Chapter One

Sloan stumbled on the sidewalk, dizzy and disoriented.  Tall, elegant buildings oozing wealth surrounded her.  Street signs said she was in Zurich.  Signs in German offering antiques, jewelry, fine wines and gourmet foods hung over small shops.  All high end.  All discreet.

A café with sidewalk seating stood directly across the street.  Sparkling and pristine, it fit perfectly into this wealthy neighborhood.  She suspected the food it served would be rich, as well.

Her head spinning from the effects of the teleportation, she swallowed her nausea.  Swallowed again as she looked up at the imposing façade of the multi-story apartment building.  “This is where Oakley lives?  A former general?  I had no idea the military was so lucrative.”

“It isn’t.”  Mase’s mouth thinned as his gaze swept over the building.  “His apartment was bought with dirty money.  Even if I hadn’t known how much money Oakley got from Smythe, it’s clear that doing mad science experiments on unwitting members of the armed forces is lucrative.”

“Do you think we’re in time?” she asked.

“Far as we know, Rickart’s still in Mexico,” Mase replied.

She hadn’t yet met Rickart.  But she’d heard all about him from Cal and Gianna.  From Mase.  The nephew of the compound commander.  Out of control.  A guy who liked to inflict pain.  Liked to kill.

A man who’d been taking extra doses of the serum.

As she tried to assess the other shops on the street, Sloan’s head spun, her stomach churned and her legs wobbled like limp spaghetti noodles.  Closing her eyes, she pressed one palm to the cool stone of the building to steady herself.

Cal had warned her about teleporting’s side effects.  Gianna had shared coping strategies.  But Sloan hadn’t expected this helplessness.  She hated feeling vulnerable.

Hated being defenseless.  Control was Sloan’s middle name.

Glancing up at the elegant old building, trying to distract herself from the physical effects of teleporting, Sloan said, “Are you sure this is where Oakley lives?”

“It’s Oakley’s place,” Mase said.  “Cal’s teleporting never fails.  He thinks of where he wants to go, and he’s there.”  Mase cupped his hand under her elbow.  A thoughtful, useful gesture, since she felt as if she’d slide onto the sidewalk without it.  But as soon as she felt steadier, she moved away from his touch.  Even with the disorienting effects of teleportation, the thrum of arousal bubbled through her as Mase’s fingers slid over her skin.

Just as it always did whenever he touched her.

Why Mase?  Why couldn’t her body have noticed some other guy?  A nice, easygoing accountant.  An engineer.  Someone laid back.  Mellow.

No, her traitorous body had to react to Mason Lynch.  A testosterone-soaked alpha male.  A SEAL.  A freaking warrior.

A man of violence.

She’d seen enough violence while searching for at-risk kids in Chicago’s scariest neighborhoods.  She didn’t have the stomach for any more of it.  Didn’t want to get involved with a man whose life was defined by violence.

“Still no word from Brody on Rickart’s destination?” Cal asked.

Mase tapped his phone into his pocket and shook his head, his intense gaze focused on Oakley’s building.  Sloan realized he was picking out the weak spots and zeroing in on his target.  Assessing every avenue of attack.  “He’s working on it,” Mase said.  “He was lucky to find the record of Rickart’s travel from Mexico to New York.  If he didn’t have mad hacking skills, we wouldn’t have known Rickart was alive, let alone that he’d left Mexico.”

Finn Brody, the guy who’d expanded their group from six to seven, was one of Mase, Cal and Jack’s former SEAL buddies.  He was intense.  Focused.  And he worked a computer like it was a baby grand and he was a prize-winning pianist.

If he couldn’t find Rickart’s location, no one could.

Her nausea faded and her disorientation steadied.  Cautiously, Sloan let go of the wall.  When she didn’t begin to sway, she stood straighter.  “What now?”  She nodded toward the uniformed doorman in front of Oakley’s apartment building, opening the door and nodding as a woman entered.  “He’s not going to let us in.”

Doing a recon walk-by, the three of them strolled past the doorman, and Sloan glanced inside the building, all curious tourist.  A metal detector stood just beyond the door.  A desk was positioned several feet into the lobby, manned by a security guard wearing a shoulder holster.

Two doors down from Oakley’s building, Cal nudged them into a tiny walkway between two shops.  “You’re right, Sloan.  The people who live in that building have serious money.  They can afford the best security, and we won’t get past that doorman.  And if he did let us in, we wouldn’t get farther than the security guard.  Which is why I’m going to teleport all of us directly to Oakley’s unit.”  He nodded at Mase.  “He got a lesson in lock picking from Jack.  Got a set of picks, too.”  Cal smiled.  “I didn’t ask Jack who gave it to him.  But a Chicago PD detective has lots of contacts.”

“I may have rudimentary lock picking skills, but in a building like that, it’s going to take a while to pick a lock.”  Mase shook his head.  “You think Oakley wouldn’t hear that?”

“The locks inside might not be that tough,” Sloan said.  “No one who doesn’t belong would get past the security in the lobby.  The people who live there probably assume once they’re inside, they’re safe.  Wealthy arrogance can be short-sighted.”

Mase glanced at her, his eyes warming.  “You’re right.  Good thinking, Parker.”

“You two ready to go again?” Cal asked.

“I’m fine.  Did it enough back in Montana that I’m acclimated,” Mase replied.  He touched Sloan’s arm, and she couldn’t suppress her shiver.  “How about you?”

“It’s not that far.  I’ll be fine.”  She eased far enough away from Mase to avoid his casual touches.  “Let’s go.”  She looked from Mase to Cal.  Back to Mase.  Her partner in this insanity, God help her.  “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Hey, if there’s any trouble, I’ll make us disappear,” Cal said.  “So once we’re inside Oakley’s apartment, stick close.”

Moments later, they were outside a door in an immaculate, beautiful hall.  Wall sconces hung beside each door.  Paintings decorated the wall between each apartment.  The rug had an intricate design in rich shades of red and blue.

Mase took three pairs of blue vinyl gloves out of his pocket.  Handed a pair to her and one to Cal, then pulled on his own gloves.  Mase immediately crouched on the floor, examining the lock.  He pulled out a small packet, selected one piece of metal, and inserted it.  The lower lock clicked open.

He studied the upper lock for a few moments, then chose another pick.  Seconds later, that lock clicked open, as well.

He glanced at Sloan.  “You were right,” he murmured.  “Not even a challenge.  Oakley’s a cocky bastard.”  His gaze lingered on her, and his eyes narrowed.

Damn it, she knew that look.  She’d seen it often enough on Cal and Jack when they looked at Gianna and Rowan.  It was the protect-the-female look.  Mase intended to shield her from whatever waited in that apartment.

Not if she had anything to say about it.

Before she could straighten Mase out, he whispered, “We ready?”  He drew back his jacket to reach for the gun holstered at his waist.  Cal slid his own gun out of its holster.

Not the time for this discussion.  Sloan nodded.  Cal did, too.  Mase reached out a blue-gloved hand and twisted the doorknob.  Waited a moment, and Sloan listened hard for any sounds inside.  Nothing.

Finally Mase slid his gun out of his holster and cracked the door.  It moved silently — no apartment in this building would dare have squeaky hinges.  Glancing at her, then at Cal, waiting for their nods, Mase shoved the door all the way open.  Warned her with a glance to wait.

As the door bounced off the wall, the smell of death rolled over them.

Both Mase and Cal brought their weapons up.  They moved into the room back-to-back.  Stopped dead and lowered their guns, staring in front of them.

Mase turned around and motioned her in.  Pantomimed closing the door.  Then, bending close to her, Mase whispered, “Stay here.  Doyle and I are going to clear the rest of the apartment.”

As they moved away, Sloan saw two bodies on the floor.  Both men.  Dressed alike, khakis and a white dress shirt with a logo on the pocket.  A uniform of some kind.  Guns still in holsters beneath their armpits.

They hadn’t had time to draw their weapons before they were killed.

Gaping wounds at the neck.  Dark blood stains on their white shirts.  Blood dried to black pooled around their heads.

The buzzing of flies filled the otherwise silent apartment.

Swallowing the bile that rose in her throat, Sloan backed up until she hit the door.  She should examine the bodies more closely.  See if they were cold.  Try to figure out how long they’d been dead.

In a minute.  She’d touch those bodies as soon as she got her queasy stomach under control.

Hearing the murmur of Cal and Mase’s voices down the hall, she walked toward the sound.  Stepped into another room to be surrounded by a nightmarish scene.

A dead man sat in a chair, his arms and legs duct-taped to the wood.  Another band wound around his head, taping him upright in the chair.

Virtually every inch of the man was covered in blood.  Black.  Dried.  Just like the men in the other room.

“Oh, my God,” she breathed.  Her voice wobbled, and she pressed her hand against her mouth and nose.  To hold in the nausea?  To block out the smell?

Mase turned and saw her.  Before she could inventory the wounds on the man’s body, Mase stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the scene.

She should step around him.  Look for herself.  But the man was clearly dead.  Oakley?  Had to be.

“Let’s go into the other room,” Mase said, steering her toward the door with a hand at the small of her back.  She wanted to step away from him.  But she was suddenly shivering with cold, and Mase’s hand was warm through her shirt.  Comforting.  In spite of herself, she leaned into that flare of heat amid the ice.

“That was Oakley,” Mase confirmed.  “Tortured to death.”  His mouth tightened.  “Looks like it took a long time to persuade him to give up his safe’s combination.  It’s open.  Nothing in it besides an empty serum vial.  One from the Mexican lab.  Cal recognized it.”

“Rickart,” Sloan whispered, her gaze swinging from Mase to Cal and back to Mase.  “I thought we had some breathing room before we had to deal with him.”

“We all thought that,” Mase said.  “We were wrong.”

“The murderer can’t be anyone but Rickart,” Cal said.  He showed her the vial in his hand.  “He’s the only one who could have had a vial from Mexico.  Everything in that storage building was destroyed.  Rickart ran into the burning building.  He must have grabbed some vials of serum before he escaped.”  His mouth tightened.  “Gianna felt someone watching her from the jungle while I was untying the guard.  He was trying to compel her to come to him.  I’m ashamed to say I didn’t believe it was Rickart.  I don’t see how anyone could have escaped that fire.”

“Who do you think those two guys are?”  Sloan gestured toward the bodies behind her, trying not to look at those awful, gaping neck wounds.

“Private security,” Mase said immediately.  “The guns?  The discreet logo on the shirts?  Bodyguards.  Oakley had to know someone would be after him.  If not Smythe, then DARPA or the DIA.  They all want the formula for the serum Oakley created.  Any guy given those injections without full disclosure might come after Oakley, too.  The old man had a target on his back, and he was trying to protect himself.”

“Rickart must be pretty good if he could take out two trained, armed bodyguards and overpower Oakley,” Sloan said.

“We don’t know what powers Rickart has,” Mase said.  He stared at the two bodies sprawled on the floor.  “He probably has super speed and super strength, like everyone else who got the injections.  And he probably has the power to compel, based on what happened to Gianna in Mexico.  But God knows what else he can do.  I’m sure he’s not following the schedule of a shot every month.”  Mase shook his head.  “I know Rickart.  He wants what he wants, and he wants it now.  He’s too impulsive and undisciplined to wait four weeks between shots.

“By now, that sick son of a bitch is a walking nightmare.”  Mase’s mouth tightened, and he jerked his head toward the library.  “What Rickart did to Oakley?  That bastard enjoyed his work.”

Sloan stood with her arms wrapped around herself, chilled to the bone.  Shivering.  “What’s our next step?”

Mase studied the two men on the floor.  “I’m going to search these guys.  He crouched beside the closer man and fumbled through his pockets.  A smear of coagulated blood from the victim’s shirt streaked his glove, turning the back of his hand black.

“Wallet,” he said, handing it to Sloan.

Avoiding the blood on Mase’s hand, she took it and opened it.  “A Swiss drivers license.  Two hundred forty Swiss francs.  Assorted credit cards.”  She looked up at Mase and Cal.  “Nothing else.”

“No name of the company they work for?” Mase asked.

“Nope.  Try the other guy’s pocket.”

Mase handed her another wallet, and she returned the first, unhelpful one.  She watched Mase slip it into the first guy’s pocket.

She thumbed through the second wallet and found several credit cards.  Fewer Swiss francs.  A receipt from a restaurant from two days ago.  “He’s got a company ID,” she said, turning it so Mase and Cal could look at it.  “A place called Total Security.”

“Based in London, but with a local office,” Mase said, studying the card.  “Let’s go pay them a visit.  See what kind of office it is.  Upscale?  A seedy office on a seedier street?  Maybe that can illuminate what Oakley was thinking.  Who he was scared of.”

* * *

Mase held the elevator door for Sloan and followed her into the hallway of a building a couple miles away from Oakley’s apartment.  He walked as close to her as he could get without actually touching her.  He’d been able to read her mind in Oakley’s apartment, and it was clear how upset she’d been by the discovery of the three bodies.

Just the fact he could read her was proof how off-balance she was.  She had the ability to block him from her mind, and he didn’t bother to try and read her thoughts anymore.  But her shock, her revulsion, her horror had come through loud and clear at Oakley’s place.

Mase scanned the other offices as they walked toward the Total Security suite — a realtor, a financial services office, a dentist.  The building looked new, and the offices appeared to house prosperous businesses.

Definitely upscale.

Cal was sitting in a café down the block, researching Total Security.  All three of them had agreed Mase and Sloan would get more information posing as a couple with security needs.

Couples were common.  Normal.  Two big, muscular guys with one woman looking to hire a security detail?  That might be noticed.  Remembered.

Mase opened the door to the suite and held it for Sloan.  A young, attractive woman sitting at a desk looked up.  Smiled.  “May I help you?”

Twenty minutes later, Mase and Sloan walked out of the office.

The information he’d gotten from reading the security rep’s mind rattled around in his head, but he didn’t speak until they were in the elevator.  Neither did Sloan.

As the doors met and the elevator began its descent, Mase said, “I liked their presentation.  They might be exactly what we’re looking for.”  He hoped to God Sloan went along with him.

Sloan glanced up at him for a long moment.  Nodded.  “Maybe.  But we still need to speak to the other two companies Gretchen recommended.”

Mase nodded at her, impressed once again.  Sloan was damn good.  She’d followed his lead perfectly in the office.  And now, she hadn’t batted an eyelid at his words.  She’d come back with the perfect response.  “Agreed,” he said decisively.  “We’ll visit the other two companies, then we’ll decide.”

He needed to share the information he’d discovered with Sloan and Cal, but it had to wait until there was no chance someone was listening.  “Over dinner, maybe?” he asked.

“That sounds good,” Sloan said.

When they reached the street, Sloan glanced up at him.  “I understand being cautious, but don’t you think it was a little paranoid to carry on the charade in the elevator?”

“Maybe.”  He shrugged.  “But maybe not.  That was a high-end security firm.  They work for powerful, wealthy clients.  A lot of their clients have sensitive issues.  Things they may not be candid about.

“I doubt we’re the only ones who pose as prospective clients and come here fishing for information.  If that was my business?  I’d bug the elevators.  People get into them and assume they can speak freely.”

As they walked toward the café where Cal waited, Mase felt her gaze on him.  “What?”  He glanced down at her.

“I would never have thought of that,” she admitted.  “If you hadn’t spoken first, I might have blurted out something that would have blown our cover.”

He shrugged.  “I was afraid you might, which was why I spoke first.  I’m impressed as hell that you followed my lead so smoothly.  You’re a natural at this undercover business.”

A blush of pink washed over Sloan’s face, and he stared at her, fascinated.  He’d never seen her blush.  Never seen her less than completely composed.  In control of herself.  Hell, the first time they’d met, she’d realized he was reading her mind and blocked him easily.

As if she could read his mind, she said, “Did you learn anything from the guy we spoke with?”

Uneasy at the idea of Sloan reading his mind, it took him a moment to answer.  He’d thought only of the advantage that reading minds gave him.  He’d never thought about how uncomfortable it would be if people knew he was doing it.  Swallowing, he said, “He wasn’t suspicious of us.  He accepted our story of being concerned about a business rival because of a potential merger.  It was a story he’d heard before.  He was thinking about who he would assign as our protective detail.”  His mouth involuntarily curled into a smile.  “And who he wouldn’t assign.”

“What do you mean?”

“He decided Franco was definitely out.  You’d be too distracting for him.  Apparently, Franco likes short, slender women with long dark hair.  And he thinks he’s irresistible.”

Sloan rolled her eyes.  “Franco sounds like a charmer.  Anything else you learned?”

“As he was thinking about who he’d assign, he thought about the two guys in Oakley’s apartment.  Wondered why they hadn’t checked in for two days.  He was trying to decide if he should send someone over to check on them.”

Sloan reared back.  “And you didn’t think to lead with that?”

He’d been trying to protect her, damn it.  Clenching his teeth for a moment, he said, “Did you want me to tell you that those two guys have been lying dead in Oakley’s apartment for two days?  Did you want that in your head?  Did you want to know those flies we heard had already laid eggs?  And what that would mean?”

“Of course I did.”  She stopped in front of the café where Cal waited, her hand on the door.  She turned to stare at him, her eyes slitted.  “Were you going to tell Cal that little detail?”

“Of course I was,” he said.

“I’m supposed to be your partner.  But you didn’t think I should know?”

Mase planted his feet.  Stared at her.  Narrowed his eyes.  “How many dead bodies have you seen, Sloan?”

“Why does that matter?”  She took a step closer.  Close enough that the heat of her anger washed over him.  “Either I’m your partner, your full partner, or I’m not.  And if I’m not, you can find another partner.  Because this won’t work if you’re thinking about protecting me rather than letting me do my job.”

He’d never seen Sloan angry.  Even that first night, when she wouldn’t let him into her head, she’d been calm.  In control.  She’d blocked him, then concocted some potion to keep him out of everyone else’s head.

Angry Sloan was intimidating.  Verging on scary.

And hotter than hell.

Before he could examine his discovery, she took a step closer.  “So which is it, Lynch?  Am I in?  Or out?”