The Last Protector(Clayton White #1)(37)

“It didn’t go well,” Oxley admitted. “Van Heerden has been taken, and Veronica Hammond is still alive.”

“And the technology?” Adaliya asked.

“Still a clear and present danger to us, I’m afraid. But I managed to buy us some time.”

“Enough to take care of our problem in the Arabian Peninsula?”

“We’ll see. I hope so,” he said.

The clock was ticking.

Oxley shifted in his chair. He was exhausted, but not tired for some reason. He felt Adaliya’s breath close to his ear.

“You’re stressed out,” she said. “Let me take care of you.”

He exhaled, letting her hands take charge. In seconds, the pounding in his head subsided, but she continued, running her fingers across his forehead and along his eyebrows, then down his cheeks and by the unshaven skin of his jaw. She leaned over, and her lips touched his cheek. That’s when he turned his broad shoulders and grabbed her. She gasped as he lifted her in the air from his seated position. He gently dropped her on his lap and pulled her close, lacing his fingers with hers, savoring the perfect and familiar fit of their hands together. For a moment, he pretended that everything was all right: that Veronica Hammond was dead, that the Palo Alto incident was just a bad dream, and that the transaction with Le Groupe Avanti was going to go through without a hitch.

But then reality caught up with him, and he knew that in order to fulfill his promise to his wife, he would need to wage war against Alexander Hammond.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


San Francisco, California

White looked at his screen incredulously. Why had Veronica hung up on him? He had tried to call her back twice, but she hadn’t picked up. She’d been distraught by the fact that she couldn’t gain access to the SkyCU servers. And had she really suggested that her dad might have something to do with it?

Even though Veronica hadn’t asked him to go, maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to stop by the SkyCU office in Palo Alto. It wasn’t like he was going to get any sleep anyway.

His phone rang. Veronica’s number didn’t appear on the screen. Disappointed, he pressed the green button to accept the call. “Who’s this?” he asked, his voice harsher than it should have been.

“Your future father-in-law, or so I just learned. And please, drop that acerbic tone, son. Won’t work with me.”

Stunned, White almost snapped to attention in his chair. “Mr. Vice President-Elect,” he said. “My apologies, sir.”

“Not feeling too sorry for yourself, are you?” Alexander Hammond asked.

“No, sir. Not for myself,” White said sincerely. “Only for the guys I lost today. And their families.”

“Yeah, of course,” Hammond said. “I knew them all. Not a lot, but enough to know they were good men.”

“They were,” White said. An image of his friend Marcus Thompson laughing out loud while holding his two kids in his massive arms popped into his mind. Then it was immediately followed by an image of Marcus with his brains blown out, his body in a heap on the floor of an elevator. The events of the last few hours had taxed the very depths of White’s soul. The situation seemed almost unreal. When he had left the air force, he never expected to have to shoot someone again.

“I’ll make you this promise, Clayton,” Hammond said, cutting through White’s thoughts. “I’ll make absolutely sure that the Secret Service will be there every step of the way to support the families of the fine men we lost today.”

If any other politician had spoken those words, White would have rolled his eyes, knowing they meant well but would never follow through. But since they came from Hammond, the man who had run JSOC for years, White knew he could take it to the bank.

“Thank you, sir.”

“We need to talk,” Hammond said.

White winced. He’d known this moment would come. Hammond was going to give him shit for proposing to his daughter without having the decency to ask him permission prior to doing it. And he’d probably threaten to kill him for the sheer audacity of proposing to Veronica while on duty, which could have cost his daughter her life.

“Agreed,” White replied. “Let me first—”

“In person, Clay. I want to speak to you face to face.”

“Veronica told me you were in Fort Worth, sir,” White replied, confused. “I’m still in San—”

“I know where you are,” Hammond interrupted. “I’m on my way to you. I’ll be in San Francisco in a few hours. In the meantime, I want you to listen to the CID warrant officers who are about to pay you a visit.”

Hammond hung up before White could reply. Did Hammond just tell him CID special agents were on their way? White looked at his watch. It was almost two in the morning. He was drinking the rest of his now-cold coffee when the chime on the door rang and two men entered. The first was tall and burly, with close-cropped blond hair and hollow cheeks. The other was shorter, had skinny legs but overdeveloped arms and shoulders. They were both wearing dark slacks and sport shirts with windbreakers.

“Special Agent Clayton White?” the taller man asked.

White turned his head to his right and looked at the two uniformed police officers. They had both placed their coffee mugs on the table and were watching the scene. White noted they had slid their chairs slightly back from the table in order to give themselves some room in case they needed to move in a hurry.