Page 8 of Forbidden Access

Pat had talked him into installing an electric security fence around the perimeter complete with razor wire, remote sensors and infrared cameras. Amazingly, the security company had managed to install it overnight, and were nearly done. Anyone trying to get through or over it would automatically set them off, if they didn’t get fried first.

In addition, two armed guards were on patrol at any given time, not that he could see them, but he knew they were there, lurking in the shadows. There were two more at the main gate.

He stretched out his neck trying to ease the tension. All of this, it should make him feel more secure, but it only made him feel trapped.

“It’s just for ten days,” he murmured as the limo drove away, leaving them alone on the doorstep. Suddenly, he longed for the freedom of the open road. His Harley-Davidson was in the garage, but he only took it out on weekends. It was one of his favorite pastimes and one that he hadn’t been able to indulge in lately.

“The perimeter is secure,” he heard a tinny voice echo through Thorn’s earpiece. It was Hawk, the super-efficient former Navy SEAL who was in charge of the team monitoring the grounds. Anna, their logistics manager, who’d flown in only that morning, was in a surveillance van parked on the property watching the live feeds and monitoring any activity. They had installed several cameras on the grounds, covering the front entrance, the garage, and the patio doors at the back. No one could gain access without being seen.

Damian unlocked the front door.

“Let me go in first.” Thorn, Glock in hand, elbowed past him and stepped over the threshold. He let her go, raising his arms. Nothing subtle about this one.

She checked the entrance hall, then the rooms leading off it, including the living room and the kitchen, before returning to where he was standing. “It’s clear.”

Watching her search the rooms in a wedding dress, holding a gun, was strangely amusing, even though she was efficient, focused and obviously good at her job.

“Something funny?” She turned to him.

“The situation is a little odd, you gotta admit.”

She shrugged. “It’s work, nothing odd about that.”

Definitely prickly.

“Want a drink?” he asked, as they walked into the living room.

“I’m working.”

He shrugged. “Well, I need one. It’s been a hell of a day.” First the sham wedding and then hours in a security briefing.

She ignored him and checked the windows, closing the blinds. He poured himself a glass of wine and sat down on the sofa. “So how does this work?”

She hesitated. “What do you mean?”

“I mean what do we do now?”

“I make sure the property is secure, and that nobody can get to you. You relax and make like I’m not here.”

He gave a wry laugh. “Seriously?” A bodyguard was hard enough to ignore, but one in a wedding dress that looked like her… No way. “Why don’t you sit down? Take a load off.”

“No thanks.”

“There are people outside, this place has more security than the state penitentiary. We’re safe for now.”

She frowned. “It’s when you think you’re safe that something happens.”

He studied her. Stiff shouldered, neck taut, eyes peering through a crack in the blinds. “You sound like you’re talking from experience.”

No response.

“Thorn?”

“I’m just saying, you can’t afford to let your guard down.”

Damian took a sip of his wine, his gaze following her around the room. “How long were you with the CIA for?”

She turned sharply. “How’d you know about that?”

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