Buck’s secretary didn’t bat an eye when Kip announced himself. She must be used to the ballbusters who work for Buck. Very well-paid ballbusters. And considering that the rocks hanging from her ears weren’t knock offs, Buck’s secretary was making serious dough, too. Everyone’s on the take. Impressive.

“Mr. Baer will see you now,” she said from the desk, not taking her eyes of the monitor.

Yeah, I bet he will. Good thing Kip hasn’t wasted time resting his ass in some cushy chair. Buck’s place was too nice, had too much glitz. Kip would rather have hard-nosed furniture that’d been beat up and torn down. That would fit his demeanor. But not Buck. He liked the show. But if that’s what the prick wanted to do with his moolah, it wasn’t worth a second thought to Kip.

He elbowed through another set of solid-wood doors that were meant to impart how well GSI was doing in the private security industry. Other firms tried for high security and impenetrable walls. Buck wanted in-your-face success.

The jerk stood from behind his desk. He always looked angry, at least when Kip walked into the room.

“You stink like cinnamon.” Buck clapped his hands onto hips. “Thought I told you to cut that shit out.”

“Back off, Buck.” What he wouldn’t do to face off with him and see who could really take who. It would stop their supervisor-subordinate dance. One good ass whipping, and his boss would wise up.

“I sent you to evaluate the outpost for a simple reason—cover our tails. Now I have the goddamn Secretary of State and the goddamn Defense Intelligence Agency wanting answers.”

Kip shrugged and pulled out another cinnamon stick. “Sounds like a personal problem.”

“We made a deal, Pearson. You earned your money, and I earned mine.”

“Don’t worry so much. All ends are almost tied nice and pretty for ya.” This conversation was an annoyance. He didn’t see his boss as his superior. They were on par. Strength, check. Tenacity, check. Intelligence, nah. Kip would have to take that one. But all in all, Kip wasn’t subservient, even if the man signed his paychecks.

“That woman is alive!” Buck slammed his hands down on the desk, stout fingers stretched on the expensive-looking wood that was so damn showy.

“Not for long. You have any idea where I left her? In the hands of some very… eager beavers. She’s probably wishing she’d died in a car bomb.”

Buck pointed at the television. Its muted screen showed his former partner’s face. That made things slightly more complicated. “So they know she’s alive. Big deal.”

“Damn government contracts. I’ll never accept a stipulation for an outside observer. Hell, I’ll never let you find a fall girl again.” Buck rubbed his temples. “They want us to go get her.”

Kip used air quotes. “So ‘go get her.’”