“No.” He knocked on the door briskly.
“Come,” a voice called out.
David’s office was brightly lit, no thanks to the murky gloom outside. She smiled at her old boss. He was a neat, trim man in his fifties, with a silver beard. But all her attention went to the man in the bespoke suit—which she knew at a glance came from Savile Row tailors, Gieves & Hawkes, if she wasn’t mistaken—slouched in a guest chair.
What the hell was Bennett Knightley doing here?
“Mr. Knightley,” she said.
“Ms. Lockwood.”
Even though he looked tired, he radiated a sense of assurance and power that was seductive. He looked like a man who could weather any storm. A woman could lay her head on his broad shoulder, and she’d know he’d protect her.
Hadley mentally shook her head. Mother nature had given men broad shoulders to fool women into trusting them. She was sure it was to ensure the continuation of the human race.
She wasn’t so easily fooled anymore.
She noted that Bennett had grooves bracketing his mouth. She guessed he’d had a long night.
“Sit, Hadley. You too, Killian.” David dropped into his desk chair, and it squeaked. It was as old as the hills, but he loved it and refused to replace it. Duct tape patches added an extra bit of flair.
“Why is Mr. Knightley here?” Hadley slipped her coat off.
She saw Bennett’s gaze drift down her long, fitted skirt. Appreciation shone in his eyes before he glanced away.
Little embers of heat ignited in her belly.Oh, no. She sat and crossed her legs.
“Because he’s involved in this case,” David said.
“The man with the fake bomb at the party is a part of this?” Hadley asked.
A muscle ticked in Bennett’s jaw.
“We suspect so.” David sighed. “I brought you in, Hadley, because it involves L’Orage.”
She stiffened. L’Orage, the storm in French, was a code name for a dangerous arms dealer who, for decades, had supplied most of the world’s hotspots. She’d tracked him mercilessly for years. Had watched a good friend pay the price for that pursuit with her life. Hadley had vowed to bring him to justice.
Then he’d disappeared two years ago.
“He’s back?” she asked.
David nodded. “Yes.”
“And it appears he’s targeting my company,” Bennett growled.
* * *
Bennett shoveddown his welling anger.
He wanted to find this L’Orage, and rip the man’s head off.
The bastard was targeting Secura. Stopping Secura gear getting to where it was most needed.
That meant people would die.
Bennett would throw all his resources at stopping this arsehole.
He dragged in a breath, finding his calm. He knew that to get the job done, he needed to control his emotions and focus. In the SAS, he’d been damn good at it.