Chapter 9
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Emma sat in the cushionedchair at the end of a long, oval table. Everyone on Alpha Team, minus Mac and Jake, was there.
The conference room at Dallas’s Homeland Security building looked a lot like the one in R.I.S.C.’s office.
Well, whatusedto be R.I.S.C.’s office.
After the realization that the entire Alpha Team was under attack, Trevor had contacted Jason Ryker, the company’s Homeland handler. Having cut his belated honeymoon short, the man and his new wife had already boarded a private jet back from whatever island they’d been staying at so he could be here for Jake and Olivia.
When he was informed of the additional attempts on her and the others, he’d ordered everyone involved—including spouses, significant others, and children—to his office to wait for him. For their own safety.
So, for the past hour and a half, she and the team had waited in here, while the significant others and the children hung out in the building’s employee daycare center.
The one bright spot was that she’d been able to change out of the scrubs—which she planned on burning if she was ever allowed back inside her apartment again—and into her favorite worn jeans and a loose tank top.
She’d also exchanged her dress shoes—that will forever be known as her good-luck shoes—for a pair of comfortable sneakers.
Emma knew it was ridiculous to put so much focus on her attire after everything that had happened. But her clothes were a huge part of who she was. Those and her makeup.
It was how she expressed herself. How she comforted herself. And after the horrifying whirlwind the last twenty-four-hours had been, she needed all the familiarity and comfort she could find.
“You okay?” Trace leaned in closer from his seat at her right. He kept his deep voice low enough only she could hear.
“I’m fine.”
But if one more person asks me that...
Emma swallowed her irritation and reminded herself they asked because they cared. And if she were being completely honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she was lightyears away from being fine.
A man had died in her apartment today. A man who’d broken in with the assumed intention of killing her. And the man who’d been hovering over her like an overprotective bear had been the one to end him.
You told him to shoot. You were the one who made the move so he could take the shot.
Emma didn’t begrudge Trace for his actions. How could she? That man had tried to kill him. Would’ve killed them both had he been given the opportunity.
She knew this to her very core, but that still didn’t make witnessing the man’s violent death—or that she’d almost died, too—an easy thing to process.
“You sure?” Trace pressed her.
“For the millionth time—”
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” A man dressed in a dark business suit and white button-up entered the room. “Sophie and I got stuck in traffic on the way here.”
“Sorry to cut your trip short.” Trevor stood and shook the man’s hand.