Chapter 7

Aaron took his first sip of freshly brewed coffee, much to the delight of his sleepy brain. He'd been up half the night making sure the new electronics worked and couldn't be easily bypassed—not that Leech had any known skills in that area. Regardless, the ADA had a new state-of-the-art alarm system and so did her downstairs neighbors. They also had new fuck-off locks on all the external doors and windows.

He'd managed a few short hours of sleep while stretched out on the floor of the living room. Ryan had taken the couch. They were getting a camp bed sent over today from the local field office. Hopefully, this op would only last a day or so, but it really was a great opportunity for Griffin, Kincaid, and Donnelly—who was on Charlie squad handling the judge—to get some hands-on close-quarter protection experience in the real world. Things didn't always go to plan. Principals were usually their own worst enemy, and the ability to think on your feet and improvise was key.

His earpiece buzzed.

"Principal is on the move," Livingstone informed him via his earpiece with an edge of sardonic humor.

"Stall her. Principal is on the move," Aaron said loudly enough for everyone else to hear.

"What the fuck?" Cowboy groused, pouring his own coffee. "Isn't it a little early for roasting balls over an open pit."

"As a former rancher, I suspect you're the only one with any personal experience of fire-roasted testicles." Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose as he mentally prepared himself to deal with the woman who was bull-headed and determined, but also so full of anguish and pain he could practically taste it.

Six thirty a.m.

Omega team scrambled to finish breakfast and gear up before they took over guard duties from Alpha for the day.

"Did no one tell her what time the teams switched over?" Kincaid stuffed a piece of toast into his mouth.

Shit.

"Actually, no. That's on me." He hated making mistakes. "I didn't think she'd leave for the office before seven." Aaron swore. He'd been too busy trying to ingratiate himself into her good graces with apologies and omelets. "I'll go stall her while you guys finish up and bring the SUVs around."

He headed out the door of the downstairs apartment in time to see Will Griffin blocking the front door.

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Hope Harper glared at the much larger operator, clearly not intimidated.

"No, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am." Griffin looked up with relief as Aaron appeared.

Hope turned to face him, annoyance written plainly on those cool, beautiful features.

Why couldn't he be in charge of a hostage rescue mission or the takedown of a dangerous terrorist? Why did he have to oversee an op where the principal got to talk back?

"ADA Harper. Apologies for the delay. If you could give us thirty minutes, we can arrange your journey to your office."

He watched emotions race over her features. Impatience, irritation, satisfaction perhaps at catching them unprepared. Aaron had expected the surprises to come from outside, not inside, but he should know to always expect the unexpected.

"Wait." She held up a finger. Her gaze narrowed further as her eyes raked over him. "You don't actually expect to follow me around en masse everywhere I go today, do you? As in the DA's office? Court?"

Aaron quirked a brow. "You weren't honestly expecting us to wave you off at the door, were you?"

"Maybe?" Lines pinched between her brows. She wore a beige power suit with a cream wool overcoat that swirled around her calves. She looked both capable and intimidating. He imagined she'd be formidable in a courtroom.

"Were you planning on taking public transport to work?"

"No." Her face was perfectly made-up, despite the hour. "Out of an abundance of caution I was going to drive." Her tone was mocking.

"We'll drive you."

Her nostrils flared with impatience. "In one of your government SUVs? Do you really expect me to be able to do my job with eleven armed men underfoot?" She made them sound like toddlers. "I have victims and witnesses testifying for the prosecution and facing far greater dangers living in their communities every day—compared to the unlikely event of Julius Leech surviving that accident and making his way back to Boston to attack me."

Obviously, Hope Harper had gotten some sleep, regained some of her energy, and had definitely not changed her view on having the Hostage Rescue Team around.

Where was a good negotiator when you needed one?

"Firstly, you'll only have two bodyguards assigned to your person as you go about your business. The other members of a shift will be here or checking the exterior or lobby of whatever buildings you are in—or plotting various exfil routes should we need to make a quick getaway. For that, we'll need to know your schedule in advance so we can plan accordingly."

She held up that finger again and looked like she was valiantly attempting to rein in her temper. "POTUS probably has fewer Secret Service agents guarding him than I have here right now."

"POTUS has more, but we're better," Aaron told her earnestly. "And unlike the Secret Service, we've never lost one of our…clients."

"Fine. Two bodyguards it is. But you stay out of my way." Strain tightened her features as the arrogant fa?ade slipped for a brief instant. She suddenly looked tired and pale beneath the carefully applied makeup.

"Did you sleep at all? Or eat?" Aaron frowned and took a step toward her. "You need to eat."

It had the desired effect. Her spine stiffened, and her chin lifted. "Are you going to be my life coach as well as my bodyguard, Operator Nash?"

"As required for the duration." His smile was grim.

"I don't need a nanny," she snapped.

Not a morning person. Roger that.

"I want to keep you alive, so my record remains spotless. Eating and sleeping go a long way toward survival." He kept his tone faintly amused. She was not a woman who responded well to being told what to do.

She huffed out a small laugh. "Well, if nothing else, I appreciate the honesty."

"If you don't want someone soft-soaking you then I will give it to you straight, but in return you need to listen to me—even the parts you don't want to hear."

He saw the change in her eyes. The shields lowered briefly.

"I feel like a prisoner." The words held an edge of despair. "I feel like he's winning. Even if he's dead at the bottom of a river he's winning because of all this"—she waved a hand at him and Griffin—"and when the press gets wind of everything it's going to bring it all to the surface again." She swallowed, clearly holding back painful emotion.

Her next words were spoken so quietly he could barely hear. "Paige would have been twelve tomorrow." She looked down at the hands that now clasped her heavy briefcase. "She's been gone for longer than she was alive, and I hate that. But rather than honoring her life, her memory, I have to hide behind bodyguards from the same piece of trash who took her from me in the first place. That isn't right. It isn't justice."

The words jabbed him in the heart but didn't change the circumstances. He lowered his head, caught her gaze. "If he's alive we'll catch him, but these things can take time."

"If he has escaped, the public needs to be warned."

Which meant the media circus would definitely be out in full force. At least Echo squad wouldn't become bored or complacent.

"US Marshals will have a better idea of exactly what happened as soon as it gets light." He checked his shoulder and saw Ryan watching from the doorway. "What time do you need to be at work?"

She glanced at her watch. "I'm usually at my desk by seven-thirty a.m."

"How about you let me get you some breakfast while we give the teams time to switch over. We'll have you at work by seven-thirty, if not sooner."

She eyed him with resignation. "Fine."

Suddenly there was noise in his earpiece. "Activity out front. White male driving erratically pulled up outside the Harper residence and is now climbing the steps. He's in a hurry. Looks like he's armed."

"Quickly." Aaron maneuvered Hope into the downstairs apartment where Seth Hopper and Sebastian Black pressed her against the brick wall while others spread out to cover entrances and windows.

"Is it Leech?" he asked.

"Can't see his face."

"Take him down. Let's see what we've got."

"What is it? What's happening?" Hope asked from over Seth Hopper's shoulder.

"Armed white male on the doorstep."

"We have the suspect on the ground." There was a brief pause. "Claims he's a BPD detective. Claims he's Ms. Harper's brother-in-law."

Aaron could hear the guy yelling insults at Cadell and Hersh—the latter had come down off the roof around 2 a.m. when he'd decided they only needed one person in that position.

Aaron went to the window and stared outside at the man who was now on his feet but cuffed with his hands behind his back. His face was florid. Hair sticking up. Expression volcanically pissed.

Aaron indicated the others allow Hope to join him, though not so close as she could be seen from the outside.

"You know that guy?"

Her sigh said it all. "That's Danny's—my late husband's—brother, Detective Brendan Harper, BPD."

"You want us to let him in?"

A spark of humor lit her gaze, then her mouth dropped. "Better or I'll never hear the end of it. He has a right to know what's going on. I'll make coffee while you bring us both up to speed on any developments that occurred overnight."