Page 31 of Iron Willed Warrior

Cole picked up my new driver’s license. “Brianna Waverley,” he read. “She’s a blond?”

“I’m wearing a wig in the photo, but I’ll actually be blond by the time we head to Arizona. Between the hair and makeup, I’ll be unrecognizable.”

“Yeah, I agree. Picture barely looks like you.”

“Plus, Westwick prefers blonds, so there’s that.”

Cole grumbled something inaudible under his breath, tossing the ID onto the coffee table. “What else do I need to know about her?”

“As I mentioned last night, I’m playing a social media influencer who’s developing her own lifestyle brand. Briannais eager to grow her business and learn from the little seminar Westwick is putting on.” On my phone, I pulled up the fake Instagram profile. “Here she is, in all her hash-tagged glory.”

Cole thumbed through Brianna’s Instagram grid. It was full of posts and reels about wellness, interior design, plants, and skin products. Stuff I liked, honestly, so I didn’t have to fake my enthusiasm in the videos. The account was sleek enough to look professional, but not distinct enough to draw too much attention.

“This is elaborate,” Cole said. “How long were you working on this again? These posts go back months with tons of likes and comments.”

“All fake, thanks to River and his hacker network. They made the account look like it’s grown over months instead of weeks. This is enough to back up my cover story if Westwick decides he’s curious.”

“What about facial recognition? If he does a reverse photo look-up?”

“I asked River the same thing. He said he would take care of it. It’s nothing to worry about.”

“And where will the real Brynn Somerton be during the op in Arizona? Have you figured that out?”

Did he think I’d forget a detail like that? “I’ll be camping in a remote location and considering my life choices after leaving the Bureau.” Keira would park my car at a backpacking trailhead. That way, if anyone inquired, I would officially be nowhere near Arizona. Full deniability for the FBI.Andfor the Protectors.

Cole crossed his arms over his broad chest. “And do you have anyone back home who will be worrying about where you are?”

I switched my phone screen off and set it on the coffee table. “Are you asking if I have a significant other?”

“Or brother or nosy neighbor or whatever. Just getting asense of possible weaknesses in your cover. Anyone who might ask questions about you being MIA.”

“Then the answer is no, I don’t have a boyfriend. Or a husband or sister or anyone who’s going to be checking up on me. As for you, we’ll set up a similar kind of alibi. You can be out fishing or something. Colorado is great for disappearing into the wilderness.”

Cole ran his fingers through the short chestnut strands of his hair. “Nah, I think another reason River chose me is that very few people are concerned about where I am.”

“I know how that is.” Aside from Charlotte and Stanford, who knew all about this plan, I didn’t really have anybody.

There was an awkward pause, when both of us shifted on the couch, waiting for the other to ask a prying question.

“Anyway.” I grabbed his fake driver’s license from the pile. “You’ll be Cameron Clay. My manager from San Diego.”

Cole grumbled again. “I don’t know a single thing about Southern California.”

“Isn’t that where Aiden is from? He’s supposed to be your friend. Ask him. Also, there’s this amazing thing called YouTube.”

He glared.

“Like I said yesterday, you’ll be there for support. The less you say to anyone, probably the better. I’ll be doing all the talking.”

“What about security? Does Westwick have bodyguards?”

“A man named Donovan Ryker heads Westwick’s security detail, with a rotating roster of other guards depending on the situation. We expect Westwick will have no more than two at the resort, plus Ryker himself.”

I pulled up a photo of Ryker. The man had a military-style haircut, thick neck, hardened features. Like many of Stillwater’s henchmen, Ryker was a mercenary. Rumors tied him to multiple foreign wars and international incidents before he’dtaken on a personal security role for Westwick. Ryker was the type to handle dirty work and make problems disappear.

The FBI had its eye on him, but evidence and witnesses against Ryker had a tendency to evaporate. Cole could read all about it in the report the task force had put together.

“You’ll help me get around Ryker so I can cozy up to Westwick,” I said. “According to the profile we’ve put together on him, he’s partial to younger women. That’s why I’ll be playing younger too. Twenty-five and naively optimistic.” Not like my cynical thirty-three-year-old self at all, but I’d taken acting classes in college. I’d also been practicing makeup techniques to smooth out the fine lines around my eyes. I could pull this off.

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