The Power of Love by Serena Akeroyd

his right-hand man.
    It was an uncomfortable position to be in; he wouldn’t lie. He hated having a weakness that could be exploited, but she was too useful to ignore. The intel she’d provided more than made up for the inconvenience of sharing such a secret with her.
    “Are we ready to go, sir?” she asked, leaping to her feet to salute.
    It seemed incredible to him that after a year of working here, she still couldn’t salute properly—who knew it was so goddamn difficult?
    He nodded, trying not to huff at her inability to blend in, and stepped ahead of her, leading her from the general’s office and out toward their own quarters.
    Though he was used to Jarvis, hell, knew and liked him socially, it always put him on edge talking to him in an official capacity.
    Being hauled up before someone in that role was not pleasant, and he was equally as thankful that it occurred infrequently. Usually, it meant a transfer was in the distant future, either that or a deployment.
    After six terms of service, Josh felt no shame in admitting he was too old for that shit. He’d served his time, and he was content to stay here, at home. Not that he had a say in the matter. If Jarvis told him to jump, Josh was in the unfortunate position of having to ask, “How high, sir?”
    For him, every year he clocked on the calendar was a blessing. It meant he was too old to be sent under the wire again, and at the moment, he felt every single one of those years.
    Grunting at the thought, he strode in silence through the administrative offices and relaxed the minute he entered his office. Dana immediately retreated to her desk, leaving him to his work. One thing he did like about her was her need for little direction.
    Pleased she hadn’t followed him, he unlocked the door to his study. The instant he did, he frowned.
    Standing still in the doorway wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but he managed. Just. He could sense the room was empty, but his hand automatically went for his weapon.
    His instincts at red alert, he prowled around the large space. The desk faced the door, at his back a large window. When guests came, he always opened the blinds wide so they had to shield their gaze from the glare. Not exactly welcoming behavior, but it worked—putting people off guard was what he did best.
    Bookshelves lined one wall, most of them filled with crap he’d never read in this lifetime but that looked good. The leather spines had never been cracked on most of them.
    The other wall held battalion regalia.
    It was his desk and the odd position of his chair that had made him pause. Gia would probably have spotted it too, considering she always tidied up his office at home for him.
    He’d told her countless times that the chair arms should not touch the table. There had to be a good half-foot distance between desk and chair. But now, the silver arms of the ergonomic monstrosity brushed the sides, something he never allowed.
    His desk appeared as neat as ever; however, some of the papers were faintly out of line. It didn’t matter; nothing visible was of any importance. He’d have been an idiot to leave classified or important documents out on show.
    These faint issues had him rounding the desk to check the locks on his drawers. He doubted anyone else would have noticed these minute differences, but they were so noticeable to him he was on edge.
    As suspected, there were faint scratches around the metal where it had been picked. They were only small, but they might as well have been tagged with red paint on the desk.
    “Dana,” he hollered, grabbing the key from his pocket and unlocking the top drawer.
    Most people might assume the top or the bottom drawers were the important ones. He always went for the middle. Regardless, he never kept anything truly important in that particular space. He used his wall safe. The bookshelves did more than make his office look stately.
    “Sir?”
    That had him blinking up at Dana, who was standing by the door.