Jigsaw (Black Raven Book 2) by Stella Barcelona Page A

to me? I said—”
    “Yes, I’m listening. You’re on speaker and you don’t need to yell. Zeus is here. You two are echoing each other. I’m only going to say this once.” Her tone was calm and authoritative, but her green eyes flashed with determination as she drew a deep breath. “Resigning isn’t an option. And just so that you’re perfectly clear on this, Samuel, I made one request of you. Only one, in recent memory. You didn’t listen to me. After this phone conversation, which will be short, I’m no longer speaking to you. From here on out, if you wish to speak to me, go through Black Raven.”
    “Fine. Zeus.” Dixon snapped both words out in a strong, powerful voice. He managed to sound exactly like what he was—both a frantic father-figure and a decisive, powerful businessman, who was used to having his every demand met. “Talk some sense into my granddaughter, would you please? She was one goddamn French fry away from being killed.” Zeus had given Dixon the details of the cyanide poisoning, and the man’s summation was accurate. “It is high time for her to give up this endeavor and return home.”
    Zeus met her steely-eyed gaze. He should’ve done a videoconference from his iPad, so that Dixon could draw some of his granddaughter’s ire face to face. “I’m trying. Don’t think we’re going to move her.”
    “I’m standing right here,” Sam reminded them. She held the phone in one hand, but her steady determined focus was all on Zeus. As though he was the damn reason why anything was wrong in her life. “I have an important job to do, now more than ever, and I refuse to be intimidated or controlled. I’m not an idiot. I’m well aware of the danger, nevertheless I will not resign, and I won’t leave. I received a phone call from President Cameron tonight. He personally underscored the importance of the job. I’ll be hyperaware, I’ll listen to Black Raven’s instructions, and I’ll watch my back. But no matter what either of you says, I’m not quitting.”
    Sam brushed past Zeus as she stepped through the doorway and into the living room. He tried not to smell the jasmine, rose, and natural musk that drifted from her body in a tease that had no business occurring, because it wasn’t intentional. Yet he couldn’t help breathing in, deeply, and relishing the scent as she crossed the room, her back to him. She hadn’t changed her nightly ritual of a hot shower, shampooing her hair, and applying body lotion in the same fragrance that she wore throughout the day. On other women, he knew the scent was Chanel No.5. On her, with her body warm from her shower and the heat of the hair dryer, the classic fragrance became something that couldn’t be bought at a department store. It morphed into an aphrodisiac that, combined with the sudden flood of memories of what it felt like to make love to her, brought blood-rushing arousal.
    When she reached the dining table, she turned to him, eyes blazing with determination. “Save your breath, and stop trying to persuade me to quit. That isn’t happening.”
    I’ve got the message. Loud and clear. Doubt your grandfather does, though.
    “Honey,” Samuel said, “the reality is the ITT proceedings are nothing but an ill-conceived, and very dangerous, dog-and-pony show. No one would blame you if you resigned after what happened tonight.”
    “Bullshit. My resignation would be the first thing thrown in my face by a judicial review committee when I get nominated for a federal judgeship.”
    Zeus walked to where Sam stood and, picking up on the thread that Samuel had started, added, “The ITT is a hate party with a guest list that includes the usual jihadists, Islamic terrorist groups, Al Quaeda splinter groups, Maximovists. Ragno?”
    “Yes?” She’d been monitoring the conversation, but had stayed silent.
    “Get in on this.”
    “Hello, Samuel,” she said, her voice now coming though the speakerphone, which Sam held in her left hand,