Adrian eased by the vehicle at five miles an hour under the turtle-like speed limit so they could check things out. Pulled over like it had broken down, the unremarkable unmarked had a bright pink CPD seal on it—like the cops had already been by, assessed the Taurus, and put the owner on notice to get his shit the hell home or have the ride impounded.

Adrian doubled back and drew up close. “Are you sure this is—”

Matthias got out of the truck and peeled the sticker off easy as pie. “If this was real, you’d need a straightedge.”

Tossing the “seal” inside the truck, he stepped back and looked left and right. No one around, and no one down the road in either direction.

Taking the heel of his cane, he—

Shattered the driver’s window.

Reaching in, he popped the locks and opened the door. No alarm—but XOps never put alarms in their cars. The primary directive, aside from getting your target dead, was no attention—ever. That just made for shit to clean up.

Naturally, there had been no keys on the operative, but that was also protocol. XOps left nothing behind, no bodies, no weapons—no cars, either. The key would be attached to the undercarriage so that the recon folks could sweep in and reclaim the Taurus—but he didn’t have the time to go prostrate and screw around in the tall grasses.

Matthias pivoted around. “Can I have one of your daggers?”

When one was presented to him hilt-first, he lowered himself behind the wheel of the sedan and put the tip into a juncture in the plastic casing that covered the steering column. With the heel of his hand, he slammed the blade home and twisted until the section snapped free, exposing the guts.

As far as the average member of the public was concerned, the automotive industry had progressed past the point of manual manipulation, new cars run by their electrical systems and their inner brains—which meant the days of breaking and entering and hot-wiring were over.

Good news for regular drivers. Not so helpful when you were trying to build in flexibility during assassinations. And that was why XOps unmarkeds were all modified for just this kind of infiltration. If you couldn’t find the key, if you didn’t have time to retrieve it, if a hundred thousand other unknowables were in your way? Get in and get gone.

Cross the wires. Hit the gas. On the road.

When they got back to the garage, Matthias drove into the open slot the truck had vacated and dragged himself out. Using the sedan’s hood, sides, and trunk, he steadied himself as he felt around the base of the car—

Aha.

The magnetic box he brought out from down under was four inches long, two inches wide, and thin as a finger.

It was coded, however, with a tiny keypad. He’d forgotten that part—

From a corner of his brain, a four-digit series of numbers trembled on a ledge, just about to fall into his consciousness.

Adrian strode in. “What’s—”

Matthias held up his palm. “One sec…”

Closing his eyes, he changed tactics. Fighting and forcing his memory hadn’t worked; maybe taking a passive approach would.

And hopefully the result wouldn’t be another time-out like the one he’d sported right before they’d been attacked.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe—

The universal code popped into his head, jumping free of the choke hold that had strangled it into inaccessibility—and along with the numeric sequence came friends…lots and lots of friends.

All at once he was flooded by passwords, and alphanumeric combinations, and even color sequences.

Something grabbed his arm. Jim’s roommate.

Good timing, as his legs started to go out, a dizzy twirl in his skull turning his body into a goddamn ballerina, even as he didn’t move.

Overwhelmed, he could only watch what played across the backs of his eyelids, the seemingly endless catalog revealing itself with all the grace of a bull charging through a crowd.

He retained the information, however.

Especially as other things started to come in for a landing. Things like accounts, and Web sites…and personnel files.

37

“Monty, where are you…you loose-lipped son of a bitch…?”

Glancing at her watch, Mels ducked back into the boathouse at the river’s edge, double-checking that her source hadn’t come in from the opposite end. Nope. Just her and the empty slips and the pissed-off barn swallows and the stacks of rowboats and life preservers.

When Monty had called and wanted to see her, she’d refused to play that follow-the-leader-through-the-park game again, and his lateness made her wonder if maybe he was in a sulk at his spy-guy parade getting rained on—

“Shit!”

All around, swallows burst back into the boathouse, forcing her into a duck and cover as they bitched in circles for a minute and then reescaped out into the open air.

“Monty, where are you?” she said to all the no-one-else around her.

Going over to one of the boat slips, she looked down into the water. Man, there was something inherently creepy about not being able to see the bottom. Made you wonder what was really down there—

A creak brought her head up. “Monty?”

Off in the distance, a child squealed in happiness. A car horn went off.

“Is someone there?”

All of a sudden, the sunlight dimmed as if God had decided to conserve energy, or maybe someone had thrown a tarp over Caldwell.

In the darkness, the interior of the boathouse closed in on her.

Yeah, okay. Time to go.

Mels shoved her hand into her purse as she headed for the exit, a spike of paranoia making her search out her Mace—

Someone got to the doorway first, blocking the way out.

“Monty?”

“Sorry I’m late.”

She relaxed at the sound of the familiar voice. “I was just about to give up on you.”

“I would never let you down.”

Mels frowned as the man took a step forward. Then another. “What’s that cologne you’re wearing?”

“Do you like it?”

God, no. It smelled like he needed to take a shower. “So you said you’ve got something for me?”

“Oh, yes. I really do.”

As he approached her, he somehow managed to keep his body between her and the exit, and then he was right in front of her, hands in his pockets, head down like he was looking at his feet.

That child, the one probably playing on the swing set in the park, laughed again, the sound filtering in and making her feel the isolation like a draft.

I gotta get out of here, she thought in a rush.

“Listen, Monty, I’ve got to—”

And that was when the man looked up, black eyes glittering with threat. It wasn’t Monty. She didn’t know who the hell it was—

Mels attacked first, cocking her hand back on her wrist and taking the hard heel of her palm and jamming it right up into the guy’s jaw. As his head flew back, she threw a vicious blow to the gut, which curled him forward again, bringing his face right in to range. Locking onto both sides of his head, she brought up her thigh and slammed her knee into his nose; then shoved him out of the way.

With a burst of speed, she gunned for the door—

The man was there. Right in front of her.

Ripping her head to the side, she checked to see if it wasn’t a second attacker. There was no way he could have moved that fast—

Those eyes. Those black eyes.

What would you say if I told you I believe in Hell…because I’d been there….

Mels staggered backward, until one heel hit a wet spot and slipped. Or maybe…the man with the obsidian stare had pushed her without touching her—

Free fall.

As she went loose into thin air, she threw her arms out and found nothing that could help her regain her balance….

Splash!

Hitting the water was a shock. Cold and grasping, the river seemed to dig into her, sucking her in and holding her down. Opening her mouth, she was flooded with a nasty taste as she tried to claw her way back to the surface.

She got nowhere, sure as if a Hawaii-style riptide had set up shop in the Hudson.

Closing her lips so she didn’t take any more water in, she felt the burn in her chest quickly become a screaming heat, and panic gave her a burst of energy. Thrashing against the black void, she fought with that newfound power—putting everything she had into saving her own life.

She got nowhere.

Arms and legs slowed down.

Heart rate sped up.

The fire in her lungs became volcanic.

After an eternity, the dull roar in her ears receded, and so did the cold of the Hudson, and the pain in her chest. Or maybe it was more that all that was still going on—she was just starting to lose consciousness.

How was this happening?

How the hell was this happening?

Dimly, she readied herself for the whole life-before-the-eyes thing, getting good and braced for a list of regrets, for the faces of the people she would miss most—of which Matthias’s would definitely be one…

Instead, she just felt more suffocation and a sense that, aw, crap, this was how it ended?

As a last thought, it was pretty uninspiring….

Following the tracking spell he’d put on that reporter, Jim showed up at what appeared to be some kind of boat club facility down at the Hudson River’s edge. Overhead, the sky was so choked with clouds that it could have been after midnight instead of afternoon, but that wasn’t the doom-and-gloom he was worried about.

The instant he got within range, Devina’s presence was a scream that ran up the nape of his neck—

And then the reporter’s signal disappeared.

Bursting in through the open door, he stopped dead as he saw Devina standing by herself, stilettos planted on the planks of the docking platforms.

“Surprise, surprise,” she said, kicking up her chin and moving her hair over her shoulder.

For a split second, he nearly launched himself at the demon. He just wanted his hands around her throat, squeezing as she fought against him, squeezing until he snapped her head clean off her goddamn spine.

But the reporter was the reason he’d come.

Searching the place, he found…nothing. No one. Just waves clapping under the cribs, the restless water chatting all around.

“Where is she?” he demanded.

“Where is who?”

In the water, he thought.

Jim jumped forward and shoved the demon out of the way, hoping she landed on her bony ass as he started looking in all the empty slips. Man, the river was murky, the lack of light making it seem opaque.

“What are you looking for,” he heard Devina say.

Stalking around, he got nothing but churning current—and wasn’t fooled. The demon had come here for a purpose…and was staying for one, too. “I want you to leave. Right now.”

“It’s a free world.”

“Only if you lose.”

Devina laughed. “Not the way I see it—”

He shot over to his enemy and got nose-to-nose with her. “Leave. Or I’ll destroy you right here and now.”

A nasty glint came into her eye. “You can’t talk to me like that—”

Before he knew it, one of his hands locked on her throat, his little fantasy coming true as he began to channel energy into the hold—

From out of nowhere, a light source entered the boathouse—no, wait, it was him. He was glowing.

Fine, whatever. He was so angry he could have gone disco-ball, for all he cared—especially as his other palm joined the party. And for a moment, Devina just laughed at him again, except then something changed. She started to struggle to breathe, her fingernails coming up to try to peel his grip from her neck at first with anger; then with something close to fear.

As that glow he was giving off spread throughout his body, it grew stronger, until it started to throw shadows—and he kept squeezing, pushing her back until she was trapped against the rowboats that had been stacked up on risers, shoving his body against hers to hold her in place. He was shaking with power from head to foot, and somehow he knew he was turning her on—which was not the case with his arousal. Yeah, he was hard, but what part of him wasn’t? Every muscle was clenched, from his jaw to his thighs, his shoulders to his ass.

He was going to f**king do it.

Right here, right now. Fuck Nigel and those English pricks who were in charge of him. Fuck the game, the war, the conflict—whatever you wanted to call it. Fuck it all—

Something exploded behind him, displaced water hitting his legs.

And then there was a great, dragging gasp for air, followed by hacking coughs.

Jim broke his concentration for a split second to see what it was—and that was all Devina needed. The demon ethered out of his hold, coalescing into a black scatter of molecules with a screech, and then firing herself at him.