King doubted that. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

  The analyst opened his mouth to speak up, but King reacted, throwing his arm across the guy and taking two steps back with him just as a soldier stumbled forward, hit the floor, and skidded several feet past them.

  “That looked painful,” his companion muttered, though it would have been more painful had the soldier stumbled into him and taken him down with him. He beamed up at King. “See. Green Beret.” He waved the bag at King again. “You sure you don’t want a Goldfish cracker?”

  “I’m sure.” King’s frown deepened. The guy’s smile was bright, open, and friendly. “Why won’t you tell me your name?”

  “I never said I wouldn’t tell you. What’s your name?”

  “Ward Kingston, but everyone calls me King.”

  The guy tilted his head. “Why King?”

  “Long story.” One he was certainly not about to get into with a stranger, and here of all places. Though he surprised himself by discovering he wanted to know more about his odd little companion.

  “I bet it’s fascinating.”

  “Why do you keep distracting me from getting your name?” This whole situation was bizarre. How did he not have this guy’s name, position, and clearance level already? He wouldn’t be too hard on himself, considering he was in a secure location and wasn’t officially on the clock yet since the person he was supposed to be working with had disappeared. Normally he would have joined the search the moment he’d been told Leo was missing, but he had no idea what Leo looked like. The General—and King was certain several US intelligence agencies—had done a stellar job of erasing any trace of Leo from the internet. They left just enough details not to arouse suspicion, but there were no photos of Leo, no descriptions of him. Due to the classified nature of the op and Leo’s involvement, King had been given little to no information about him. That was to come after he met Leo.

  “I’m distracting you?”

  The guy’s startled words snapped King out of his thoughts. Why did he sound so surprised?

  As if reading his mind, the analyst spoke up. “I’ve never distracted anyone before. Like I said, most people don’t even realize I’m there, much less find themselves distracted by me.” His wide smile lit up his face, and King sucked in a sharp breath. Whatever was happening had to stop. Now. King was about to demand answers when Bowers appeared. He thundered toward them, his murderous glare on the analyst and intent in his eyes. What exactly Bowers was going to do, King had no idea, but he wasn’t about to let it happen. He instinctively put himself between Bowers and the young man, ignoring the fingers curling around his forearm or the searing heat from the touch.

  “Leo!”

  “Shit,” the guy muttered from behind King.

  “Shit,” King repeated, looking over his shoulder at Leo, who was now sporting a sheepish grin. “Leopold de Loughrey?”

  Leo worried his bottom lip with his teeth and waved. “Hi.”

  Fuck my life. Of course it was Leo. He should have known.

  “Christ’s sake, Leo! How many times do we have to do this?” Bowers growled, trying to get around King to Leo, but King kept himself between them.

  Needing to defuse the situation, and quickly, King put his hands up in a nonthreatening gesture in the hopes of soothing Bowers. “It’s okay. He’s okay. Take a breath.”

  Bowers’s nostrils flared, but he reined it in and breathed like King suggested. When Bowers spoke to Leo, the anger was still there but controlled.

  Somewhat.

  “Where the hell were you?”

  Leo held up the bag of Goldfish crackers, and Bowers’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

  “You broke protocol and sent everyone into a panic for a goddamn snack? You little—” He snatched the bag from Leo, but King caught his wrist, and Bowers’s expression went from furious to stunned.

  King narrowed his eyes. “Not how to handle this.” He gently took the bag from Bowers and returned it to Leo, his gaze never leaving Bowers’s. “Why don’t you take five and let me talk to Leo.”

  “Fine,” Bowers spat. “He’s your headache now.”

  Before King had a chance to respond, Bowers stormed off. Definitely not how he’d expected this to go. King turned, finding everyone watching them—more specifically Leo. They weren’t so much watching him as they were glaring at him. Leo’s fair skin burned red with embarrassment, his eyes on his feet.

  “Get back to work,” King barked at the room, his scowl fierce.

  Everyone jumped to it, scrambling away to get back to whatever they’d been doing.

  “Wow. They just… they didn’t even question who you were, just did it. You were an officer, huh?”

  “Warrant Officer 1.”

  Leo nodded. “I’m, uh, sorry about all this.”

  “Is there somewhere we can talk?” King asked, needing to speak to Leo away from all the prying eyes. Hopefully King could put him at ease. Leo’s anxiety was showing in the way he shifted from one foot to the other and tapped his fingers against his leg.

  “Yeah, sure.” Leo nodded behind King, and they walked past the rows and rows of workstations where analysts huddled in front of multiple monitors. Each station looked like a small hurricane had hit it, with several strewn laptops, more wires than King had ever seen in his life, various pieces of hardware, and stacks of manuals.

  The place looked like any government pop-up cyber command center, with one wall covered in huge screens monitoring who knew what and another wall lined with servers. A lone workstation sat at the far end of the room against the third wall, and he figured it was Leo’s, being the only one unoccupied. The lighting from the high fluorescent beams hanging from the ceiling was low, and the room was mostly lit from the dozens upon dozens of screens. The walls and floor were the same cold gray concrete as the corridors outside.

  Beyond the command center was a closed-off area where armed soldiers took one look at Leo and nodded, letting him through before checking King’s security clearance. Once he was identified, they turned right at the end of the short hall and entered one of only two doors. Inside, the room resembled a typical Army barrack setup for one person, with an iron-framed bed King was all too familiar with, a plain wooden nightstand, matching desk, and wardrobe. Opposite the wardrobe was a tiny bathroom. The place was bare, cold, and cramped with two people in it. Leo took a seat on the edge of the bed, looking tragically out of place, small and alone. The nightstand beside the bed was occupied by a small lamp, a tablet, a couple of chargers, a black handball, and a Funko Pop figure of a little guy with brown hair and black eyes wearing a blue science school shirt.

  “Who’s this?” King asked, picking up the figure.

  Leo’s smile was timid. “Oh, um, that’s Peter Parker.”

  “Why not Spider-Man?”

  Leo shrugged, his hands clasped between his knees, fingers laced together. “I like to be reminded of the guy beneath the mask. I mean, Peter’s a regular guy, you know? Yeah, he’s a superhero, but really, he’s this awkward, antisocial science nerd with self-esteem issues who’s trying to do the right thing and figure himself out along the way. He didn’t ask to be a superhero. To have all that power and responsibility thrown at him. Underneath the heroics is a guy who’s trying to get by in life, and despite all the tragedy he’s faced, he finds a way to keep moving forward, cracking jokes along the way.”

  King gently placed Peter Parker back on the nightstand. “Sounds like my kind of hero.”

  Leo’s head shot up, his cheeks going a lovely pink. “Really?”

  “What superhero would you have picked for me?” King smiled knowingly. “Captain America?”

  Leo brushed some imaginary lint off his jeans. “I didn’t know what you looked like, only that you were a soldier. You kinda remind me more of Oliver Queen than Steve Rogers. I didn’t figure you for the superhero type.”

  “Oh?” King took a seat on the mattress next to Leo, making sure to leave enough space between them.

  Leo lifted his gaze to King’s, his brows furrowed. “Because you’re the real deal.”

  King’s heart stumbled. “I’m sorry?”

  “A real hero.” Sadness filled Leo’s eyes. “I’m sorry for whatever happened to you out there.”

  Leo’s words took King by surprise. “What makes you think something happened?”

  “You would still be serving otherwise, wouldn’t you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What happened?”

  King stood and shoved his hands into his pockets, the question a stark reminder of why he had to keep his distance, not just because of who Leo was, but because of what King had done, or rather failed to do. Before he could politely steer the conversation back to the reason he’d asked to speak to Leo in private, Leo jumped to his feet.

  “I’m sorry. That’s personal.”

  “Did your father tell you anything about who I am or why I’m here?”

  Leo nodded before resuming his seat on the edge of the bed, his knee bouncing. “He said you were a friend, which means he trusts you. I can count on one hand how many people he trusts, and two of them are me and my sister. He said you were a soldier, part owner of a private security company, and that you were here to help. I’m not really sure what that means. Help with what?”

  King leaned against the wall opposite Leo, arms folded over his chest. “Tell me about the Goldfish crackers.”

  Leo blinked at him. “Um, they’re delicious.”

  The seriousness with which Leo said the words caught King off guard, and he let out a bark of laughter.

  Leo smiled tentatively. “What?”

  “I’m sorry.” King shook his head at himself. What was it about Leo that put him so at ease? It was a confounding sentiment and one he couldn’t afford right now, especially with Leo.

  “Why are you sorry? Because I made you laugh?”

  “Because you were being serious.”

  “I was,” Leo agreed. “You don’t have to be sorry because I made you laugh. You have a really nice smile, by the way. It makes your eyes light up and little lines form at the corners.”

  King forced himself to get serious again. He was going to have to be careful around Leo. It wasn’t so much that Leo ignored King’s defenses—he seemed oblivious to them. It was the strangest thing. No time to think on it now. “What I meant was, tell me what happened. How did you get past all the security, and why?”

  “Pretzels aren’t crackers.”

  “No, they’re not,” King agreed.

  “I mean, it’s pretty obvious. One doesn’t look remotely like the other. The textures are different, and despite sharing their cute fishy shape, they taste different. There’s also the very distinct lack of cheese in the latter. If I’d wanted pretzels, I would have asked for pretzels. Do they really expect me to believe they’re capable of running a highly classified black op from a black site, involving multiple intelligence agencies along with the military, but they’re incapable of distinguishing between a cracker and pretzel?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Leo peered at him. “Anyway, they gave me pretzels.”

  “So you decided to go find some Goldfish crackers.” King motioned to the tablet on the nightstand. “Can you bring up the floor plans of this building?”

  “Pfft.” Leo grabbed his tablet, turned it on, then entered a security code followed by a scan of his finger. He tapped away at the screen before turning the tablet to hold it out to King. Leo had managed to not only evade security in the bunker, but the rest of the building, and King wanted to know how. He wasn’t even going to think about how easily Leo brought up the building’s floor plans, minus the secret government facility of course.

  “Where’s the vending machine with your crackers?”

  Leo tapped the tablet before showing King. “Employee lounge. Thirteenth floor.”

  How in the hell…? “You got to the thirteenth-floor employee lounge without anyone seeing you? How did you even know where the employee lounge was or that they had your crackers?”

  “Well, Harold—he’s one of the analysts on the project and a jerk—he came in eating them yesterday afternoon because, like I said, he’s a jerk, so I knew there were some in the building even though he wouldn’t tell me where. I mean, who doesn’t share that kind of information? It’s not like I was going to steal all the Goldfish crackers. He doesn’t even like them! But he knows they’re my favorite, so he went out of his way to get them and eat them in front of me. Who does that? A jerk, that’s who. Never trust a guy who home brews his own kombucha.”

  “I don’t know what that is,” King murmured.

  “And you don’t want to know. Hey, to each his own, right? But you don’t gotta be a—”

  “Leo,” King stated gently but firmly to get him back on track.

  “Right, so I checked the occupants of each floor, ruling out the accountants, lawyers, architects, brokers, and HR department for some big retail chain—although they could have Goldfish crackers in their vending machine, considering the stress levels in that place—but my money was on the thirteenth floor. Video game testing. Much more likely to have fun snacks of the animal or nonanimal-shaped variety.”

  “You couldn’t have found another way to check?” Someone with Leo’s skills could have easily discovered where to find the crackers without guessing.

  Leo looked almost affronted by King’s question. “Of course. A few key strokes and I could have pulled up every vending machine in the building and what it contained.”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  Leo frowned at him. “Just because I can, doesn’t mean I should.”

  King’s brows shot up. He hadn’t expected that. Except for his friend Jack, King had met plenty of computer guys who’d jump at the chance to show off their skills. Leo had been brought to a black site to create something for their government, yet he wouldn’t abuse his power to look into vending machine snacks. King tucked that little bit of insight away for later. “How did you get there without anyone seeing you?”

  “Combination of stairs and elevator, cutting through the third, eighth, and eleventh floors. The third floor is under renovation, the eighth is available for lease, and the company on the eleventh floor is hosting their annual employee picnic today. They just landed a big account. Good for them.”

  “How did you get that information?”

  Leo’s smile was wide. “Google.”

  “Right. And how did you get out of the bunker?”

  Leo shrugged. “I walked out the door.”

  “You….” King squinted at him. “What do you mean you walked out the door?”

  Leo darted his gaze around the room before his eyes landed back on King again. “Um, I opened the door and walked out.” He moved his fingers in a walking gesture. “Oh, there were stairs. I took the stairs up. Is that what you meant?”

  “Where was security?” King had to get through several layers of security checks to get into the building, much less down the corridor, and Leo had walked out?

  Leo shrugged. “I didn’t see any. Maybe they were busy?”

  That was not possible. King would need to look at the security footage. There was no way Leo moseyed on down the corridor and walked upstairs without help or anyone spotting him. First things first.

  “Leo, I’m here to help you in any way I can, but I’m going to need you to trust me. I know it will take some time, but I’m confident we’ll get there.”

  Leo studied him. “What exactly did my dad hire you for?”

  “Your dad didn’t hire me. I’m here as a personal favor to him.”

  Leo looked puzzled. “He’s not paying you?”

  “He’s a friend who needs my help. I don’t take payments from friends.”

  “How are you helping him?”

  “The government is providing around-the-clock security. It’s their job to keep you safe. It’s also their job to see this project completed by any means necessary. Their interest is in the project. My interest is in you. I’m here for you, not them. I’ll make sure you have what you need to do your job, then get you home safely.”

  “So what you’re saying is they’re Team Uncle Sam and you’re Team Leo.”

  King quirked his lips. “Something like that.”

  Leo’s smile was dazzling, and King found himself returning the gesture. Jesus, what the hell was happening? King schooled his features and straightened away from the wall, ignoring how it bothered him when Leo’s expression dimmed. Something about Leo brought out a fierce sense of protectiveness, one reserved for those closest to King. A strangely quick response, considering he’d only just met Leo.

  “Let’s get you back to your workstation. I need to be brought up to speed before I can make a full assessment. We’ll talk again after.”

  King didn’t warm to people easily, if at all. He could be personable and charming when he wanted to be. Handling people was what he did. Knowing how to make people feel at ease came naturally to him, and it made his job easier. It was different with Leo. King found himself simply reacting to Leo, and that disturbed him greatly. Whatever this odd feeling was, it ended now.

  Chapter 2

  Train wreck. Otherwise known as his life.

  Leo followed King out of the room, doing his best not to get caught sneaking glances at the man his father had sent to help him. Anyone else might have been furious by the gesture, but not Leo. His family always looked out for him, took extra measures to ensure his well-being, and although at times Leo chastised himself—he was a grown man, after all—he’d also resigned himself to the fact he wasn’t like most people, and if he needed a little extra help, he shouldn’t feel bad about it, should he?

  King’s presence alone made more of a difference than the man could possibly know. Earlier, when Leo stepped back into the bunker, it had been chaos. Things had certainly escalated quickly after his short excursion for his favorite fish-shaped snack. The madness had been all encompassing, from the analysts arguing to the numerous soldiers darting from one place to another. It wasn’t like he’d gone far, or even left the building. If they’d just brought him his Goldfish crackers like he’d asked, none of it would have happened. How was he supposed to concentrate when he’d been given pretzels? He’d been tempted to walk back out and wait until it was over. There’d been too much noise, too much movement happening all around him. It was always followed by anger, frustration, yelling, and lecturing, which Leo ended up tuning out, and that just led to more anger, frustration, yelling, and lecturing, the cycle repeating itself until he felt like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, without the benefit of escaping via creative demise.