Page 35 of Cast in Shadow
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Apparently, the source was a friend of yours. They were watching you and everyone else he associated with. Mostly you, because Aggie Mays was the wildcard they couldn’t quite explain.”
No wonder Sam had seemed nervous. Being a narc for the FBI was enough to make anyone tense. “Is Sam okay?”
“He went missing around the same time you did,” T said. “No one’s seen hide nor hair of him since. Either the FBI has him in protective custody or ...” He let the sentence hang. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
She nodded.
“What about the guy they sent to get you? Is he behaving himself or do I need to send a cleanup crew?”
Aggie smiled at that. “No, I can handle him. He’s an honorable merc.”
Her brother snorted. “He’s there with you now?”
“He’s very easy on the eyes.”
“Seriously?”
“I know, I know,” she sighed. “But he’s one of the good guys, I can tell.”
Her brother’s eyes went from concerned to interested, just as she’d known they would. She’d inherited the same sixth sense about people as he had. He’d no sooner disparage her instincts than he would his own.
“How good?”
“Good enough to warrant further study. He fits the profile. Thirty-something. Loner, chip on his shoulder, highly skilled. Prefers working from the shadows but definite white knight tendencies.”
T hummed in interest. “Got a name?”
“Zeke, no last name given. My guess is, he’s ex–special forces. SEALs, maybe Delta. I’m sending you an image now.”
She tapped a few buttons and sent the picture of Zeke she’d surreptitiously captured into the ether. A soft ding sounded on her brother’s end a few seconds later. He looked at it and frowned.
“Do you know him?” she asked.
“Maybe,” he said noncommittally. “Let me see what I can find out and I’ll get back to you. Until then, be careful.”
“I will. Love you, T.”
“Love you too.”
* * *
Aggie didn’t need to look up from her laptop to know that Zeke was staring at her from the archway. His eyes zeroed in on her like lasers, as tangible as a physical touch.
“Good morning,” she said cheerfully.
“Morning,” he answered roughly.
Her eyes flicked up briefly. He wore leg-hugging blue jeans and a button-down shirt that hung open, exposing ink on a lovely canvas of tight abs and tawny skin. His long hair hung loose, kissing his broad shoulders. He looked at once fierce and beautiful, rugged and comfortable in his own skin.
“The coffee’s hot and strong, but if you want something other than fruit and granola for breakfast, you’re going to have to make it yourself. I don’t cook.”
He didn’t seem at all bothered by that, which was a pleasant surprise. Alpha types like him tended to have antiquated ideas of what a woman should and shouldn’t do, and given the chivalry he’d exhibited thus far, she’d have put him firmly in the women can and should know how to cook category.
He wasted no time stalking across the space, owning it like a big, predatory cat, and then he stopped and stared at the plate of fresh fruit she’d been snacking on.
“Where did that come from?”
