Page 27 of Nothing to Fear

“If you need a nonjudgmental ear to listen,” she said, “or want to go for a run to blow off steam or something, let me know.”

Confiding in others was a firm no-go, and he always ran alone to clear his head. “A generous offer. Thank you.”

She was radiant, full of life, and he couldn’t help but stare. He swore he could read her emotions in the bright blue depths of her eyes, as if she didn’t want to hide any part of herself.

An inclination he’d never understand.

“I’m sure you’ve been under a lot of stress lately,” she said. “You should take a break.”

“Breaks are for slackers.” But he needed one from the relentless high-ops tempo, and he wanted time to know Doc better. “Even if I took one, I wouldn’t be able to unwind.”

“Melatonin would help you relax. Or exercise for the release of endorphins.” She tousled her hair, a languid gesture, kicking up that sweet scent. “Any vigorous exercise would do. Sex works too.” She laughed nervously as though embarrassed, dropping her gaze for a heartbeat, then looked at him again, throwing an inviting smile his way. “I’m always up to lend a friendly ear over dinner or”—she shrugged—“for some exercise.”

He was tempted. What sane man wouldn’t be? And thankfully, Doc was only a liaison, and the CDC director of the Washington office was her boss, so she wasn’t off-limits as a subordinate. But her timing was piss-poor. Too much at stake. He’d never let anyone close while hunting a mole. Not even his protégé, Castle, who’d started hovering over Sanborn like a scavenging grizzly—part of the job to weed out the traitor.

“I might give melatonin a try,” Reaper said behind him.

Hell’s bells. The man had the stealth of a wraith. Good for this line of work, but bad for Sanborn this morning. As soon as he saw Doc, he’d forgotten about Reaper lurking behind the cubicle divider.

“You can get it at any health food store,” she said.

Sanborn cleared his throat.

“I should get inside,” Reaper said, picking up the cue. “Lots of great tips this morning.” He went into the conference room before Sanborn gave in to the urge to throw him the evil eye.

Sanborn refocused his attention on the beautiful young woman in front of him. “Doc—”

“Emily. Please.”

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but—”

“I get it. It’s unlike me to be so forward. I’m not the put-yourself-out-there type of girl.” She eased back, running a hand through her copper-blond hair. “When I’m around you, I find myself saying whatever pops into my head. I can’t shut my mouth—like right now. I should really stop talking. Let you get back to work.” She spun as if ready to bolt.

“Wait.” He hated the noticeable edge in his voice and erased it. She tossed a glance at him over her shoulder. “Once this situation is done, let’s talk.”

She smiled, rousing something long forgotten inside him. “I’d like that.”

* * *

Inside the conference room, Gideon cursed the lingering smell of Sybil Parker. Her overpowering perfume infested the air, expensive and fussy with a dizzying mix of scents. Trapped in a room with any fragrance, especially one so potent, would give him a headache before too long.

Setting the container of scones on the table, he sat beside Maddox, grateful she knew him well enough not to wear any perfume, much less something that horrendous.

From the conversation he’d overheard in the hall, they’d caught a break in finding the mole, but for some reason, the chief was locking horns with Parker over the new evidence. It was rare to hear the term whitewash used, and even more rare for such an order to be issued. He only knew what it meant in such excruciating detail because people with his training were the ones who did the cleansing.

Tension hung in the conference room like a noose. Ares sat across the table eyeing him, arms folded. Reece sighed and tipped the bill of his “Beaver Lover” cap down. Castle and Alistair swiped through pages on their touchscreens, reading something with furrowed brows while the forensic accountants whispered among themselves.

“What’s up?” he asked Maddox.

“See for yourself.” She tapped the built-in screen in front of him and brought up a forensic report.

The chief strode into the room and sat at the head of the table. To his right and left were the forensic accountants. Brainiacs in brown and black suits respectively, who lived and breathed to cull data and follow monetary trails.

“I still find this hard to believe,” Sanborn said.

Gideon scanned the digital documents. An offshore account. Grand Cayman Island, Nova World Bank. One-million-dollar balance.

Account holder: Willow Harper.