a pizza joint on the other. In between was a liquor store, a nail salon and an insurance agent.
Across the busy thoroughfare was a tattoo parlor, a pawnshop and a Chinese restaurant.
For the first few blocks, Sweet Pea led the way, tugging at the leash, eager to keep going. When she started to slow and hang back with CJ, it was time to turn around and get her home to her owner.
CJ performed an about-face and started back. When she turned the corner onto the street where she lived, her gaze went to Cole’s place. She wondered if he was home. How easy would it be to stop in and say hello, like a regular person?
Still a few houses away, she heard the sound of running footsteps coming from behind.
CJ spun to face a man jogging toward her, wearing only shorts and running shoes. His body was poetry in motion, his muscles tight and well-defined. Every inch of exposed skin glistened with sweat.
Cole McCastlain. The man who wanted to be her protector.
She recognized him from the one time she’d been to Charlie Halverson’s estate, immediately following the rescue of Anne Bellamy and the vice president of the United States. At that time, CJ hadn’t been wearing a wig. She’d been without any disguise, her auburn hair hanging down around her shoulders.
Using the back of his arm, he wiped the sweat from his eyes and kept running toward her.
A tug on the leash reminded CJ of Sweet Pea. The dog had crossed the sidewalk to the opposite side, her leash creating a line in front of Cole. CJ crossed to the same side of the sidewalk to keep Cole from tripping over the leash.
He ran past her, the muscles in his legs flexing and tightening with each long stride.
A rush of relief washed over her, at the same time as a flush of heat.
The man had tone and definition in each muscle of his body, from his shoulders, down his chest, to his abs, thighs and calves. She bet she could bounce a quarter off his backside.
As he passed, he shot a sideways glance her way. For a brief moment, his eyes narrowed. He didn’t slow, or stop, but kept moving. When he reached his town house, he ran up the steps and disappeared inside.
CJ inhaled a deep breath, amazed at how much she needed it. Had she forgotten how to breathe in the presence of the former marine? She told herself she wasn’t ready to do anything that would connect Cole to her. If Trinity was watching Declan’s Defenders, and CJ was hanging out with them, they’d find her and eliminate her before she had a chance to expose the Director. She couldn’t let that happen. There were a lot of lost children, teens and young adults being held captive and indoctrinated into the Trinity family of assassins. They didn’t deserve the life of violence for which they were being groomed. The Director ruled the organization with an iron fist. If they found and destroyed the Director, Trinity would fold.
At least, that was the theory.
As she passed Cole’s townhome, CJ kept her face averted, focusing on the sidewalk in front of her as if she were only out to walk her dog. In her peripheral vision, she watched the windows for movement. Was that him, standing in the corner of the front picture window?
Her heart pounding, CJ kept moving, walking past Gladys’s house and her own for another block before she returned.
The old woman met her at the door. “I thought I saw you go by with Sweet Pea. I guess she needed a little more of a walk.” The woman leaned over, her back hunched as she reached down to pet her tired dog. “Thank you for taking Miss Sweet Pea for a walk. I bet she sleeps all afternoon, now.” Gladys looked up. “Can I pay you for your trouble?”
CJ could always use the money, but she couldn’t take it from the kind old woman. “No, ma’am. It was my pleasure. Sweet Pea must give you a great deal of comfort and companionship.”
“She does. Since my children all grew up and moved away, and my husband passed, I’ve been lonely. Sweet Pea is my surrogate baby. I love her so much.” The woman’s eyes welled with unshed tears. “I’m sure you don’t want to hear me blubbering about loneliness. But if you ever need a companion to walk with, Sweet Pea and I would be happy if you take her.”
“Thank you, Ms. Gladys.” On impulse, CJ leaned down and kissed the woman’s cheeks. She reminded her of a grandmother she might once have known, who’d died before her parents’ auto accident. Her heart swelled with emotions she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
“Thank you again,” she said and turned toward her town house.
“If you ever want to share a cup of tea or coffee, stop by anytime,” Gladys called out. “I’d be happy to make some.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” CJ responded, knowing she couldn’t do that. If Trinity was watching now, her short interaction with the old woman and her dog would place them in danger. Trinity wasn’t above using others to lure their defectors out into the open. And they weren’t above killing innocent people to get what they wanted.
And they wanted CJ dead.
WHEN COLE ENTERED his town house, he stopped long enough to catch his breath and then turned to the window. He could swear he knew the woman he’d jogged past, but he couldn’t put his finger on who it was or where he’d known her.
The black hair wasn’t ringing any bells. And the dog? He was certain he’d seen it with someone else. Didn’t it belong to the old woman who lived several doors down from his place?
Maybe that was it. The woman was a daughter, granddaughter, niece or something to the old woman. Perhaps that was where he’d seen her before.
He waited at the window for her to pass with the dog. When they did, he looked hard, still unsure of where he’d seen her before. But he knew he had. The way she walked, the sway of her sexy hips, the tilt of her nose and the long, thick eyelashes should have been dead giveaways.
His phone rang in the armband he used when running. Cole tapped the earbud in his ear. “Yeah.”
“You coming in to do some heavy-duty computing?” Declan O’Neill’s voice sounded in his ear.
“I am. Just showering. I can be there in thirty to forty-five minutes.”
“See ya then,” Declan said.
When Cole glanced back out the window, the woman had disappeared, dog and all.
Cole showered, changed into jeans and a T-shirt and headed out to the Halverson estate, driving the Hummer he’d purchased prior to exiting the Marine Corps. Thankfully, Charlie Halverson had hired him before he’d had to sell it for money to live on until he’d gotten a decent-paying job.
Once he passed through the gates, he drove up the winding drive to the sprawling mansion.
Roger Arnold, Charlie’s butler, met him at the door and let him in. “They’re waiting for you in the war room,” he said.
Cole went straight for the study and the trapdoor that led into the basement of the mansion. All of Declan’s Defenders were there.
Declan stood at a large whiteboard with photographs taped to the surface. Jonah Spradlin sat at a desk against the wall, an array of computer monitors displayed in front of him.
Mack Balkman sat in a chair near Declan. He ran a hand through his black hair, his blue eyes studying the whiteboard. Beside him sat the former Russian operative, Riley Lansing. Gus Walsh stood on the opposite side of the table, the woman he’d helped rescue standing at his side.
Jasmine Newman, aka Jane Doe, was as much a key to their operation as CJ Grainger. Jasmine had been a Trinity agent before John Halverson recruited her to help him fight the organization. Combat trained and fluent in Arabic and Russian, she was a formidable opponent and a worthy ally. They’d “killed” her off and given her a new name and identity to keep her off Trinity’s