woman who remained in the doorway. She was slender, her sleek navy blue dress making a professional and feminine statement. Noting the long legs and high heels, he pegged her as a dancer by training. Watching her approach, he knew she was an expert in martial arts, as well. If a woman like this was merely a receptionist in this place, he might be in more trouble than he could handle.
“Our apologies for the delay,” she said with a polite smile. “I’ve been told you might appreciate this video while you wait. It shouldn’t be much longer.” She handed him a tablet and returned to her side of the glass doors.
He looked at the screen, baffled as he recognized the basketball court and uniforms of the players. It couldn’t be... He sank back into his chair and, touching the icon, put the video into motion. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered, watching the last minutes of the basketball game.
Immersed in the video action, he forgot where he was, forgot to wonder why, and just enjoyed watching his team take the win in a nail-biting last-second shot. “Yes!” He pumped his fist and watched as one of the more headstrong kids from the neighborhood enjoyed a hero’s celebration.
Drew took a deep breath, relieved and relaxed that his kids were making progress within the community. Something was finally going right. That neighborhood, those kids were coming together as a team and as a family of sorts. Knowing his small part in the overall puzzle made a difference was enough to keep him moving forward instead of stalling out.
A big accomplishment for a man who’d nearly lost his mind when the life he’d dreamed of slipped out of his grasp. Stolen was a more accurate term, but according to the army shrinks, that word held negative connotations. They wanted him to reframe, rephrase, re-everything when all he wanted was to rewind and make a different choice in the early hours of his wedding day.
“They’re ready for you now, Mr. Bryant.”
She was back and he hadn’t even heard her approach. He knew better, knew he had to keep his mind off the past or it would swallow him up. Drew stood and smiled. “Thanks for this.” He extended the tablet.
“You’re welcome.” She accepted the device with another courteous smile. “This way.”
He followed the slender woman, the only sound the click of her heels, but even that went quiet when she turned down a carpeted hallway. They passed a bank of blacked-out windows of what was probably a conference room. When they passed another small reception area and one nearly closed office door, Drew’s stomach dropped.
They were headed for the corner office, a destination that in his experience didn’t ever add up to anything good. The woman stopped at the open door, announced him, then stepped back. Going forward was the only option. She closed the door behind him as he entered.
He felt underdressed in his gym clothes compared to the man in the dark suit and expensive tie. The man rose from his elegant chair and came around the desk quickly, hand extended. “I’m Director Thomas Casey.” The grip was firm and brief as they shook hands. “Come have a seat, Mr. Bryant.”
Drew couldn’t hide his surprise. Thomas Casey was one of those names whispered in dark corners by people with the highest clearances. Among the microcommunity of black ops and special operations, the man who supposedly coordinated a crack team of “Specialists” was nearly urban legend. “I thought you were a myth,” Drew admitted as Thomas returned to his big chair behind the desk.
“That’s the way I like it.” The smile was as firm and as brief as the handshake. “I appreciate your cooperation on such short notice.”
“Didn’t feel like there was much choice, sir.”
“Call me Thomas.”
Another surprise. “Sure.”
“You saw the end of the game, I trust.”
“Yes, thank you.” He wondered if Thomas arranged for the game to be recorded, or if one of his Specialists had pulled it
Ann Voss Peterson, J.A. Konrath