Chapter 16

Sociopaths Don't Need a Reason

STANDING A FEW INCHESshy of six feet, Fiona had long legs. But as they rushed into the conference room at Rossi with only two minutes to spare, she was winded, trying to keep up with Noah's even longer ones. They couldn't blame the LA traffic for being late. Not this time.

They'd made the mistake of showering together, to save time, conserve water, and so they could eat together, but ended up accomplishing none of the three.

Noah, who seemed fascinated with her hair, insisted on washing it. Conditioning it, too. When she'd picked up the new loofah he'd given her to use, he'd tossed it aside and used his hands. Running his soap-slick hands over her everywhere: curves, dips, valleys, and all the places in between. One thing led to another. By the time they dressed and were ready to go, there was no time for breakfast.

Noah grabbed them each a protein bar and filled to-go mugs with coffee right before he'd rushed her out the door.

"An hour or more of aerobic exercise upon waking and a high protein 200 calorie breakfast on the go. This is one diet plan I've never tried," Fiona commented as she relaxed into the leather seat of his Mercedes and let him navigate the crowded city streets.

"Stop worrying about dieting. You look great, especially in those jeans."

She snorted doubtfully. "You mean the ones I poured myself into this morning?"

"Since I'm doing the looking, how about you let me be the judge," he gently scolded, which was becoming a theme when the subject of her size came up. "The physical activity I'm very much on board with, however," he said in a more teasing tone as he waggled his brows in a terrible impression of an old Marx Brothers movie. "If you want to tone up and not worry so much about what you eat, swim with me."

"When do you have time to swim?"

"I rarely sleep this late." He glanced at her in accusation, but the glint in his blue eyes said he was once again teasing her. "I don't enjoy running, and it's hard on the joints. So I do early morning laps at a fitness center nearby."

A trip to the dentist sounded more fun than early morning and laps. Combining the two—pure torture. Good thing she could bow out.

"It sure works for you," she told him, having admired his naked body at length last night and this morning. "You're all muscle and zero body fat. But I don't swim."

He looked at her askance. "You don't like to swim? Or you don't know how?"

"I don't know about the first because I've never tried. I never learned as a kid."

"Everyone should know how to float and tread water at the very least. Once this is over, I'll give you lessons."

"Your list of things I need to work on is getting longer by the hour." That stung more than a little. "I guess I'm what you'd call a fixer-upper."

He reached over and took her hand, moving it to his thigh. And he didn't let go, driving one-handed. "We're all a work in progress. At least, we should be always striving to improve."

"And what are you currently working on for yourself, Doc?"

Noah glanced at her meaningfully, and she immediately regretted her rather flippant question when his gaze returned to the road and he replied, "Letting go of the past and diving into a future with you, kitten. Which I believe we discussed at length yesterday."

Ouch.

"Of course. I shouldn't have said... I didn't mean..." She ended her stammer with a choked, "I'm sorry."

"You've had a stressful couple of days." Noah had brought her hand to his lips. "Nothing to be sorry for."

No truer words.

As she looked around the conference room, crowded with big handsome men, she had to wonder what additional stress would be piled onto her overflowing plate today.

She recognized most everyone from the club. Masters Samson and Jerry were there as was Tristan from the control room. A dark-haired man at the end of the table huddled over his laptop, his face hidden behind the oversized screen. They were all in jeans or camouflage cargo pants and tight tees. Except for Master Tristan, who wasn't as casually dressed as when they first met. In a jacket and tie, he bore a striking resemblance to Brad Pitt. Across from him was an extremely handsome man with jet-black hair and obvious Italian heritage who was in a dress shirt, no tie, his rolled-up sleeves revealing massive corded forearms. Two had dark sunglasses perched on top of their heads, with military-style closely cropped haircuts. Except for the two in business attire, they fit her idea of what commandoes would look like. And from what she'd learned from Noah, they pretty much were.

Fiona could only wonder when the crime thriller movie she had somehow wandered into would end. If she could have walked out and asked for a refund, she would have because she wasn't enjoying the show. Except for the spicy romantic parts with Noah in his alpha-hero love-interest role.

"Let's get started," Finn/Keiran/Master K announced as he came in, closing the door behind him.

Not for the first time, it crossed Fiona's mind that they really needed to pick a name and go with it. It was confusing and more than a little annoying.

He took his seat and opened the file he'd brought with him. Her name stamped on the little cutout tab, no doubt. Before Finn could say a word, the door swung open again.

"We're here," Master Eric announced, entering with Val right behind him. "My apologies for being late, but someone forgot to order coffee, and we had to stop by a Starbucks on our way in from Long Beach."

"I could have waited until we got here," Val informed the group with a smile. "I'm not a slave to caffeine, unlike someone I know."

Deep chuckles filled the room. The others were aware of the master dom's coffee addiction, apparently. The not-so-subtly referenced addict didn't find her funny, however. There was only one seat left. Eric took it and pulled his sassy wife into his lap.

"Sit here and behave," he muttered as he raised a Starbucks cup, what looked like a twenty-ounce venti, to his lips.

Val leaned back against him and replied softly, for his ears alone. An apology, or a promise to be good, no doubt. Whatever the case, her composed face said she was no longer teasing him, but the gleam in her blue eyes gave away her amusement as she glanced around the room. They stopped on Fiona, shifted to Noah who had his arm draped possessively across the back of her chair, and her smile returned. When the all-too-perceptive blonde glanced her way again, it broadened to a grin as she greeted her with a small finger wave.

"Can we begin?" Noah asked impatiently.

Fiona didn't blame him. She was eager to hear what they'd learned that required a meeting already.

"Yes. Now that everyone is here," Keiran replied. Fiona was going with that name for him, since that's what Noah most often called him. "Trey is going to give us a rundown."

The man behind the laptop got to his feet. Using a remote, he activated a screen that dropped out of the ceiling. The technology was impressive, but she was more blown away by who the man was. He was the third at the table that night in the bar.

With a tiny elbow nudge, she whispered to Noah, "Who is that?"

"Trey Griffin, our tech guru and resident computer whiz," Noah informed her, speaking low in her ear. "He's also responsible for most of our background checks at the club. It was Griff who gave the go-ahead for Jordan's membership. That he might have missed something has him pretty torn up."

"He was at your table in the bar."

"Yeah. He was witness to the insults that started this whole shitstorm swirling, which is another reason he has a vested interest in your case."

Trey clicked the remote, punched a few keys on his laptop, and Jordan's picture appeared on the screen. It was enough to make her skin crawl. She wasn't alone in her dislike for the man; unhappy grumbling filled the room.

"What a tool," one man muttered.

"I knew he was trouble the second I laid eyes on him," someone else chimed in.

"I want to know how he passed security." This came from Tristan.

Trey bristled visibly. "I screened Jordan and was wondering about that myself. So I went back and took a second look—"

"More like a ninth or tenth look," Keiran remarked.

"He's not wrong," Noah whispered, his words meant only for her. "Griff can become obsessed with his work."

She had co-workers like him. People who lived to work rather than the other way around. But she got caught up on Trey being Griff. Now, she had another nickname to keep up with.

"Fiona, do you recognize this next man?"

And, just like that, she had the undivided attention of everyone in the room. It wasn't something she enjoyed—ever—and she blushed furiously.

Noah's arm moved from the back of her chair, settling around her shoulders. She found the solid weight comforting and leaned in to his side. Despite the inopportune timing, her body reacted to his closeness, and the fresh fragrance of his body wash, the same one she had used earlier that morning. She rather liked the idea of his scent lingering on her.

"Look at the screen, Fi," he directed, after everyone but her had focused on the projected image. "Can you identify this guy?"

Feeling like a silly, lovesick fool, she told herself to get it together and lifted her gaze. She sucked in a breath, seeing a familiar face. She'd never forget how he stared at her, or the mole on his cheek, or the blood dripping from the blade. "That's the guy with the knife from the parking garage."

"His name is Jaden Mercado," Griff continued. "He's in custody downtown and, according to Brent Owens, won't stop talking. He's given up Jordan as the man who hired him and the victim, Matias Sola, to vandalize your car."

"Oh my god!" Fiona exclaimed in a burst of outrage. "What did I ever do except sit at a bar breathing the same air as him?"

"Sociopaths don't need a reason for their actions," Val interjected. "They have little to no conscience and lack empathy. My guess is you remind him of someone who has wronged him in the past. Perhaps they've moved or are deceased and beyond his reach, so he turned his sights on you."

Trey swiveled in his chair and stared at Val.

"Is there a problem, Griff?" her husband asked.

"Have you ever thought of becoming a profiler?" the computer man asked Val.

"She's got plenty enough on her plate," Eric grumbled. "Don't give her ideas."

"Can we continue, please?" Noah said from beside her, brimming with impatience.

Griff pressed his clicker and advanced the slides on the screen. Another image of Jordan appeared, this time on an employee ID badge. The writing was blurred, though, and she couldn't make it out.

"It's been bugging me how I could have fucked up so badly. I've gone over and over Robert Jordan's club application."

"Wait, his last name was Jordan? I always thought it was his first," Val mused, her fingers tapping lightly on the table.

"That's what he asked to be called when he joined," Eric explained. "It happens. No one thought anything of it."

"I didn't," Griff admitted. "When privacy is important to a client, they often use a different name."

"I've noticed," Fiona uttered under her breath.

"Nothing else was a red flag," he went on. "He had a benign credit report, excellent grades on his college transcripts, and no rap sheet." As he listed them off, Griff scrolled through examples. "He was a systems analyst and worked as an independent contractor for several companies here and abroad over a ten-year period. There was nothing to keep me from recommending him for membership. Not even a DMV hit. When I found this."

His remote clicked once more, and an official-looking certificate appeared on the screen.

"Is that Arabic?" someone asked.

It could have been Sanskrit for all Fiona knew, leaving 90 percent of the document indecipherable to her. Then she noticed a subtitle written in English near the top—United Arab Emirates, Ministry of Health, Department of Preventative Medicine.

"Was he sick?" Val asked, sounding confused, which Fiona was glad to know because she was lost too.

"No. He's dead," Trey replied, sending a ripple of surprised murmurs through the room.

"I don't understand," Fiona inquired in rising agitation. "How can Jordan have died in the UAE but be here in LA?"

Noah's hand slipped beneath her hair and settled on the back of her neck. With a gentle squeeze, he offered reassurance as he explained, "What I think Griff is telling us is that the Jordan we all know assumed the late Robert Jordan's identity."

"Exactly," Griff concurred. "I got no hits on vital records for the deceased when the imposter joined three years ago. But there likely wouldn't be a death record unless the UAE government reported it to our embassy. Which is strongly encouraged but out of US control."

Advancing the slides again brought up an image of a man in his thirties with a receding hairline and glasses. Fiona had a sinking feeling that the stereotypical computer nerd, minus the pocket protector, on the screen was the deceased.

"This is the late Robert Jordan," Griff confirmed an instant later. "Unmarried, an only child, and both parents are deceased. No next of kin listed anywhere I could find. He was an easy identity for the Jordan here to take over."

"But how would he know about him?" Fiona asked, amazed that such a thing was possible.

"That, I don't know yet. LA Jordan would have had to know UAE Jordan was dead for this to work. I'll keep searching."

"That leaves us where? Still in the dark about the Robert Jordan we thought we knew?" This came from the dark-haired stranger who, until now, had sat quietly taking it all in.

"Yes," Griff reluctantly replied, his frustration that he didn't have all the answers yet unmistakable. "But I'm working round the clock to find out."

The stranger rose, a towering figure bigger than all the doms in the room.

"Get Jonas working on this, too. Not that I don't trust your skills, Griff," the big man said. "But we need to find this guy yesterday. I don't like knowing we had an identity thief running loose in one of our clubs." His dark-brown eyes shifted to Fiona. "I especially don't like that he injured and has been terrorizing one of our own."

Silence filled the room as the men, with grim expressions, again turned their eyes on her.

"As for how we can prevent this in the future," the man went on, his voice dripping with authority, "you and Jonas put your heads together. It seems like it was out of our control, but I'd prefer it not to be repeated."

"Yes, sir," Griffin replied respectfully, which told her this man was someone important.

"Keiran, I'll be in touch about what we discussed."

"Sure, Cap. And I'll run those reports you requested."

He nodded. "If you'll excuse me, I have a wife and three little ones to corral and get to the airport in time for a 3 p.m. flight."

"I'll walk you out," Keiran offered.

At the door, the man called Cap turned and skewered Noah with his intense gaze. "Doc. I'm still waiting to see you in San Antonio. Everyone else has come for a visit to see where it all started. We don't have a carousel, but we've expanded. We put in a garden for outside games and a playground for those who are of the daddy dom persuasion. And, at our members' insistence, we added six more theme rooms, which brings us to twenty-four. Double what you have here."

"I'm on that, Cap," Eric clarified. "I'm just waiting for a third bid from a contractor."

"That's good news. When the waiting list for a private room reaches three months, the natives get restless. Believe me, I know." His eyes returned to her. "Bring your sub when you visit," he directed. "She and Megan would get along nicely, I believe. And you must see Elena perform. Aside from the dungeon, it will be the highlight of your trip."

"I'll try to work it into my schedule before summer hits," Noah replied.

"Good idea. When the triple-digit heat of July and August descends upon us, our outside venues will be deserted." He raised his hand and said, "Until next time, men," then his long stride took him quickly out the door.

"Who was that?" Fiona asked as soon as it shut behind him.

"Tony Rossi," several of the men replied at once.

"As in Rossi Security?"

"One and the same," Noah explained. "He's the CEO and founder."

"He's very..."

"Intimidating?" Val supplied. "Don't let Cap fool you. He's a sweetheart."

This spawned guffaws around the room. "You've never served or run ops under him," someone disagreed.

Tristan simply shook his head in disgust.

Val brushed off their commentary with a flick of her hand. "You should see his wife. She's shorter than I am. They're stunning together, too. She's a blue-eyed blonde and Tony, as you saw, is tall, dark, dominant, and hot!"

"I'm sitting right here," her husband drawled.

"I was going to say that Cap and Megan are the Texas version of you and me, master."

That seemed to satisfy the master dom, but Val's eyes twinkled with mischief when they met hers.

While Cap and Val's Viking dom were dominance and hotness personified, she preferred less in-your-face authority and quiet confidence. With Noah's equally impressive physique, and incredible blue eyes, the hotness factor went without saying.

But something wasn't adding up. "I'm confused. If that was Cap, who's Tony?"

"One and the same," several of them intoned at once.

Noah enlightened her. "Tony Rossi was an ODU commander in the special forces. Many of the men who work for him in San Antonio served under him. Most everyone calls him Cap."

"Another nickname," she muttered, rubbing her temples as a headache threatened. "I've really gotta get a scorecard."

Griff, with his laptop under his arm, was on his way out the door.

"I take it the meeting is over," Eric asked his back.

"I've got calls to make," he exclaimed as he walked away.

"Jonas will figure this out, sweetheart," Samson reassured her. "No insult to our own tech expert, but I've never known one better."

"Are you referring to Jonas Mitchell?"

"You know him?" Noah asked in surprise.

"I know of him through his wife, Lexie. We're old college friends. She had Jonas arrange my open sub night invitation."

Eric set Val on her feet and rose to leave, too. "I knew that. Didn't I mention it?"

"No," Noah snapped.

Rising too, Samson's booming laughter and open-hand slap on the tabletop made Fiona jump. "Guess that means you owe Mitchell a drink at the bar when you visit."

"But they're free," Val reminded him, but the lumberjack of a man had already moved out.

"If things keep going like they are," Eric told her as he guided her toward the door, "he'll owe him a helluva lot more than that."

The others filed out, leaving her alone with Noah.

"We didn't decide anything until yesterday," she said. "Why does everyone assume we're a couple?"

"Aren't we?" he asked, leaning over to brush his lips against hers.

"Yeah," she breathed when he drew back, thrilled by the prospect of a future with him. "But we've never even scened at the club together. How did they guess?"

He raised their joined hands. "The death grip you've had on me for the last half hour might have something to do with it. You can retract your claws, kitten. You're safe with me."

She loosened her grasp, frowning at the half-moon indentions her nails left in his skin. "I didn't realize," she whispered.

"I know." His free hand slid around the side of her neck, and his fingers tangled in her hair. "You needed to anchor yourself to me, and I was happy to oblige." He pulled her in for a deeper kiss that was just as sweet. "Now. Since this business is done—"

"Is it? It doesn't seem like we're any further along than when we started."

"Done with the meeting, Fi."

"Oh. Right."

"That protein bar has worn off. How about we grab some lunch?"

"Okay, but can we go by my place after? I don't want to, but I need a few things, including khakis and a clinic polo. I have to work tomorrow."

He grunted, so she knew he didn't like the idea.

"You can't take a few days off while we settle things? The boss won't mind."

"You mean you'd pull some strings?" She shook her head. "I have patients who need me, bills to pay, and keeping busy will keep my mind off Jordan, whoever he is."

"All right, then. While you rehab your young patients, I'll find an office where I can keep an eye on you and get some work of my own done."

"Won't that be weird? A renowned surgeon who is also the founder playing bodyguard to one of the staff?"

"What if it is? Your safety comes first."

Easy for him to say. She'd be the one to deal with the fallout after this had resolved, and if things didn't work out between them. She didn't want to consider them not being together, but it was early days, and she had a career to consider.

"I'll call the director and alert her. She'll help provide cover." He brought her close, resting his forehead against hers. She welcomed his strength and support, but mostly his calm in the face of this chaos. "We'll get through this, kitten. Trust me."

Her head fell back, and she frowned up at him. "If you call me that while I'm at work, our cover will be blown."

With a laugh, he threw his arm around her and guided her to the exit. "You sound like a bad police drama."

"I'm serious, Noah."

"I know you are. And I wouldn't want to embarrass you at work, so I'll watch my pet names for you." His lips brushed hers gently. "Now let's get out of here, kitten. I'm starved."