Kodiak Sky (Red Cell Trilogy Book 3) Read Free

on all sides. More than six hundred people packed this room, and many of them were going manic right now.
    Jack gazed at the photo of his wife, Karen. She was a pretty, slender brunette with delicate features and a lovely, symmetrical smile. Well, it used to be lovely and symmetrical. Nine months ago she’d been shot in the head. Even after all the rehab, she was still having problems walking. Her speech had been affected as well, as had that lovely smile. She could no longer control the left side of her face, so the smile was crooked most of the time.
    Jack had married her two months ago on a summer morning in a church outside Greenwich, Connecticut. He loved her so much—still.
    His eyes shifted to the photo of his brother, Troy, standing before a crab boat christened the Arctic Fire as it lay at anchor in Alaska’s Dutch Harbor. Two years younger than Jack, Troy was a tremendous athlete who’d conquered the Seven Summits and circumnavigated the globe in a sailboat alone—all by his late twenties. Perfectly proportioned, he had dirty blond hair that fell to the bottom of his collar in the back as well as laserlike blue eyes and a killer smile women adored.
    He and Troy were different in many ways. Troy acted on impulse and feared nothing. Jack analyzed everything and acted deliberately. Hell, they didn’t even look alike, Jack thought to himself wryly with a soft chuckle. He was taller and darker and not nearly as well proportioned as Troy, with a smile in photographs that seemed forced and less charismatic.
    Of course, there was a glaring reason they didn’t look alike. Cheryl was their mother. But only Troy was blood to Bill Jensen.
    Jack’s eyes narrowed as he stared. Despite all the differences, they were close as hell. They always had been, even though Troy was the star of the family and Bill’s favorite while they were growing up. Jack hadn’t spoken to Troy in nearly two weeks, and he knew what that meant. The kid was in some far-off shadow of the world, protecting a population who’d never be able to thank him because they’d never know he was there.
    “ Jesus Christ! What am I gonna do? I mean, what the hell am I going to do? ”
    Jack’s gaze darted toward Russell Hill, who occupied the position immediately to the left on this bulkhead, which ran down the spine of the huge room. The red-haired young man, who always wore flashy suspenders along with an arrogant attitude, was not himself.
    “Easy,” Jack urged loudly above the roar. “Stay calm. Calm always wins the day.”
    “Fuck you, Jack.” Russell slammed the bulkhead counter in front of them so hard the lunch change lying on it jumped for the air. “Maybe you’re okay, but I’m down twenty-seven million in the last ten minutes.”
    It sounded like a lot, and it was for any individual trader, but not for First Manhattan as a whole. Last year the firm had surpassed a trillion dollars in assets and reported more than fourteen billion in profits. Twenty-seven million was nothing in the grand scheme. Of course, it might mean Russell wouldn’t get a bonus this year, and bonuses were everything for bond traders. A trader’s after-tax salary barely covered his commute to and from Manhattan.
    “I’m gonna lose my house when I don’t get shit at the end of the year,” Russell muttered desperately, burying his face in his hands. “I got nothing saved. I’m gonna lose everything .”
    Until a few minutes ago, Russell had been bragging every chance he got about the ten-thousand-square-foot monstrosity he’d built last year in a ritzy area of Long Island—complete with beachfront and pool. Jack lived with Karen in a small apartment in Greenwich. The needle on Jack’s sympathy meter was barely registering.
    “Cut your losses,” he suggested, leaning over so Russell could hear him above the din. “Close out your worst positions.” Russell was long on many of his trades, Jack knew, way long. If rates kept rising, Russell’s losses would