older man shrugged. “Insurance? For kicks? Who knows?”
For a second, Hadley was thrust back ten years. To when she’d been young, fresh, and idealistic. So proud to be working at MI6. And so entranced by a charming young London banker.
She’d ignored the little niggles or explained Casper’s quirks away. The phone calls that he hadn’t answered in front of her, or the ones he took where she wouldn’t overhear. Or the times he’d gotten in late, or she’d found him up in the middle of the night, saying he couldn’t sleep.
Finally, she’d caught him at her laptop and everything had become clear. She’d seen the signs, she just hadn’t wanted to believe.
She’d ignored the obvious.
Her stomach turned over. Was she doing that now too? Was Bennett a good actor as well?
“Owen, you and your conspiracies,” Penny said with a huff. “Bennett would rather chew off his hand than hurt Secura.”
Hadley cleared her throat, forcing down the sick feeling. “Well, everyone, I need to head out. See you tomorrow.”
CHAPTERSEVEN
Bennett muttered a curse and sank back in his chair. The office was dark and quiet. He liked being there late at night, once the place had emptied out.
He got more work done without people interrupting him constantly, and all the meetings. And often, he had international calls to make at odd hours. He needed to think about starting some overseas offices.
On top of that, there were some nights he wasn’t good company, and didn’t want to go home alone. Those were the nights when old memories—of gunfire, heat, and blood—wanted out.
He sighed. He’d been lucky not to end up with PTSD. He’d found ways to cope, and pouring himself into Secura had been the biggest help.
Now some bastard was threatening it.
He growled and stared blindly at the laptop screen. A friend in the Middle East had emailed him to report that they’d seen Secura vests on insurgents.
The fuckers. His gear was meant to protect the good guys, not the bad guys.
He wanted to punch something. His hands flexed. Then he saw movement in the doorway.
Hadley stood there. Of course, despite the long day, she still looked fabulous. That fitted skirt and blouse looked barely wrinkled. Her hair was up in an elegant twist.
“Working late?” she asked.
“I often do.”
“So I hear.”
He cocked a brow at her tone.
She shrugged a shoulder. “I had after-work drinks with the gang.”
“Ah.”
“They said you never go for drinks.”
“I’m the boss. They don’t really want me there. I can’t be their friend, and they can’t let their hair down around me.”
“There’s lots of speculation about the lost shipment. Everyone knows.”