Treason by Newt Gingrich, Pete Earley Page B

was unlikely to stop until he was either the last man standing or unconscious.
    Brooke and Miles had developed a close bond in Somalia that could only be understood by their fellow combat soldiers. She trusted him with her life and he did the same.
    â€œI didn’t know you were on duty this late at night,” she said, flashing him a smile when she opened the safe room door.
    â€œWhat makes you think I’m on duty?”
    â€œYou’re wearing camos.”
    â€œI sleep in my camos,” he replied, teasing her. “But clearly you don’t.”
    Brooke suddenly realized that she had darted out of bed without grabbing her robe. She was wearing a dark red, clingy silk pajama top and tap pants that left little about her figure to the imagination.
    Sergeant Miles took it all in and he liked what he saw.

CHAPTER SEVEN
    T he girl was right. Someone was standing outside her bedroom window,” the head of the private security team announced when Brooke and Miles joined him in the kitchen. They had come downstairs after Brooke had tucked Jennifer back in bed and grabbed a robe.
    â€œHow’s that possible?” Brooke asked. “The motion detectors didn’t sound an alarm and turn on the outside spotlights and the digital recorders didn’t show any intruders when I watched them in the safe room.”
    â€œThere’s only one reasonable explanation,” the security guard replied. “Whoever was here peeking in that window knew how to bypass our alarms and detectors.”
    â€œWhich means,” Miles volunteered, “your security was breached. The intruder had to have been given inside technical information.”
    â€œAgain,” Brooke said, her voice now clearly irritated, “how is that possible?”
    â€œI’ve already alerted our central office and if our people leaked that information, we’ll hunt them down and prosecute them,” the security guard replied. “But there is another possibility.”
    â€œWhich is?” Brooke asked.
    â€œThat you have a leak in your organization and one of your people did this.”
    â€œThat’s unlikely,” Brooke said. “I did share your plans with several security experts at the FBI and Pentagon, but they have top secret security clearances and have undergone extensive background investigations. It’s unlikely they leaked anything.”
    â€œWell, someone compromised the system,” the guard said. “Our people will be out first thing in the morning to make modifications to prevent another security penetration. Meanwhile, my team and I will spend the night here to make certain you are safe.”
    â€œYou and your crew can go home,” Miles said. “I’ll be staying until morning.”
    â€œNo disrespect intended,” the guard answered defensively, “but one man can’t do the job of eight.”
    â€œThere’ll be two of us in the house, and I’d rather have one man I can trust,” Brooke said, “than a team that may have been compromised. You can station some of your team at the driveway entrance, but the only person I want inside my house tonight with me is Sergeant Miles.”
    â€œI’m sorry you feel that way,” the security guard said. “I’ll tell our company head that he needs to meet with you personally tomorrow to alleviate any fears you might have about our services.”
    Miles escorted him outside and returned with a large black bag that he’d retrieved from his truck. He found Brooke waiting in the kitchen dressed in a red sweatshirt with “USMC” stenciled across its front and a pair of denim jeans. She had her Beretta holstered on her belt.
    â€œHow’s Jennifer?” he asked, as he removed a M4A1 Close Quarter Battle Receiver—a modified assault rifle with a shortened barrel—from his bag.
    â€œShe’s sleeping. Doctors told me yesterday her recovery has been truly