Page 18 of Freeing Lark

“Got her. Wow. She’s pretty,” she shared. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly Haley could dig up information with her computer.

“Show us,” Eggs insisted, and within a few seconds, Lark’s social media pictures were projected on the big screen on the wall. “You’re right. Very pretty. She dating anyone?”

Hoot didn’t know why, but he felt the need to growl at his friend.

“Simmer down, horn dog,” Haley ordered. “She’s not your type.”

“I have a type?” Eggs asked glancing around the room as if this was new information to him and needed the rest of them to confirm it.

“Yeah,” Haley said. “And she’s not it. She’s too… pure.”

Hoot wanted to laugh at Haley’s depiction of the woman on the screen. Pure was not what he had taken away from their two encounters.

Nervous chaos. A walking disaster. Even an undercurrent of mischievousness. Not pure.

But then he remembered his earlier thoughts about what lay beneath her outer appearance. While her nervousness presented a facade of fragility, he had a distinct feeling that there were deeper, more complex emotions at play within her. Something stronger than maybe even she knew.

The conversation flowed around him as his coworkers discussed Eggs’ “type.” He barely noticed, his thoughts too full of a woman he’d only met twice but couldn’t shake from his mind. Her pictures still displayed on the screen didn’t help. She smiled in all her photos except for the ones with one particular man. From the images alone, Hoot could tell the man came from money. He was too polished. Too sleek, with a gaze that was far too sharp. As if he were scrutinizing those nearby, meticulously evaluating and mentally cataloging their net worth.

Speaking of romantic typing, it was immediately apparent to Hoot that the person could not possibly have been Lark’s. So, what had brought those two together? And more importantly, why was she never smiling while in his company? Hoot wanted to ask Haley to suss out more information on the man, but bit his tongue. It wasn’t any of his business. Yet the questions continued to crowd into his mind.

Hoot’s intrusive thoughts about Lark ceased only when their boss, Flynn “Flint” Condor, entered the room. His former commander still dominated every room he walked into and was one of the few men Hoot knew who could make silence feel like an order. Some things never changed as the joking around the table stopped abruptly and the operators they all were got down to business. Soon, the images on the screen changed to clients and contracts.

With a nod, Flint signaled Haley to display a new job on the screen. “We have a new contract.”

Hoot leaned back reading the preliminary information on the client.

“Government?” Jeeves asked.

“Technically.” Flint opened the folder, preferring to access his information in an old-school, tangible format. “We’ve been asked to provide supplemental security for a private event in Washington, D.C.”

Eggs raised an eyebrow. “Supplemental?”

“Additional protection alongside the client’s existing security detail and Capitol Police.”

“Who’s the client?”

Haley projected an image on the screen while Flint read off his particulars. “Ambassador Charles Whitmore.”

Hoot studied the photograph. Whitmore was one of those men whose face seemed designed for Washington. Late sixties. Silver hair. A perfect smile in an immaculate suit. The kind of smile that had probably appeared on the covers of half a dozen political magazines.

“Former ambassador to the United Kingdom,” Flint continued. “Served under two administrations. Currently chairs the Whitmore Foundation, sits on several international policy boards, and has enough friends on Capitol Hill to make most senators nervous.”

Eggs whistled. “Big fish.”

“Very.”

Haley projected more information on the screen. “The event is the foundation’s annual international affairs gala. Three hundred guests. Cabinet members, senators, ambassadors, defense contractors, diplomats, corporate executives.”

“Great. Just when I thought my days of attending these stifling events was over,” Voodoo muttered, the words heavy with disdain. He’d had his share of international affairs lately while accompanying world renown pianist Savannah Daniels on a world tour. The pair had been childhood friends and had reunited and fallen in love during the tour. Of course, things hadn’t all gone smoothly, and Savannah’s life had been threatened numerous times. The final time being the finale of the trip at the Kennedy Center when a bomb had been placed in her piano and activated as she played the final note of the concert. Hoot and Eggs had helped Voodoo weed out the bad guys and save the girl.

Now Savannah had semi-retired and was happily engaged to Voodoo. The entire affair left a bitter aftertaste, as a key figure in the scandal was not only a senator but also Savannah’s stepfather.

“Potential target?” Jeeves asked.

“Unknown.” Flint’s expression hardened. “That’s why we’re there.”

“Any credible threats?”