

## Innocence – Shadow War, book 1

By C. Nault & M. Findley

Published by Artistic License Publishing, LLC

Copyright: 2013 by C. Nault and M. Findley. All rights reserved.

First Edition: April 2013

Second Edition: March 2020

This ebook is licensed for your enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please buy a copy for yourself. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This novel is a work of fiction. The persons, places, things, and otherwise animate or inanimate objects mentioned in this novel are figments of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to anything or anyone living (or dead) is unintentional.

The copyright laws of the United States of America protect this book. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein is prohibited.

# Table of Contents

Foreword

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Authors

Contact Us

Other Works

#  Foreword

Welcome! Welcome!

This year I am trying something new. I am releasing all my eBooks as _Pay What You Think It's Worth_ stories. My goal is to get my book into my reader's hands. The fact you are here warms my heart, and I hope you enjoy my story.

Without further ado, here is Shadow War 1: _Innocence_.

It started as a collaboration to write a short story but ended up being a novel.

I made every attempt to describe real characters with real weaknesses and real feelings, even if the plot is a complete fantasy. I hope you'll like Rachel, Adam, Zach, and the others as much as I do.

Please, turn back now if the thought of violent, sexy assassins, bloody deaths, and sizzling hot attraction makes you squeamish. If you are still here, thank you for trying _Innocence_ , and I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it. Enjoy!

# Prologue

Mark sat at his desk, working on a research and development schedule for his department when there was a knock at his door.

"Mr. Prescott, sir?"

"Yes?" Mark looked up to find one of his younger lab technicians standing in his doorway.

The younger man faltered for a second, frowning, before forging ahead. "A gentleman rang you. Said his name was John. He demanded I interrupt your work to get you."

"And you couldn't have just patched him through?"

The young man shook his head nervously. "No, he said it was urgent and then hung up. There was no call to patch through."

With a long-suffering sigh, Mark waved him away. There was only one man on his team who'd be melodramatic enough to not hold for a patch through.

John.

Standing, Mark gathered his car keys, mobile, and jacket before leaving the building for his car. If John called and refused to talk to him on the company phone, then he didn't want to be anywhere near the Luminations staff when he returned the call.

As he walked across the car park to his vehicle, he dialed John's number, barking, "John?" when the man answered the phone.

"Conducting surveillance on a confirmed operative. He's one of them." John paused. "And distracted right now."

Distracted? Those people never let themselves get distracted. "Explain."

"He is with a woman, sir. They're in a restaurant, and... he looks like he might be proposing to her." John snickered.

"Can you confirm if the woman is also one of them?" Mark had no patience for John's amusement. He had work to do.

"No, sir. Not as far as I can tell."

_Interesting._ "Chances of success?"

"Well," John hesitated. "When they leave, we should be able to isolate them without drawing any undue attention."

"You know my requirements," Mark interrupted. "One-hundred percent infallibility or you find a new target."

"One-hundred percent, sir," John confirmed. "He is currently _very_ distracted... Request a contingency, though."

"What do you propose?"

"Clearance to engage the target and use the inhibitor as needed. I am confident his guard is down, and with the inhibitor, we can bring him in."

"Do it," Mark ordered. "Don't let yourself be seen, and don't leave a trail for them to follow. I don't want the Order sniffing about."

"Yes, sir!"

As the line went dead, Mark grinned. Finally, he would have the perfect test subject for his machine.

# Chapter 1

Rachel wrapped her coat tighter around herself and shivered. She hated November, the warm days but frigged nights.

She could move to Florida, but before that thought had run its course, Rachel rejected the idea. Her parents lived in Florida, and although technically, she got along _just_ fine with her parents... _Well_ , she thought wryly. Both parties were more agreeable if they stayed a thousand miles apart.

She sighed.

As she rounded the corner on her way to the closest MetroLink station, movement caught her eye. Rachel peeked over her shoulder. A man—his head bent, and hoodie hood up—walked twenty feet behind her. His position seemed suspicious. Too close, yet far enough away to appear innocent.

Was he following her? Should she run to the Metro station where there were more lights and maybe more people? What if he was headed to the same station as herself? She didn't want to look foolish or overreact if his presence behind her was because of a shared destination. Rachel also didn't want to be accosted.

In the end, she chose to keep a wary eye on him instead of having her cellphone ready for calling the police, mostly because it was buried somewhere at the bottom of her cavernous bag, and she didn't want to go rooting around for it. Still, she stayed cognizant of his presence behind her, her ears straining as she listened to his footsteps on the sidewalk.

Rachel knew the moment he became a threat, but despite her mental preparation, she still hesitated, costing her precious seconds of action. Before she could turn and defend herself, he grabbed her around the waist and slid the blunt edge of his blade down her cheek until the sharp edge rested on her neck, right under her chin. "I want your cash," her assailant said.

All the self-defense class advice she'd ever heard ran through her mind in an instant: _Your life is worth more than your purse. You have no idea if they have a gun_. The last thought brought up a good point, though. Who used a knife to mug someone? Firearms were infinitely more practical.

Right?

Grabbing his arm, Rachel hooked her hands under his wrist and pushed, trying to hold the knife away from her neck. When she felt as if she had his arm secured and far enough from her skin, she dropped her weight to her knees and pushed backward. As she did, she spun, putting pressure on his elbow and turning his body away from hers.

It took less time to pin his arm behind him than it had for her to think about doing it. Rachel tossed him away from her and, before he could regain his balance, landed a kick squarely in his ass, sending him into the nearest brick wall.

She didn't stand around to find out how he fared. Instead, she pivoted and sprinted in the other direction. As she ran, Rachel tried to recall if there'd been an open establishment between herself and the security of her office. Fear spurred her on, and she ran faster in hopes of finding a place of refuge.

Was that light up ahead?

It was!

Rachel launched herself at the glass door, clawing at the handle and yanking with all her might. The door didn't budge. _Locked?_ She cursed and knocked on the glass with her fists. The light was on. The store had to be open!

_Come on_ , she thought desperately. _Let there be someone inside!_ She knew she couldn't run another block in her high heels, and Rachel had no idea how far away her attacker happened to be. He could be right behind her this very second, ready to pounce.

"Open up!" she yelled as she pounded on the door one last time. Nothing. She was ready to move on when she saw a shadow at the end of the hallway. A masculine figure walked toward her. His form silhouetted from the backlighting. As soon as he opened the door, she sagged in relief and rushed inside.

"What do you want? What are you doing here?" he barked.

_What am I doing here? What am I..._ Rachel panted, "I... Attacked... This... Closest place... Open... Cops..." She paused, gulping for air, and trying to calm down so she could speak clearly. "This was the first place I found. Thank you for letting me in. He had a knife to my throat. I... I kicked him against the wall and escaped."

The man's eyebrows lifted higher with each word she uttered. Eventually, his expression cleared, and he took some time to look her up and down carefully. His gaze on her body felt warm and tingly as if he stood too close, yet he was at a respectful distance away. Rachel wished she could see him better. She stepped closer.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

She shook her head. Her skin buzzed as if she held her hand to one of those Tesla static machines. It made her twitchy and hyper-aware of her surroundings. "I'm all right... I think. Just freaked out."

The man didn't seem convinced. "You look pale."

For some reason, that struck Rachel as funny, and she laughed. At least she hadn't started crying.

When she saw his perplexed expression, she tried to calm herself, but it didn't work, and she laughed harder.

"It's not like I get attacked all the time," she said when she could speak again.

He kept watching her as if trying to decide something. In the end, he gestured for her to follow him. As they walked deeper into the building, Rachel spied blue exercise mats at the end of one hallway to her left. The man turned the other way, and they entered a kitchen.

"Sit," he said, pointing to one of two stools pushed under the outer edge of a c-shaped, high counter. He moved to the inner part of it and grabbed a glass from one of the overhead cupboards mounted to the cinderblock wall. He then walked to the fridge and took out a chilled pitcher of water.

"What is this place?" Rachel asked as she pushed herself up on the stool. She sat in a kitchen, all decked out with top-of-the-line sleek stainless-steel appliances, a large, extra-deep sink, and polished to a high shine, marble counter. Rachel traced the golden veining with her finger. Was she in some sort of fancy employee break room? Was he a chef? "Do you work here?" she asked, not looking up.

The man put the now full water glass of water in front of her. "Drink slowly and tell me what happened. In detail."

That was... odd. But surprisingly sweet. Though Rachel supposed, she'd ask the same sort of question if a panicked woman ran into her work demanding help and sanctuary.

She brought her gaze to his. "What's your name?" Rachel asked.

The man leaned against the counter and shook his head. "Not important. Please tell me what happened."

Warning bells rang in her ears—or was it some sort of trauma-induced tinnitus?—regardless, Rachel was concerned. Who didn't give some kind of name when asked? She fidgeted with her water. She'd needed a safe place, but did she need it enough to tell this stranger the details of her ordeal? A stranger who _wasn't_ a police officer?

Rachel abandoned her water for her bag. "I think I should call the police," she said as she dug around inside. Her fingers shook as she fished for her phone. Giving up, she upended the bag and dumped the contents on the counter and began shuffling the contents.

Warm, calloused, olive-toned, fingers wrapped around her wrist, halting her movements, and Rachel looked up. The most incredible dark brown eyes stared back at her. She blinked. Holy shit, those eyes were captivating. So was the scar which split his left eyebrow and dipped down into his eyelid a bit. _He's lucky he didn't lose that eye_ , she thought, wondering how he'd received the injury.

"Adam," he said.

That voice! Rachel nearly swooned. She hadn't noticed it before, probably because of her nerves, but he had a faint accent which spoke of warm Mediterranean nights and hot, lazy days in the sun, relaxing on a beach. Rachel nodded appeased. "I'm Rachel."

"It's a pleasure to meet you." He smiled, and Rachel's heart tried to explode. Damn! Adam was gorgeous already, but that smile. Well, he must have all the ladies lining up to get a taste of his favors. "Now, Rachel. Please, tell me what happened."

"Uh, yeah. Sure," she hedged, returning to her water.

"Rachel, talk to me. It's important."

Important, yes. But to him? She sighed, then nodded. She had to tell somebody. "I was on my way to the Metro station when I realized I was being followed—"

"What did your follower look like?" Adam interrupted.

She frowned. "Young guy—early twenties probably—white skin. He had the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over his head, so I didn't see the color of his hair. Plus, it was dark. Uh," she stalled. "Tall. He was tall. Like around six feet." She shook her head. "It all happened so fast. He came at me with a knife so..." She waved her hand dismissively. "I know what they say about the dangers of fighting back, but I had to defend myself. I couldn't let him win."

Adam seemed to relax as she described her attacker but cocked an eyebrow when she mentioned the knife. "A knife?"

"Yes, a nasty spring-loaded thing." She shuddered involuntarily but was relieved to find her voice didn't shake the same way her hands did. "I should probably call the cops," she repeated, glancing at her mess on the counter.

Ah, there was her phone. When she reached for it, Adam stopped her with a question. "Tell me what else happened first."

_Yeah, okay_ , she mentally agreed, dropping her hands back to her lap. She toyed with her coat's zipper. Up and down. Up and down. The rasp calmed her frayed nerves. So did talking about the attack with Adam. At the very least, it would make telling the story to the police easier. The chaotic version of events currently rattling around in her skull would solidify as her thoughts ordered in the retelling. The police officer tasked with taking her statement would probably thank Adam for having to listen to her rambling. "He grabbed me around the waist. I... I don't think he expected me to defend myself. I managed to take him by surprise and throw him off me."

"Throw him off you? How?"

"I used an aikido move."

"Aikido?"

"Yeah," Rachel said.

"Nice," Adam replied. "What else happened during the attack?"

"Not much," she said. "I pushed him into a wall and then—well, then I ran here." Rachel took another sip from her glass and ran her fingers along her coat sleeve until they encountered a cut in the fabric.

Cut?

Her movement drew Adam's attention, and his expression darkened.

"You are hurt."

Sure enough, when she looked, she found her attacker's knife had sliced through her coat and nicked the skin. Until a minute ago, she hadn't even realized it. Now, the cut stung. She shrugged. "It's only a scratch."

"A scratch that bled quite a bit." He stood. "Wait here. I'll get a first aid kit."

He left her there in the kitchen for an inordinately long time, and for a while, she passively waited. But once she finished her water and resorted her purse's contents, Adam still hadn't returned.

Her curiosity got the better of her. Slipping off the stool, Rachel left the kitchen. In the hall, there were some stairs and straight ahead, the room with the blue mats. Figuring Adam had gone there to get a first aid kit, Rachel headed that way, intent on saving him the trip back to the kitchen.

Walking into the room, she stumbled to a halt. _Oh, wow_ , she mouthed. The exercise room appeared to be a converted warehouse nearly a city block long and had everything a human-turned-squirrel could ever want.

Along one wall was a pair of faux buildings, complete with roofs, balconies, windows, and doors. There was a foam pit underneath each balcony, obviously placed there for safety, as well as drain pipes running up the side of the buildings, several sets of stairs, and Rachel even saw a concrete sidewalk with a few fake trees set into the ground. Between her and the urban landscape were the blue exercise mats she'd seen from the hallway.

What did this place teach?

Glancing around, Rachel looked for some marker, some identifier, to let her know what she was looking at, but there wasn't even a front desk. Turning, she went back the way she came and stopped at the stairs. Adam hadn't been in the exercise room, so he had to be up there. _Offices?_ She took a step, then another, but stopped when she heard his voice.

His _agitated_ voice.

She paused and listened with curiosity to his conversation.

"Dar—No! She's a random civilian and doesn't need to come in. She didn't _see_ anything."

Was Adam talking about her? And why did it sound like he was getting a dressing down from a superior? It wasn't as if he'd been rude or anything. Adam had been cordial—if a bit odd—and they'd done nothing, as far as she could tell, that would warrant his defensiveness or a report to a manager, even if her arrival was after hours.

Rachel strained to hear more.

"I am not compromised. She is not one of the Org..." The Org? Okay, Rachel's weird-o-meter ticked up another notch.

Again, she lost the rest of his sentence as he moved away from her position, and since Rachel didn't hear anyone else up there with Adam, she concluded he must be pacing while on the phone.

As the silence dragged on, she began to think Adam had concluded his call, but then he said, "They are going to find me soon, and I need to get back into the game. I want a target. When will you reinstate me?"

_Reinstate? Target? Like the military?_ Rachel shook her head. _I shouldn't hear any of this_ , she thought, and her heartbeat chose that moment to ratchet up. Her palms grew moist with sweat, and it wasn't only due to the failed attack of earlier. Something was seriously "off" with this Adam guy. Maybe he was a serial killer or some unhinged conspiracy theorist.

Adam's steps drew closer, and her eyes darted around the hallway; getting caught eavesdropping wasn't an option. She hadn't understood half of what she'd overheard, but Rachel knew being caught would be wrong. Rachel felt as if her very life depended on it.

The sound of his footsteps at the top of the landing snapped Rachel out of her thoughts. She glanced behind her to the kitchen, but she didn't have enough time to get there. Fortunately, her gaze landed on the sign for a bathroom. It was closer. Heart hammering in her chest, she hustled toward it and slipped inside, sighing in relief as the door closed behind her.

Spying the commode, Rachel decided that now that she was here, she might as well use it.

After she finished, she made sure to turn the sink's tap open all the way. The sound of running water was unmistakable, but it at least gave an excuse for her being out of the kitchen. A second later, a knock on the door confirmed Adam was coming to check on her.

"Rachel?"

"Yeah," she replied and winced. Her voice had quivered, and she sounded guilty.

"Are you feeling unwell?"

Rachel splashed some water on her cheeks before she turned off the faucet. After drying her face, she opened the door to find Adam on the other side, first aid kit in hand.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know you told me to stay in the kitchen, but you were taking a long time, and I needed to use the bathroom." She gave him a sheepish smile, and she didn't know if he believed her, but after a moment of intense staring, he nodded slowly.

"I had a call to make," he said. "It lasted longer than I had planned." He shook the kit and indicated she should follow him. "Let me patch you up."

As she followed, Rachel took off her coat and laid it on the counter next to her purse while Adam grabbed a washcloth. He ran it underwater before handing it to her. The warmth of the wet towel soothed the sting of her raw skin.

"How long have you been doing aikido?" he asked her as he checked out her arm.

"Since I was ten. Some bullies attacked me,d and my mom thought it would be a good idea for me to be able to deck an attacker and then outrun them," she said with a chuckle. As Rachel spoke, Adam removed the washcloth and gently rubbed the ointment on her cut before checking the placement of the bandage and taping it down. Her heart fluttered at the contact, and she felt a blush creep up her cheeks. "I've been going once a week ever since."

"You earn your black belt yet?"

"No," she replied. "It will take many more years before I master all the levels."

"Not an easy discipline," he remarked.

The way he said it made her curious. It was almost as if he knew that particular martial arts himself. She didn't think that was what the studio taught, but maybe it did. There was only one way to find out. "So... what do you teach here?" she asked.

Adam opened a drawer and pulled out a piece of paper. Handing it to her, Rachel read Gateway Parkour on the top of a simple pamphlet. "Parkour?" she asked. "Like free-running?"

"Yes."

_Huh_. Maybe Rachel'd sign up. "Can I keep this?"

"Yes," he replied, a corner of his lip turned up in a cocky smile. "We're accepting new students for the upcoming session."

"Great," she murmured, tucking the brochure into her purse and grabbing for her phone, she swiped the screen to find the time and was surprised to see that less than forty-five minutes had passed from the attack until now. She wondered if it was too late to call the police.

"At this point, it'll be futile," Adam said.

"I'm sorry?"

"Calling the police," Adam clarified. _How did he know_? "I'm sure your attacker is long gone. Besides, you didn't even get a clear look at him. It seems pointless to call them now."

"But—" she started to protest but then sighed, filing a report at this point probably wouldn't yield a positive result. Besides, she didn't relish the idea of losing the rest of her evening dealing with the police. In the end, she agreed, defeated. "You're probably right." Standing, she slipped her coat back on and grabbed her purse. "Thanks for the bandage and your time. Maybe I'll see you around."

Adam nodded and followed her to the door. "You okay? Need a ride?"

Rachel waved away his concern. "I'll be fine. Like you said, that guy's probably long gone by now, and the MetroLink station's only a few blocks away from here."

"Well, if you're sure."

"I am," Rachel reiterated, stepping through the door. "And thank you again," she said over her shoulder as she resumed her trek home.

# Chapter 2

Rachel fumbled with her keys for a second before unlocking the front door. She let herself in and closed it quietly behind her.

"Have a good day at work?"

Rachel squealed, hand to her heart. "I thought you were asleep," she said to Sarah, her roommate, who stood in the doorway to the kitchen.

Sarah grinned and shrugged. "I have the night off. Want to watch a movie?"

"Thanks, but I think I'll pass. I need a shower, and I want to go to bed," Rachel replied as she hung up her coat and stepped into the family room. Rachel plopped down on the couch next to Buster, Sarah's cat.

Sarah followed, asking, "What happened? Boss bitch you out?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," she said. As her tears welled, Rachel averted her eyes to hide them from Sarah.

The tactic didn't work. "Don't be like that," Sarah replied, joining her on the couch opposite Buster before pulling Rachel into a hug. "Tell me what happened."

Sniffing, Rachel said, "I met this parkour instructor after almost being mugged."

"What?!" Sarah exclaimed as she pulled back.

Rachel gave a watery chortle as her friend searched her face for God only knew what. Unwilling to dwell on the attack, Rachel chose to elaborate on her meeting with Adam. "He's totally hot, Sarah. You'd love him. Accent. Scars. Warm, calloused hands. A deep voice that makes your ovaries explode."

"Hon," Sarah admonished, clearly unwilling to be swayed by the real story.

Rachel sighed. "Fine. I was on my way home, and a guy jumped me. I tossed him into a brick wall and ran to the first storefront I found. That's where I met Adam, the incredibly hot instructor—at least I think he's an instructor. He saved me from the big bad man and patched me up."

"Where?"

"Here," Rachel said, assuming Sarah meant the cut and not the Metro station. While Sarah inspected the bandage, Rachel continued, "It was minor, but it bled a lot." She shrugged. "He gave me water. We talked about the incident, and then I went home."

"You call the police?"

"No."

"Honey!"

"I didn't see the point. By the time I got to the studio and calmed down, over half an hour had passed. Adam pointed out that I hadn't seen the guy's face, so what could the cops really do? I agreed. End of story."

"Hon..." Sarah sighed and shook her head. "You should have called..."

Rachel shrugged and toyed with her slacks. "Maybe. Probably. But I didn't."

The two of them were silent for several beats, but finally, Sarah broke the silence by changing the subject, "Okay. Tell me about this Adam guy, then."

"Like what? I already told you all the pertinent things."

"What did he look like? You mentioned scars. How old is he?" Sarah wiggled her eyebrows. "Does he have nice... muscles? A brother?"

"Sarah!"

"What," Sarah said, false innocence dripping from her tone.

Rachel tried to force a frown to her lips, but they twitched upward at the last moment. "Athletic. Well built. Like I said, I think he's an instructor there."

"Where again?"

Rachel fished the pamphlet out of her pants pocket and handed it to Sarah.

"Gateway Parkour. Huh. Never heard of it." Sarah handed the brochure back to Rachel. "You've yet to tell me why you think he's hot. What does he look like?"

"He's probably a few years older than me, early thirties, maybe?" Rachel paused and sighed, "He had the most incredible dark brown eyes. And he's got a scar splitting his left eyebrow and dipping into his eyelid a bit. No idea what gave him that scar, but he's lucky he didn't lose an eye."

"I love scars. Yum!"

Rachel laughed. "I know you do, that's why I mentioned it. I think he might be Greek or maybe Middle Eastern? Hard to say. He had a faint accent, but I couldn't place it."

"Double yum." Sarah sighed.

Sarah pointed to the pamphlet in Rachel's hand. "Are you going to sign up?" she asked.

"Maybe, but—" Rachel groaned in frustration and shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"He's weird. Like closet conspiracy theorist or zombie apocalypse prepper, weird."

"What?! What did he say? How?!"

Rachel leaned forward as if she had to keep from being overheard. "When he went to get the first-aid kit, I followed. He was on a call to someone named Dar, who was reading him the riot act about helping me. Then he said he wanted to be 'reinstated' like a military man because the 'org' would find him soon." Rachel sat back. "It was weird. And I can't help shake the feeling he's bad news even if he is hotter than the sun."

"Okay," Sarah said, then shook her head. "Hon, I hate to tell you this, but none of that sounds creepy. He probably _is_ military. And you know all those guys have code names for their teams and operations. Brotherly love et Cetera. He's probably on an extended leave and can't wait to get back to where ever he left. I say, if you want to take a class, you should. And I also say, if you can get into his pants, you ought to. You haven't had a decent lay in months."

"Sarah!"

A grin split Sarah's face, and she snickered.

"I don't want to have a one-night stand," Rachel argued. "Besides, with a smile like his, I know women must be throwing themselves at him. How could I compete? And even if I could make my way into his bed... I don't want to become another notch on his bedpost. You know what happened the last time."

"Yeah, broken heart, I remember."

"I cried for, like, two weeks. But it was my own dumb fault I let myself be fooled into it." Rachel made a face. "He was cute, though, athletic and assertive. You know... my usual type."

"Yeah, I know. He was also an arrogant asshole."

"Don't remind me."

She fell silent, and Sarah looked at her for a few moments. "Admit it, hon, you're already imagining what you'd do with that parkour instructor if you got him naked. Bed optional."

Rachel blushed as Sarah stage-whispered, "You just put your lips together, and you come real close..."

Thinking about putting her lips anywhere near where Flo Rida suggested was a bad idea. Rachel blurted, "I wonder if there's a website."

Sarah burst into laughter. "You just hope there's a picture of the instructor on the 'About Us' page!"

"Well, maybe... So, what?" she asked, defensive.

"You're blushing," Sarah joked and whistled another bar of the song.

"Sarah!" Rachel exclaimed.

"Ugh, fine! Anyway," Sarah said, appearing to leave the subject of Rachel's love life alone for the time being. "If you don't want a movie, then I'm going to the Loop. I'll see you later." She stood and strode toward the front door. "Take the classes. You'll regret it if you don't. And who knows, maybe this instructor is single and into you, too. Oh... and happens to _not_ be an asshole or a prepper."

Rachel threw a couch accent pillow at her. "Go already!"

Sarah laughed all the way out the door.

After it banged close, Rachel grabbed her laptop from the floor, popped it open, and did a quick Google search for the studio. She found only one listing. Clicking the link brought up a simple, amateurish-looking page making Rachel sigh, disappointed to find the website consisted of only one home page, which had some stock photos of a typical gymnastics studio, and the class schedule printed on it. There wasn't even an address for the building, just a phone number for prospective students to call.

"Well, Buster," Rachel asked the cat, "should I take a parkour class?" Buster purred in agreement.

***

The first thing Rachel heard as she entered the Gateway Parkour studio was the excited chatter from a gaggle of teenagers: four boys and a single girl by the sound of it.

She groaned silently. Taking a class with a bunch of teenagers didn't strike her as fun no matter how many times she would be able to see Adam.

Leaning against the wall next to the restroom, Rachel stalled by drinking her water. Should she stay? Should she go? She pushed away from the wall. Rachel had decided. She'd leave and ask for her money back.

"Ah-hem."

Rachel jerked, splashing herself in the face. The water dripped down her chin, and she swiped at the moisture with her hand.

A skinny young man with short brown hair and dark blue eyes, the color of depression glass, stood in front of her.

"Ah, are you Rachel..." He hedged as he consulted his clipboard. "Flanagan?"

"Yes," she answered.

He smiled and noted something on his clipboard, probably her attendance record. "Great. Please find a spot on the mat in there." He waved his hand toward the room with all the voices. "Adam will be in shortly to start the class."

"Okay. Yeah," she said before giving the young man, clearly an employee, a curt nod. That decided it. She'd stay. Rachel entered the room with the city street and found a spot on the mats near the door and made a promise to herself. If the class sucked, she'd leave.

"Welcome to Gateway," said a voice behind Rachel. Turning, she watched Adam enter the room. He winked at her as he passed by. "My name is Adam," he said, addressing the class. "and I'll be your instructor for this session."

Adam came to a stop in the middle of the room and slowly spun in a circle as he caught everyone's gaze with his. "Parkour is fun," Adam continued. "but it is also dangerous. If you don't follow the instructions coming from me or Zach," he indicated the employee who'd asked her, her name, "you might end up in the hospital. Or worse." He looked around the room and frowned slightly as if he didn't like what he saw.

"For the next eight weeks, you are going to learn the basics. I highly recommend you do the strength-building exercises at home but leave the rest for class." He glared at the teenagers. "That means you!" he barked with a finger point. "I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

Rachel snickered at his stern tone. His words weren't any different than her sensei's had been, and she took a mental bet on who would come back next week. If this were anything like her martial arts classes, half the students would quit after today. Tuning out the rest of Adam's greeting, she gave him a thorough once-over.

He was one-hundred-percent objectifiable! His whole physique was on display, from his washboard abs under his tight t-shirt to his rock-hard biceps. Adam was delicious.

It was then that something on his forearm reflected the light into Rachel's eye, and she looked closer. _A fore_ arm _guard?_ Rachel shook her head, not trusting her eyes. Looking again, she confirmed her first impression that it was a bracer. The device took up his whole arm from wrist to two inches below his elbow. Rachel stepped closer. Why would he wear a forearm guard? She didn't remember seeing it that other night, though, she supposed it could have been there. Not noticing it wouldn't be too odd in her distraught state.

Adam paused in his speech, catching Rachel's attention, and she looked up. "In class," Adam said, "you will learn the correct way to jump, fall, roll, and spend quality time building upper body strength so that you can climb your environment safely." He indicated the obstacle course behind him. "Today, we will focus on learning how to perform a controlled fall. Zach, will you demonstrate the shoulder roll for us?"

Zach nodded and stepped on one of the exercise mats. First, he demonstrated the fall and roll after a jump. Then he did so again from a kneeling position.

"As you can see, Zach has been doing this for a while. He could accomplish the same move after a second-story fall without hurting himself. Of course, you aren't at this stage yet, and I wouldn't like to receive a call from some irate parent because some overeager student tried it too soon." Adam gave the teens in the class a pointed glare. "Understood?" They nodded without much enthusiasm.

"Thank you, Zach," Adam said, waving his hand in an "enough" gesture. Turning his attention back to the class at large, Adam went on, "You will practice this until it becomes as natural as breathing."

After Zach resumed his position on the side of the gym, Adam went on to explain the different steps of the fall and roll. Once everyone understood the instructions, he stood and surveyed the class. "Hopefully, by the end of this class, you'll all manage to at least not break your necks. Now, I want you to practice on your own. Yes, even you," Adam snapped at a young woman, who jumped and giggled in embarrassment.

"Each one of you will find fifteen feet of free mat space and then practice the roll. Zach and I will come around to give you pointers. And remember, always protect your head!" Adam finished his explanation, and the group dispersed to find some mat space.

Rachel sighed, positioned herself near the other adults, and did the exercise a few times the way Adam expected it, before switching to a standing position. The move was already second nature to her, and she hoped the rest of the session wouldn't be so mundane. She hadn't paid the exorbitant fee to learn something she already knew.

After a few more minutes of half-heartedly working on the roll, she sensed someone's eyes on her. Looking up, she caught Adam staring at her, and she winced. Being caught slacking at her dojo was worth fifty push-ups at a minimum. Hopefully, Adam wouldn't make her do that many. As she prepared for another roll, the foam mat dipped, warning her that someone now stood beside her. When Rachel checked, she found Adam looming over her. She mentally cursed. Here came those push-ups.

"It's good to see you again, Rachel."

"Likewise," she said.

"Did your arm heal all right? No permanent injury?"

She shook her head, surprised.

"Good. I worried about you."

Rachel's eyebrows dipped down in a perplexed frown. "You did? Why?"

He grinned. "You were shaken that night. Who knows what might have happened while your attention was compromised. I would have hated to see you hurt again."

"Well, I was fine," Rachel grumbled.

"That's good," he said, nodding once before he walked away to help some other students.

An hour later, while taking a break and wiping sweat from her eyes with her towel, Adam spoke to the group again. "Good work, everyone. Please take a few moments to do some stretching: your legs, arms, and sides. Some of you may experience sore shoulders tonight and tomorrow. When you get home, ice your muscles and take it easy a day or two. When you feel up to it, I want everyone to work on some basic resistance training for next week. You will work on push-ups; do as many sets of ten as you can. Also, it would be a good idea to pick up jogging since there is a lot of leg strength needed in Parkour. Thanks. And see you next week."

Rachel retrieved her bag and water bottle before retreating to the small bathroom in the main hallway. Arriving at the studio in workout gear was okay, but going home on the Metro, all sweaty and gross, was not.

As Rachel left the small bathroom, she noted how quickly the studio had emptied after Adam had dismissed the first class. "Typical. I'm always the last to leave aikido," she grumbled to herself as she put on her coat and hefted her bag to her shoulder, but the noise from the main room caught her attention. Since everyone else had left already, she assumed Adam and Zach were practicing.

Curious, she peeked around the corner into the training area. Her eyes widened at the sight of the two men fighting. They both had stripped out of their shirts and had ditched the sweats for athletic shorts.

Even from a distance, Rachel could spot several scars on Adam's torso. It looked like he'd suffered several severe injuries. _Car accident_? But then there was a distinctive set of scars across his lower belly. They were perfectly circular and looked like cigar burns. Had he been abused as a kid? She hoped not, but it made the most sense. Now, Rachel's curiosity was piqued. What had he lived through?

She also gave Zach a quick once-over and was surprised to see he had well-defined muscles in his chest and arms. Another few years and he'll be a looker too, she surmised with an appreciative thought.

It wasn't until she finished admiring their asses that she noted their sparring style. But once she did, she stood enthralled as they tackled, twirled, and flew at each other. Adam was the most experienced of the two; he had the speed and grace of a seasoned combatant, and Zach, though less skilled, managed to hold his own.

Every few moves, Adam would get around Zach's defenses and land what appeared to be a killing blow, announcing "you're dead" in a monotone voice. Other than that small bit of dialogue and the occasional mutter from Zach, they were virtually silent. To her eyes, it seemed more than a simple training exercise. It looked like an intense fight. But why?

_I should leave_ , she thought, her fingers curling around the door frame. Yet she stayed rooted in place as Adam, in a particularly daring move, ran up one of the brick walls, grabbed the edge of a balcony, pivoted as if he were on a pommel horse, and spun back toward Zach. Mid move, his gaze clashed with hers, and she quickly ducked out of sight.

Shit.

How would she explain her presence when she shouldn't be there?

# Chapter 3

Anasini Satiym, Adam thought in his native Turkish, and quickly straightened from his attack. He strode toward their little spy and wiped sweat from his forehead. At any other time, he would have found her owl-eyed expression amusing, but he wasn't sure how much she'd seen. How long had she been observing them? How had she gotten back inside? This could quickly become a problem if he didn't redirect her attention.

"Good evening, Ms. Flanagan," he said as he stopped in front of her and leaned against the door frame, blocking her view of Zach.

She looked up at him guiltily. Her brownish-red hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. Adam had a strange urge to tug it. He schooled his features and balled his fists. Fraternizing with a civilian was strictly out, no matter how cute she looked.

Adam let his gaze trail over her. She'd changed her clothes, which answered the question of how she regained entry. She'd never left. Sloppy of him and Zach. If she were an operative of the Org, they would have been dead by now. Thankfully, she wasn't. Adam subtly adjusted his body language, conveying intimidation, threat, and a definite "don't come back" even though that was the opposite of what he wanted her to do, and said, "Class is over for the day."

Rachel nodded, but to his surprise and delight, she didn't back down. "I know, I was just leaving."

Siciym Ya.

Her voice was like a canary, soft and sweet, and full of bright, beautiful song. The urge to keep her talking wracked his mind and body. He needed her to leave, to never come back, but he couldn't bear to see her go. The thought of never hearing her speak again made his heart pound in ways it hadn't felt since Cass told him to leave London.

As the silence stretched from uncomfortable to downright awkward, Adam finally found his voice. "Good job back there, for a woman, that is." He pinched his lips together to keep from laughing aloud when her mouth dropped open in indignation.

"Will I be seeing you next week?" he asked. He needed her to say no. He hoped even harder that she'd say yes. Logically, the likelihood of her staying wasn't high—the law of averages implied she'd drop out—along with half the class currently enrolled—but something made him want her to be different. Maybe it had been her visceral excitement when she waxed on about her aikido experience, or maybe it was her current expression which said "I'll show you" or maybe it was his years of reading people and situations but Adam felt straight-to-his-gut sure, Rachel would be back.

Besides, Rachel had been fun to watch in class. Not only did she know the basics, but she also had an athlete's body. Her ass was the perfect roundness, and her hips begged to be grabbed. Oh, and had he mentioned her voice? The echo of Darius's words chastised him. _Get rid of her._ Adam knew what the Order would want him to do. What Darius had urged him to do, and that task sure as hell wasn't flirting with her until she slept with him. And now she'd witnessed Zach training.

Order regulations were strict about what to do with outsiders who saw them performing their more professional activities. But maybe Adam could still save the situation without causing her more trouble than she would be able to handle.

Stepping forward, he forced her to back away from the training area. She gave one last curious look behind him at Zach but then headed for the exit. When they reached the door, he asked, "Did you enjoy the show?"

Rachel's expression turned curious and a little wary. "It was... interesting. Besides the parkour moves, what styles were you using? It looked a bit like everything all rolled into one."

Her observation concerned Adam. She couldn't find out what they really did, so what could he say that sounded plausible? Now was the time to lie, and mean it. "Zach and I also do stunts for movies and TV shows. We were practicing for our next assignment. They needed something original," he answered.

"Okay," she said, drawing out the word and blinking at him.

_She has pretty eyes_ , he thought. Hazel wasn't a color he usually liked, but they worked well with her button nose and freckles.

He wondered what it would feel like to have her body pressed against his. It was easy for him to envision, bringing her to his room upstairs, where they could test their body chemistry. Clothes optional. He bet they would fit together perfectly. Adam mentally shook himself. Now was not the time to be daydreaming about kissing a woman he barely knew or burying his hands in her hair while he did it, or taking her upstairs to get naked, despite his body's reaction to her.

He'd almost convinced himself to leave her alone when a lock of her hair escaped her ponytail. He couldn't help himself. Adam reached out and gently tucked it behind her ear, making sure to brush his fingers against the soft skin of her cheek as he did. Rachel blushed beautifully, and he grinned, pausing to fix her coat collar.

Reaching around her, he opened the door and held it open. The position brought them close enough for him to smell her body wash. "Have a nice evening, Rachel." After she walked away, he closed the door, locked it, and activated the security alarm for the building. Now, he needed to remind Zach exactly why they had to check every room at the end of the day _before_ they locked up.

"Zach!" he barked, his tone gruff but subdued since the teen stood a mere meter away.

"That her?" Zach asked, craning his neck to look out the window. "The one you followed home."

"Yes." How had Zach known about that?

"She's cute for a redhead. Nice tits."

"Zach," Adam growled.

"Hey," Zack said, putting his hands up. "Any guy would notice them."

Adam pointed at Zach. "But you don't."

"Fine," Zach huffed. "But, damn, Black, if you want in her pants, you should have been less condescending. Even I know that's not the way to pick up a chick!"

Adam snorted softly. It seemed to have worked. She hadn't run away screaming, had she? "You're giving me girl advice now, novice? That's a new one. When was the last time you were with a woman?"

Zach flushed and gave him an annoyed look. "You know as well as I do circumstances are..."

"Complicated?"

"Yeah. You're the one always telling me girls aren't a good idea," Zach grumbled.

"And they're not," Adam said as innocently as possible. It was creepy hearing Darius's words come out of his apprentice's mouth.

"Seriously, Black, is it wise to be flirting with her?" Zach asked. "You can't be with her. And, I've never seen you go in for a quick fuck—"

"I know what I'm doing," Adam barked, cutting Zach off. Irritated to hear Zach's words echo his earlier thoughts. "And if you are wise, _novice_ , you'll keep out of my personal business." Adam's flat tone didn't invite more ribbing.

Zach huffed. "Don't let Darius learn about it."

"He won't unless you tell him. Which I wouldn't do if I were you."

Retreating, Zach barked, "My lips are sealed, Black. I don't have a death wish."

Before he went far, Adam's voice stopped him. "Get some water and meet me in the gym. We'll resume in five." Zach nodded, and before he could take another step, Adam stopped him again, "And make sure you get a haircut tomorrow. It needs to be short."

Zach gave Adam the middle finger over his shoulder. "You know what, Black! Sometimes I fuckin' despise you."

"You know the rules," Adam responded, letting the insubordination go for the time being. He'd teach him respect on the mats.

"Like not flirting with civilians?" Zach asked as he walked away.

_Yeah. Like not flirting with civilians._ But instead of replying, Adam stalked off to the gym.

***

Rachel checked her watch and cursed under her breath. Even if she ran the rest of the way to the studio, she would still arrive late to class. _Damn, damn, damn..._ She shouldn't have stopped at the store after leaving work. Late arrivals to class received to scathing lectures in front of all the participants, and getting one wasn't her idea of a good time with the sexy instructor.

Besides, now that it was spring, Adam had promised to take the class outside, and today's lesson would be their first foray into the real world. When the studio came in sight, she broke into a run. Two minutes late. He couldn't fault her for that, could he?

She reached the door at the same time as Adam threw it open, and she stumbled to a stop, her nose only inches from his collarbone. Rachel took a startled step back. "Er... I left work late," she improvised. "Can I drop off my stuff and change my clothes before we head out? I'll be quick."

He sighed, but swept his arm wide, inviting her into the building. "Be my guest."

Rachel took a step forward, but then stopped again. Despite what he'd said, Adam hadn't moved from the door, and when their eyes met, his lips twisted into a challenging grin.

Irritation and—yes, a smidgen of arousal—spiked at his haughty expression, and she itched to either smack the cockiness off his face or to kiss him. Either choice would work, not that she would dare.

She sighed and pushed forward. As she squeezed through the entrance, she brushed against him, allowing her to feel the hard muscles of his chest and the warmth of his body. She dropped her bags in the corner of the gym, then changed her clothes. Leaving the bathroom, she grabbed her water bottle and towel and rejoined the rest of the group at the door. Adam watched her return. His gaze unwavering, and she felt herself blush. Giving him a curt nod, she said, "Thanks."

By the end of the two hours of practice at the park, all the students were sweaty and exhausted, and no one complained when Adam announced the end of the class. Exhausted but happy, Rachel reflected on what she'd learned today—like jumping up several stairs head first before landing in a roll—and felt accomplished.

Once back at the studio, she slung her purse and workout bag over her shoulder and went to grab her shopping bag when a fellow student walked up to her. She straightened back up and smiled. "Hey, Mike!"

"Impressive stuff you practiced back there," he said. "I wish I was able to do that already."

She shrugged. "You'll get there. I have a bit more background training than you do, that's all. I have to admit, though, not having any mats for protection takes it to an all-new level of scary."

As they chatted, they left the studio to walk back toward the subway station. Rachel was glad to have met Mike two weeks before. He had joined their group from a prior session and, as it turned out, lived one station farther away than she did. When they had realized as much, Mike had volunteered to keep her company on the dark walk after class. She didn't need his presence for protection, but it was nice to have someone to talk while they commuted.

"Yeah. Good thing Adam's drilled the fall and roll into us at the studio first. He doesn't joke around with safety, does he?"

"I guess when the alternative is a concussion or a broken neck, you tend to be careful."

As they neared the station, Rachel stopped and swore under her breath.

"Is something wrong?" Mike asked her.

"I forgot my shopping bag in the studio. I don't want to wait 'til our next practice to get it. Adam may throw my shoes away or something. I'm going to go back and get them."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"Nah. You can go on without me. Your wife is probably waiting for you. I'll run back and see if I can grab my bag before they close for the night," Rachel replied, shaking her head.

"Are you sure you'll be all right? I would never forgive myself if something happened to you." Mike looked genuinely worried, which made her want to roll her eyes.

"You forget, I've been doing this for several weeks already. I can do it this time, too. Thank you for worrying, though," Rachel informed him. "See you next week!"

She left at a jog before he could protest anymore.

The run back to the studio was quick, and she hoped the door wouldn't be locked. It did look dark inside the studio. _Perhaps Adam went home already_ , Rachel mused as she walked up to the door. She tried the handle. It didn't budge. "Double damn," she grumbled as she turned away. Hopefully, her bag would be there tomorrow when she called.

***

Mark stood over the test subject currently strapped to the medical chair. "He's clear?"

"Yes," Jorge replied. "No poison packets or other suicide tools on his person."

"Good," Mark replied, eyeballing the field agent John had detained. The man stared back at Mark, hatred clear in his single brown eye, giving Mark a good idea what he would do were he to free himself. Luckily, that wasn't going to happen. Not with him secured to the chair and a fresh bullet wound to the leg.

"Do you like your accommodations?" Mark asked him, knowing he would be unable to respond verbally because of the inhibitor. "I hope you enjoy your stay." Mark chuckled at his own wit. "I look forward to our chats together. I'm sure you are a _wealth_ of information."

"Mr. Prescott?" Jorge interrupted. "I'm ready to hook him to the machine."

"Go ahead."

Mark watched as Jorge finished his preparations and administered the IV that would help relax their prisoner. It contained a mild painkiller in addition to a barbiturate to suppress his reactions. He'd heard that the pain was excruciating in the minutes after the inhibitor's removal. Mark didn't particularly care about the agent's well-being, but Jorge insisted on limiting the pain the test subjects all felt. He claimed the test results would be negatively affected if they didn't, and Mark trusted Jorge's judgment.

"He's ready. Do you want me to take off the inhibitor?"

"Yes," Mark replied.

Mark had to admit he was impressed. The prisoner barely flinched as Jorge removed it. And as soon as the man could speak, he growled, "I won't tell you anything! Not a damn thing!"

"Ah, but you will," Mark replied with a grin. "Relax, this will only take a few minutes." Mark stood and deliberately squeezed the pinned man's injured thigh.

Jorge walked behind the man's head and punched in commands into the PC unit that controlled the device. It chirped in response as different systems came online.

Mark knew the moment the NOM finished powering up. A metallic-sounding voice parroted back every vitriolic thought running through their prisoner's head. As the computer voice registered to the man's ears, his internal dialogue stuttered to a stop.

"Ah, so now you see. You won't be able to avoid telling me what I want to know."

_I will tell you nothing!_ the machine reading the captive's thoughts said. The man then spent several minutes trying to keep his mind from recalling anything substantial, but his struggle eventually ceased as the machine and the medication eroded his resistance.

"He is ready," Jorge announced.

Mark nodded and began, "What is your full name and rank within the Order?"

Lokhagos Mitch Hurston.

A _Lokhagos_?! Mark couldn't believe his luck. Capturing the _Lokhagos_ was more than he could have hoped for when he first tasked John with finding him an Order field agent. This man knew the whereabouts of every _Hashashin_ in Western Europe. He might even know agents in neighboring regions since assassin reassignments were known to happen. Mark tried not to grin gleefully as his future brightened with this news. Now, all he had to do was collect the relevant data.

"So, Mitch, how many are under your command?"

_Eighteen_.

"List them and their deployment status for the next two weeks."

Ella, not deployed; Gwendolyn, not deployed; Grace, not deployed; Dimitri, deployed; Nicholas, not deployed; Daniel, not deployed; Jacob, deployed; Eric, deployed; Marco, deployed; Simon, not deployed; Teo, deployed; Peter, deployed; Joseph, deployed; Durant, deployed; Karl, deployed; Marcel, deployed; Tony, deployed; Blaine, deployed.

Mark took notes furiously, but he was sure he missed a name or two, so he had the _Lokhagos_ repeat the information. Once satisfied, he resumed his questioning. "List name and location of known agents outside of your authority."

Vincent, Istanbul; Jason, Sydney; Adam, St. Louis; Noah—

"Stop," Mark interrupted the litany of names. "Full name of Agent Adam?"

Adam Black.

_Bloody hell_! "Repeat the location of Agent Black?"

St. Louis, Missouri, United States.

"For how long, exactly?"

One year, ten months.

The answer surprised Mark. The current analyst reports showed Black to be somewhere in Mexico. The Organization had suspected for a while this was a false lead, but now he had proof.

"Is Black on active duty or retired?"

Rehabilitation. Reinstatement unknown.

Fascinating.

Mark spent the next several hours asking the _Lokhagos_ more questions about the missions, statuses, and locations of all the names he provided. As the evening drew on, Mark wrapped up his interrogation, and refit Hurston with an inhibitor.

Mark rubbed his face. Fatigue settled into his bones. "Jorge, secure Hurston again. I'm going home to Liz."

Jorge smiled tensely in acknowledgment, and Mark left, pleased with his day's work.

# Chapter 4

Adam glanced out the front window of the studio. If he shifted to the right and pressed his cheek to the glass, he could see Rachel and Mike as they walked toward the Metro station.

"Hey, Black?" Zach yelled from around the corner.

Adam grunted his acknowledgment as Rachel disappeared around the corner.

"Your girlfriend left her shopping bag here."

Adam straightened. _Did she, now?_ "She's not my girlfriend, novice." Adam pivoted and strode toward Zach's voice. Turning the corner, he spied said bag, resting against the hallway wall.

"What do you want me to do with it?" Zach asked.

"Leave it."

"You could take it to her," Zach offered with a smirk. "I'm sure she'd be real appreciative."

"Enough," Adam barked. His imagination was already running wild about how thankful she could be before Zach had given him that mental image. "Gym. Now."

Zach huffed. "What's up your ass today?"

"You not focusing on your duties."

"Bullshit, Black. I come to work. I go to school. I do the training. What more do you want from me?" Adam made a harrumphing noise. Zach's irritated tone, turned sing-song, "Y'know she watches you whenever you aren't looking, right?"

"No." She does _?_ "And irrelevant." Despite his words, Adam's heart did a little tap-dance in his chest at the news.

Zach sighed. "Whatever, man. You and I both know you're full of shit. You're 'fraid to tap that 'cause Darius's all up in your bizness."

"Zach," Adam growled, tensing at the casual mention of his _Stratigos_ in the same sentence as his unhealthy attraction to Rachel. The relationship was strictly verboten, and he was in enough trouble already.

Raising his hands in a placating manner, Zach backed down the hall toward the gym. "Do what you need to do to get ready and then come kick my ass so I can go home. I have a metric shit-ton of homework to do."

Adam's stance softened. It wasn't Zach's fault Adam was in such a foul mood. A mood that would improve if Rachel didn't smell so delectable or sound so sweet. Not to mention, the kid had a stiff workload, what with his Order duties and school. "Need a ride back to the dorms later?"

"Sure," Zach said with a shrug. "If you're offering."

Adam gave him a curt nod. "I am." He'd drop Zach off and then return Rachel's purchase to her. "Gym in five."

"Yeah, okay," Zach grumbled, but complied, shedding his shirt as he entered the gym.

Before he followed, Adam grabbed Rachel's bag and peeked in. The image on the box showed a silhouette of boots with a modest heel and little bows. He wondered what Rachel looked like with them on and nothing else.

He smiled. His resolve to keep his distance wavered. One liaison wouldn't be that bad, would it? Surely, he could keep it secret from everyone stationed in St. Louis. He dealt with hundreds of secrets every day. One little romp with the redhead wouldn't hurt anyone. Adam sighed. Unless Darius found out, if he did, then Darius would have Adam's ass on a platter for involving himself with a civilian.

Adam glanced toward the front door. He didn't know what it was about Rachel—aside from the obvious—but he wanted to know more. Did she like the beach? Did she like to travel? Would she like Istanbul? Did she have a big family?

Shaking his head, he shrugged off his melancholy and joined Zach in the gym.

Two hours later, Adam found himself showered and shaved and in his car with Zach. Rachel's shopping bag rested behind him on the backseat. "Take tomorrow off," Adam said.

Zach crossed his arms over his chest. "Why? What's the catch?"

"No catch."

"Uh, huh." Turning to Adam, Zach gave him a querying look. "You never let me off on a Friday night. Plan to give me double drills Saturday morning? Wait..." Zach straightened excitement building in him like a storm. "Is something wrong? Did Darius give you a mission?"

"No."

Zach deflated. "Oh."

"You've been working hard the past few weeks, novice. Thought I'd be nice," Adam replied.

Zach snorted. "You're never nice. And quit calling me novice."

Adam gritted his teeth but let the remark slide. He was _always_ nice.

Pulling up to the curb, Adam stopped and unlocked the door. "Stay vigilant," he warned. "They could be around any corner." It worried him to leave Zach, and Adam would much rather have the teen at his place, parties, late nights, and potential girls aside. It would make keeping an eye on the kid, that much easier. When Adam had checked out Zach's dorm room this past January, it had felt exposed, insecure, but no one in HQ agreed. At that thought, Adam's lips twisted in a frown that mixed annoyance, disappointment, and a healthy dose of perplexity in equal measure.

"You know I will," Zach retorted as he clambered out of the car and slammed the door. Hard. "See you Saturday."

"Eight AM," Adam reiterated. If he didn't, there was no telling when Zach would show up.

Zach flipped him off before hiking his backpack high on his back and storming off. Adam sighed. Sometimes they got along fine, but when they didn't? They didn't.

Adam threw the Audi in gear and headed toward Rachel's house over by Forest Park.

He snorted, remembering that night last November. She needed to work on her situational awareness. She'd been oblivious the night of her mugging when he'd trailed her all the way home. He was glad he did. It gave Adam a sense of relief to know her route, and despite a few too dark nooks on her path home, it was decently lit and adequately populated.

Pulling up to the curb in front of her house, Adam killed the engine and took a deep breath. He would give her the bag, wish her well, and then go home. He would not— _Not!_ —seduce her. Adam shook his head and hopped out of the car. Grabbing the bag, he squared his shoulders and headed toward the door.

***

A knock startled Rachel from her book. _Who in the world?_ She dumped Buster onto the couch and stood up. After padding her way to the front door in her bare feet, she peeked through the peephole and spied Adam on her porch.

_Adam?_ "What the hell?" she muttered and opened the door. Louder, she asked, "What are you doing here?" He lifted a bag and shook it as if that explained any— _Oh_! Her shoes. He brought her, her shoes? That was s— _Wait_ ... "How do you know where I live?"

He smiled—that cocky, self-satisfied one that made her both swoon and want to smack him in equal measure. "You filled out a waiver."

Rachel grimaced. _Duh!_ "Want to come in?"

Adam did a funny nod-turned-shake of his head, and his expression wavered between eagerness and disappointment. It was so out of character from his usual self-assuredness, Rachel worried he'd hurt himself.

"It's okay," she offered, trying to let him off the hook gracefully. "No fraternizing with a student. I get it."

"That's not it," he choked out.

"Okay," she said when he didn't volunteer anything more.

When he was still staring at her, a minute later, she grew nervous. _Do I have basil in my teeth or something?_ she wondered and immediately ran her tongue over them to check. Finding nothing, she chose a different tactic, "Would you like a beer?"

"Sure."

Rachel held the door open so Adam could enter. "Make yourself at home," she said, indicating the couch. "And don't mind Buster!" she yelled as she went to the kitchen to grab two Schlafly bottles out of the fridge. She popped the cap off each and wandered back to the living room. "Here you go."

Adam glanced at the label before taking a swig. "Thanks."

Now, _what?_ Rachel thought as she sat at one edge of the couch. "My roommate's at work," she said at the same time as Adam offered, "Nice place." They chuckled.

Rachel glanced at the clock by her TV. It was nine at night, and normally she'd rather be reading at this hour than entertaining a guest, but Sarah would kick her _ass_ if she let Adam get away without at least attempting to seduce him. Rachel would probably fail, but she would try anyway, if for no other reason than to tell Sarah she did and that it didn't work. She took a deep, fortifying breath. Here goes nothing. "Want to watch a movie?"

He twisted in his seat to look at her, his eyebrow raised in what Rachel hoped was interest. "What do you have?"

"Oh," she laughed nervously. What did she have? What _did_ she have... Good question. Guys liked action flicks, right? What was in her catalog? Rachel's gaze landed on the movie she purchased earlier that day. "I just bought the DVD of Assassin's Creed. Interested?" She put her beer down on the floor and stared at her hands, afraid to meet his gaze. Her heart threatened to leap out of her chest. Would he say no?

"Yes," Adam replied. Rachel was halfway to the DVD player before she realized his voice sounded funny.

She paused in unwrapping the DVD from its shrink wrap and shot him a look. He half-shrugged and gave her a tight smile. "If you'd rather watch something else..." she said, afraid she'd misjudged.

"No. It's fine," he said in a rush. "A movie is good."

Rachel nodded, planning to take his words at face value instead of reading into them, and popped the DVD from its case. After putting it in the player, she returned to the couch, grabbed her beer, and pulled her knees up to her chest. "Have you seen it yet?" Rachel asked as she navigated to the start menu via the remote.

"No. I can't remember the last movie I watched. Theater or otherwise."

"Really?" That seemed so odd. Rachel and Sarah watched movies all the time, and she thought everyone else did too.

"Really," he repeated.

"Then what do you do for fun?"

Adam coughed. "Fun?"

Rachel shifted on the couch to look at him. "Yeah. Fun. That thing you're supposed to do when you're not working? Sarah—my BFF and roommate—thinks 'fun' is raiding my closet or having me buy clothes so that she can borrow them." When Adam didn't respond to her joke right away, Rachel said, "Please don't tell me you spend all your time in the studio working out and nothing else."

He nodded once. "I live in the loft above it." Adam frowned a second later as if he hadn't meant to tell her that.

"Huh." Rachel grinned. "I guess if you get bored, you can always go downstairs and play squirrel for a bit."

"Something like that," Adam said with a soft laugh. His posture relaxed, and he draped his arm across the back of the couch. Rachel scooched closer. If she had any hope of getting him in the sack, she'd have to work her female wiles. Whatever the hell they were. She propped her head on her hand. The sound of his amusement sent shivers of pleasure through her. God, he sounded so dreamy. She couldn't believe he was here. In her house! Maybe his hotness would leak all over it like artfully done Christmas lights.

When he didn't say anything else, Rachel volunteered, "Well, I love the game, and the movie's pretty rockin', even if the story writers didn't do a good job explaining the difference between the assassins' real life versus the one his ancestor lived in the animus." She pushed play on the remote. "Anyway, I hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will," Adam said and motioned her closer. Rachel debated for a moment, but Sarah's advice revisited her like a bad burrito. _If you can get into his pants, you ought to. You haven't had a decent lay in months._ Adam was here, and so was she. He liked her, or he wouldn't have made the trip to her house with her shopping bag when leaving it at his studio for a week would suffice. Maybe cuddling him _would_ end up being a one-night stand and maybe not. There was no way for Rachel to know, but there was one way for her to find out. Shifting in her seat, Rachel nestled herself against his side, and Adam wrapped her in his arms.

Rachel bit her lip to hold back her pleased whimper. It felt like perfection to have him in her house. Life couldn't get any better, could it? Well, it could, but for now, Rachel would settle for what he could give her.

While the movie played, Rachel spent more time teasing the hairs on his hand, admiring his class ring, and staring at the simple leather bracer he wore on his right arm, rather than paying attention to the movie.

The bracer had scuffs and scrapes on the hide, but it looked well-crafted in addition to well used. Rachel's fingers drifted toward it, and Adam grabbed her wrist, stopping her before she did more than run a finger over the supple material.

His grip never turned painful, but his fingers were tight enough around her wrist that she looked up at him in alarm. Their eyes met, and he smiled, taking her breath away, quite literally. Rachel's eyes grew round. She opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment, Adam lowered his head and captured her lips with his.

The intensity of his kiss took Rachel by surprise. She froze for a moment, before snaking her free arm around his neck, trying to pull him closer.

Adam didn't resist.

With a low growl, he deepened the kiss, his tongue demanding entry. Rachel parted her lips and went to taste him in return, losing herself in the moment.

When she shifted away for air, he followed, until they were lying on the couch, heart to heart, lips to lips. Adam slid one knee between her legs, making Rachel gasp and clasp his shoulder. Arching against him, she relished the goosebumps that popped up on her arms as he skimmed the side of her breast with his fingertips. He didn't stop there but continued until he cupped her ass, drawing them closer.

Adam and Rachel broke apart, his panting ruffled the hair by her ear, and he chuckled shakily. The intensity of his expression made her shiver in excitement. This was _so_ happening!

"I swear to you," Adam whispered. "I didn't plan on seducing you tonight."

Not wanting him to stop, Rachel ran her fingers along his back under his shirt, enjoying the corded muscles under her hand. "I did," she murmured.

He feathered kisses along the side of her face but went to grab her hand to pull it away from his back. "We need to stop now... before I lose control."

"Lose control," she groaned in protest, which made him smile. "Please?"

"No condom," he explained as he lifted himself off her.

Rachel laughed. That was, well, sweet of him to have thought of protection, especially since it had been the last thing on her mind. Adam laughed with her, and his tone sounded more than a little strained. He kissed her forehead and then drew away from her.

The loss of his weight and warmth made her want to cry. Safe sex was good, but sometimes it sucked to be careful. She cursed under her breath and ran her fingers through her hair. That was _not_ the right thing for her to be thinking. Shifting upright, she scooted back to lean against the arm of the couch.

Finally, Adam broke the silence. "Rachel."

She winced. _Uh-oh_. She didn't like that tone. It was an "I'm breaking up with you" tone, and they weren't even together! She sighed, resigned.

"I'm sorry. I let things go too far." Adam paused. Rachel's gaze was riveted to his large hands as they rubbed his thighs near his knees.

"There can't be anything between us. One, it's never a good idea to sleep with a student, and two, I'm—I'm not sure how much longer I'm going to be in St. Louis."

He took a deep breath and turned his gorgeous brown eyes to her. "I won't lie. I want to sleep with you." He took a deep breath and let it out forcefully, before continuing, "Badly. But there can't—won't—can't be anything else between us."

At least he was trying to be honest about the sex. "I see."

Adam groaned. "I promise it's not you."

She held up her hand. "It's okay. I get it." Rachel shook her head and stood, walking to the door. Adam followed her. "Thank you for bringing me my shoes," she said.

"Of course."

Rachel couldn't help it. Her gaze zeroed in on his lips, and she thought, _Please kiss me again,_ but the look in his eyes told her he'd made up his mind, and there would be no more steamy kisses tonight—or ever for that matter. Her shoulder's slumped.

"Goodnight, Rachel. I'll see you in class," Adam said, his expression neutral and body tense before he turned and left her home.

At his car, he paused for a moment, before getting behind the wheel and finally firing up the engine. With a sigh of regret, she waited for him to turn the corner and before closing the door.

# Chapter 5

Mark placed his morning coffee on the coaster on his desk and sat in his chair. He pressed the power button on his laptop and then immediately retrieved his mobile before it rang more than once. A quick glance at the screen, he answered, "What do you have for me, John?"

"We have confirmed his location. He lives in his place of business and not in a separate loft as your intelligence led us to believe."

"Will everything be set up in time?" Mark wanted operation "First-Color" to go without a hitch. The second anniversary of Adam Black's failed attempt at his life was coming up, and he had waited long enough to take his revenge.

"Affirmative. The State's team reported this morning that the target is clueless."

It surprised Mark somewhat to learn Black was unaware of his men's surveillance. Either he was toying with them, or the Order wasn't training its people the way they used to. Or perhaps he was merely complacent. With cameras on every corner, it wasn't long before one stopped noticing them. Two years in hiding, without the need for constant vigilance, would be enough to make anyone drop their guard. It would make him an easy target.

"Good."

"We also compiled a dossier on the novice, Zachary Alexander, and the studio Black owns, as you requested. I will have the documents forwarded to you today."

"Anything else?"

John responded, "Yes, Black's been seen leaving one of his student's home. A Rachel Flanagan. At this point, there is a reason to suspect he is recruiting her for their goals."

"Have the analysts compile a report on her as well. I expect to see it by tomorrow morning."

"Understood," John replied. "Sir?"

"What is it, John?" Mark sighed in irritation. His notes from the most recent interrogation of Hurston were in front of him, and he wanted to get his report finished.

"We will need more than one team in St. Louis to ensure success on First-Color."

"Your reconnaissance concluded one team per location on all the other targets are more than adequate."

"That's true, sir, and one team would be enough _if_ Black was still injured. Our analysts cannot determine why, but physically, it's as if he were never hurt at all, let alone of the magnitude our files claim. The team in St. Louis has confirmed he is at full strength and a formidable enemy."

Mark mulled over this distressing news, subconsciously touching the scar on his thigh. Two years ago, Black took out six men, by himself, before being overpowered. His attack had been a flurry of movements, and Mark's team had been too slow despite their training. It had been a lucky shot that had downed the one assassin before the fight dissolved into intense hand-to-hand combat. The Order still had a one-up on them when it came to fisticuffs.

"How many teams are you requesting?"

"Two additional teams, sir."

Mark wasn't sure he could secure three teams for this operation. All his available men were dispatched to the other identified targets. Only his desire to see Black die made him agree, "You will have them."

***

Maybe it was better if Rachel didn't come back, Adam thought again. She had been absent from practice two days before, and she hadn't tried to contact him in the week since the "incident" at her house.

The kiss.

It had surprised him when the kiss they shared had grown from a simple distraction into something so intense. And now, regardless of what he told himself, he had ended up at the convenience store, staring at the condom section.

Again.

It was the third time he'd done so in so many days. Each time before, he had managed to talk himself out of buying anything. Nothing could happen; nothing would happen, but unfortunately, his internal monologue hadn't convinced the parts of himself that craved human contact.

He'd not had sex in way too long, and now Adam was coming up with more and more excuses to be with Rachel each passing day: 'The Order would never know', 'Rachel hadn't seemed against the idea of a purely sexual relationship', or 'It would only be for one night. She wouldn't be in any danger.'

Tired of hemming and hawing, he grabbed a package and stalked to the counter to pay for them. _Never hurts to have them on hand_. Another lie he told himself.

"Planning on a good time?" the lanky teenager operating the register remarked with a wink.

Adam's deadly glare had the employee losing his smirk, and without saying a word, Adam handed him the money and left with the box of condoms in his pocket.

Once back home, he tossed them in his dresser drawer and vowed, yet again, to not need them.

***

"Next," Adam barked.

The young man next in line to run the obstacle course readied himself. "Go," Adam announced.

Rachel wiped the sweat from her face and stretched her arms and back while she followed the current student's progress during his run.

"Don't be flamboyant," Adam snapped, frowning. "Leave the theatrics at home or for when you've become a professional free-runner. You're not there yet. If we'd been outside, I'd be calling for an ambulance. Remember, safety is your priority. Understood?" Adam's barked statement rattled the teen's composure, and Rachel shook her head. She knew where this was going. Sure enough, he ended up falling after failing the jump between the two balconies and landed in the foam pit.

"Rachel, you're next."

She nodded and walked to the start of the course, all the while sensing Adam's eyes on her.

Her return to Adam's studio had been tense, but after her two-week break—and a lot of prodding deemed "encouragement" by Sarah—Rachel decided to face her fears and return to Gateway Parkour studio. Adam couldn't keep her from free-running. She loved it too much.

She clapped her hands together and rubbed.

"Rachel?" She whipped her head toward his voice. "I said go." A few of the teenagers twittered at his chastisement, and Rachel blushed. She hadn't heard him the first time, too lost in her fantasies.

"Yeah, sorry." Rachel took a deep breath and broke into a run. She knew these pieces of the course well by now, but they'd only recently opened it up to freestyle running.

She hopped over the first half wall in her path, landing easily on her feet. Then, using her momentum, she jumped, head-first, sliding-in-to-home-base-style, up the six stairs that followed; she landed in an awkward roll, bumping her shoulder hard on the concrete sidewalk Adam had installed for realism, and came up running. Students whooped behind her, and she smiled. She had loved that trick she'd learned on their outing a few weeks ago, and thanked Zach mentally for teaching it to her.

Next, she hurdled over a horizontal pipe, propelling herself forwards, then immediately launched herself up the faux tree. In one swing, she had her legs up, straddling the branch. Pushing to her feet, she balanced there while using the tree's height to gain to the first-story balcony. Flopping over the railing, Rachel paused.

This section of the obstacle course would be the hardest since both balconies were far apart and not at the same level. Rachel hesitated a moment, mentally calculating the distance. She leaped forward and up. Her hands connected with the edge of the second railing, but her fingers slipped. Rachel cursed but managed to hold on with her right hand. There, she stayed suspended, the muscles of her arms screaming in protest. With a grunt of effort, Rachel swung herself up and over the railing. There she rested, trying to catch her breath and to still her shaking arms. That had been close, but at least she hadn't fallen.

"Are you going to finish?" Adam challenged. Glancing down, Rachel spied Adam staring at her, arms crossed, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as if to say he didn't think she could do it. She gritted her teeth, ready to prove him wrong.

At his cockiest, Adam aggravated her to no end. Add to it the attraction she felt toward him, and it made for a potent mix of frustration and desire. "I plan to," she snapped back.

Finding the handgrips she needed in the brick facade of the building, Rachel scaled the wall to the roof. She ran to the other side, used one of the pipes to shimmy down halfway, and finished by utilizing the fall-and-roll to absorb the shock to her ankles and knees. When she gained her feet and crossed the finish line, the other students clapped.

"Not too bad. You need to keep practicing. Your run still lacks finesse," Adam commented. This time, she couldn't help it, she stuck her tongue at him, half playful, half annoyed.

He lifted an eyebrow. "That will be all for tonight," Adam announced. "Zach will be waiting for you next Tuesday for the usual skills enhancement session."

Slowly, the students grabbed their bags, their jackets, and their towels and left the studio one by one. As Rachel headed toward the changing room located in the bathroom, she passed Zach in the hallway.

"Bye, Rach," he said with a small smile. "See you next week."

"Yeah. Sure. Bye, Zach," she replied. When she left the bathroom a few minutes later, the studio was quiet. Not even Zach wandered around. Disappointed at not seeing Adam, she made her way to the exit.

"I thought you'd left already."

Rachel whirled around to find Adam leaning against the wall behind her. He was staring at her again, and she could have sworn his dark eyes burned into hers. She licked her dry lips, her body temperature skyrocketing.

"I was wondering—" she started, hesitating to ask.

"Yes?"

"Would you mind giving me a ride home? I... want to talk to you. About the other night." She winced. _God, that sounded needy._

The silence stretched between them, and she wondered if Adam would respond with an excuse. When he finally spoke, he surprised her yet again. "Do you want to go out with me? To dinner? Tonight?"

Rachel nodded. "I'd love to have dinner."

"There's a decent restaurant called The Fountain down on Locust. I went there once to have some fun. Decent milkshakes."

Rachel smiled. "Milkshakes. Sure. Sounds good." Rachel went to grab her jacket, but Adam got to it first. Gallantly helping Rachel with her coat, Adam let his hands linger on her shoulders. His touch sent goosebumps up and down her arms. Closing her eyes, she savored the almost touch, expecting him to draw at away any second.

The tension and desire between them grew as he lightly caressed her arms, and now Rachel felt ready to burst with it. She sighed at his touch, and Adam didn't need any more encouragement. He grabbed her shoulders, twirled her around, and bent to capture her lips in a scorching kiss. She clutched his arms, drawing him closer. That kiss lit an inferno inside her.

With the restaurant forgotten, he led her away from the studio door to the stairs. She wanted all of him, right then, right there, but he kept enough distance between them to keep the fire burning hot. She tried to grab his shirt and force him closer, but he snatched her hand away. She reached with her other hand, but he captured that one, as well.

She groaned in protest, realizing he'd effectively pinned her hands to her sides. "I hope... you don't mind... staying here after all," he said between long, drugging kisses. He dragged her jacket down her arms and let it drop to the floor at the base of the stairs.

_Yes!_ her mind cheered. "Food... later... don't care."

Adam chuckled as they climbed the stairs. Once on the landing, he guided her backward, presumably toward the bed. He slowed their advance, and with surprising gentleness—unlike his earlier intensity and dominance—he helped lower her to the mattress before settling between her legs.

"Too many clothes," she growled, frustrated as she tugged at the hem of his t-shirt.

Bracing his weight on his elbow, Adam caught the neckline of his shirt at the back and slid it over his head. He tossed it to the side as his eyes raked her form with unrestrained lust.

Rachel wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him back down for a kiss. Immediately, she ran her fingers along his back, sensing every muscle flexing under his skin as he moved. It was the most erotic thing she'd ever felt, and it was only his back.

Knowing this hot guy wanted her as much as she did him made her about ready to spontaneously combust. She arched her back, pressing her breasts against him, and hooked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans.

"Not yet," he chided. "Savor."

He nibbled and kissed a path from her earlobe to her bra-covered breasts. When had he undone the buttons on her blouse? She didn't remember him working on them. He released her right breast from her bra, and his thumb teased the taut peak of her nipple. She gasped. He was driving her mad!

They were in the middle of yet another passionate kiss when Adam tensed. His head lifted from hers to stare at the stairs leading up to his loft. The lust and desire drained from his face so fast it looked as if he'd been doused with ice water.

What...?

He rolled off her, landing in a crouch beside the bed, and he whispered urgently, "Get in the closet."—Adam pointed to it over his shoulder.—"Don't ask questions, don't speak, do nothing no matter what you see! Do not come out until I come back and get you! Now go!"

"What?"

"Go!"

Rachel scrambled off the bed, wincing as she hustled toward the closet. Wrenching open the door, she threw herself inside.

Once alone and in the dark, confined space, she questioned herself. Why had he sent her to hide as if he were an errant teen with parents at the door? It didn't make sense. What was going on? She pushed the door ajar and pressed her eye to the crack.

Back in the room, Adam had adopted a fighting stance, one she remembered from all those "training" sessions she'd witnessed. That was when she heard the footsteps on the stairs leading up to the loft. Two sets. They were so quiet she would have missed them if it wasn't for Adam's change in stature. How had he even known someone was coming?

"You finally found me," Adam taunted, his tone cruel. "It certainly took you a while."

" _Hashashin_ ," a voice rumbled in answer.

_Hashashin_?

Rachel had barely thought the question when Adam threw himself to one side, rolling out of her sight. A gun fired, and Rachel crouched lower.

Several, sharp little pops that didn't sound anything like the guns in movies accompanied the scuffle she heard on the other side of the door. At the risk of being detected, she inched the door open a fraction more, wondering if she should call 911.

Quickly, she located Adam. He stood on the other side of the loft, locked in a deadly dance with one of two masked men. He had managed to disable one opponent, who was currently lying on the floor, presumably unconscious, and the second attacker was trying to shoot him, but Adam never gave him a chance.

In quick succession, Adam knocked the man's arm aside and disarmed him. Rachel watched, unable to look away as Adam produced a knife, seemingly from thin air.

_Holy shit!_ It had to be a good nine inches of gleaming, lethal steel.

Rachel clapped her hand over her mouth as Adam then plunged the blade into his opponent's throat, spraying blood everywhere. Within seconds, the man's eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell backward, dead.

Adam spun and walked to the unconscious man near the stairs and slit his throat. Throwing himself into a roll, he disappeared from Rachel's view right as another volley of gunfire echoed through the room from the hallway below.

_Who is this guy?!_ _He just freaking killed somebody—two somebodies!_ Rachel thought, panicking.

She heard a faint "son-of-a-bitch" and recognized Adam's voice. Then a body thudded against a hard surface. Rachel desperately wanted to look but didn't dare. Had Adam been hurt?

The silence stretched until Rachel couldn't bear listening to it anymore. She knew she should stay out of sight and wait for Adam, the cops, or divine intervention from God, but she couldn't do it. She had to know what happened.

Inching the door open again, she peeked around it, spotting Adam almost at once. He stood with his back pressed against the wall next to the stairs, waiting.

When he saw her, he put his finger to his lip, urging silence, and waved her back into the closet. Rachel retreated inside.

"You think he's dead?" a voice asked.

"No," came a reply. "He's up to something, and if you value your life, you'll stay put."

"Yes, sir."

Minutes ticked by.

Nothing moved.

No one spoke.

The wait weighed on her nerves, becoming oppressive, and she longed to leave the closet if only to determine what was going on.

Eventually, the ache in her thighs from crouching drove Rachel to shift, and she eased herself to her knees.

How long would the stalemate last? Adam wouldn't give up the high ground. Rachel knew enough about battle strategy to know he had the upper hand here, but at the same time, if the attackers on the main floor didn't leave, they would be stuck in the loft indefinitely. She seriously doubted Adam's bedroom could withstand a siege.

A scream of pain broke the stillness of the studio, and Rachel squealed in alarm and cringed. A few seconds later, the closet door wrenched open, and she shrieked in surprise.

Adam stood in front of her, and he held out his hand to help her up.

She stood without his aid. Her gaze fell to his chest, where blood dripped from the splatters. And so was his face. Even more disturbing than the macabre blood freckles was the fact he wasn't even breathing hard. He showed no outward signs that the attack and his murders had bothered him in any way. "You can come out," he said, turning. He strode toward his dresser on the other side of the room.

She inched closer as he pulled open a drawer and grabbed something black from within it.

"Put this on," he ordered as he tossed it to her.

The item unfurled as it made its way to her, and after catching the sweatshirt, she pulled it over her head.

Slipping from his shirt, Adam wiped the blood off his face and chest and then donned a new shirt before tugging on a gray and black hooded sweatshirt. "We have to move. There will be more of them."

Rachel gulped. "M-more of t-them?"

# Chapter 6

_What a mess_ , Adam thought in disgust as he slid on a belt and secured his blade in its sheath at his hip. He plucked his car keys off the dresser and shoved them into his pocket.

The Organization had grown soft-witted in his absence. Four men hadn't been enough to kill him since he had been a novice.

Beside him, Rachel trembled. He quickly assessed her mental state. She looked shaken but not yet panicked, which was good.

He moved to her side and adjusted her hood, making sure it hid most of her face. He hoped it wasn't a useless precaution. The Organization might already know her identity, but he wouldn't take any more chances. After giving her a last once-over, he took her hand, guiding her around the bodies on the landing, and then down the stairs.

"Stay here," he ordered. He wanted to get her gym bag. Her skirt and boots would be a hindrance as they fled, and he wanted her to change out of them.

Using the shadows to help cloak his movements, Adam inched closer. He knew he was at a disadvantage due to being silhouetted by the lights in the loft, but turning them off was not an option. To do so would alert those waiting outside something was amiss. The Organization was a trigger-happy bunch. Any indication he survived the initial attack would invite a rain of bullets from the reinforcements guaranteed to be on the perimeter.

He'd only gone a few steps down the hall when a bullet shattered the window and embedded itself in the wall next to his head. Adam quickly retreated toward Rachel and stopped in front of her. "Can't go that way. We will leave through the basement."

"Basement?"

"Yes. Basement. But we have to climb to get there."

"Climb?"

Rachel's one-word questions used as replies were worrying. _If she's going to lose it_ , Adam thought _, I hope it's after I get her out of here safely._

Shielding her view so she didn't see the second set of bodies, he led her to one of his many secret passages. This one happened to be in the side of building B in his obstacle course. Pointing to the wall with the hand-holds built into the bricks, he ordered her to climb.

Her voice was wispy and confused when she asked, "We have to climb to get to the basement?"

"Yes. Climb. Like you did in class. Now go to the top balcony. I'll be right behind you."

Rachel gave him an annoyed look but didn't argue, which was good because Adam didn't have the time or patience to entertain her twenty questions.

While she scaled the wall, Adam continued to scan the room. Although he didn't expect the Org to send in another team—they weren't stupid... usually—he wouldn't put it past them to try again now that they knew he hadn't succumbed to their initial barrage.

"I'm here," her soft, sweet voice called down to him.

"Coming," he replied, and immediately scaled the wall, joining her a few seconds later.

Once on the balcony, he entered the passcode to unlock the door and pushed it open, revealing a spiral staircase.

"I thought it was a prop door. A fake," Rachel said. Her breath heated his shoulder through his shirts, and he had a momentary pang of regret for having their night interrupted.

"That's the point," he replied and indicated she should start down the steps.

They hustled down three stories into the studio's basement. A small, dirty window provided the only source of light, and Adam strode toward it. He had tested this escape before, and although it would be a tight fit for himself, he knew Rachel would be fine since she was smaller.

He popped out the window, grabbed an exposed pipe in front of it, and slipped his body out through the window, feet first. He poked his head back inside and offered Rachel his hand. She took it, and he pulled her into the alleyway with him.

Her balance secured, he guided her into the shadows and surveyed his surroundings. From where they stood, he could see his car. He knew it had to be under surveillance; the Org—despite their misplaced optimism earlier regarding the four men in his studio—would have his mode of transportation watched. Yet, the car was their fastest mean of escape, and he had other people to protect. "We need to head to Zach's."

"Zach's? Why? What does he have to do with this?"

Adam shook his head. No time to explain Zach's involvement or how Zach, even with all his training, was no Hashashin and would hesitate to kill even if his life depended on it. Adam knew the teen needed him.

Hopefully, it wasn't too late.

After rescuing Zach, Adam would take them both back to the Order's downtown office. Once there, Rachel would have some measure of safety.

Regretfully, Rachel'd seen too much, and now he was bound by the rules of his order. He was required to bring her to HQ. Now that she was associated with him, her safety without the Order's protection was non-existent. He knew without a doubt that she would react negatively about this news. Especially when she learned it would be permanent.

Not to mention, Darius would be pissed.

He did not look forward to the upcoming storm.

Why, oh why, couldn't he have left her alone? Porn-hub would have been a better choice than destroying her life by pulling her into his world.

He turned his head slightly to check on her. She stood, pressed against his back, with a scared but defiant expression.

"Listen," he whispered. "We will try to get to my car. It will be under surveillance." He felt her tense, and for one split second, he wished he'd been alone. If he had, he would have already hunted and disposed of the threat.

Who was he trying to kid? If he'd been alone, none of this would have happened.

"I will go first. Wait for my signal; when I raise my right hand, I want you to sprint directly to the passenger side and get in."

She nodded and gulped. "You'll be careful, right?" she whispered back.

He smiled at her and patted her hand, fisting his shirt. "Always."

Locking his gaze on hers, Adam waited until he felt sure she would not panic. Once confident in his assessment, he loosened her grip, adjusted his hood, and moved forward, his shoulders hunched, and his head bent low. It wouldn't fool anyone for long, but it might give him a second or two to act before they started firing.

Keeping the fire escape between him and the other side of the alley, he inched forward. He was nearly into the open when he glanced back and found Rachel had followed him. Adam gestured furiously for her to return to the relative safety of her hiding spot. Her expression turned stubborn, and she sprinted the last twenty-five feet separating them.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, exasperated she disobeyed his order. Her disobedience was why he liked to work alone.

"I heard a noise," she whispered back. "Gravel crunching."

She didn't need to explain further for him to understand. She'd heard footsteps and acted. Adam grabbed her wrist, and she tensed. They would have to sprint the remaining distance.

Before he could act, two things happened in quick succession. First, four low pops rang in the night air, and the unmistakable hiss of escaping air followed. The Org had shot out his tires. At the same time as the gunshots, someone yelled, "There he is! Stop, _Hashashin_!"

As if...

He tugged on Rachel's arm and pointed at the fire escape. He leapt, grabbed the ladder with both hands, and yanked it down with his weight. He pushed her toward it while he focused on the two men running toward them. The fact their pursuers hadn't fired a single shot in their direction nag at him.

"Up!" Adam barked, splitting his attention between the advancing men, Rachel's progress, and the reason behind the Org's restraint. When she reached the first landing, he yelled to her to keep going, before finally starting up the ladder himself. The answer dawned on him as she disappeared up the next level. _They want her alive. But why?_

When he joined her on the roof, he saw there was no protective cover anywhere, not even an HVAC unit. Debating his options, Adam immediately discounted a return to street level. The Organization might not care about bystanders, but the Order certainly did, and bringing the fight to the ground introduced the chance of witnesses. That left jumping to the next building.

Giving Rachel another once-over, he found himself thankful she'd spent the past two months training with him or else she'd never make it out of this in one piece.

"This way," he said and pointed. She nodded and ran in the direction he indicated.

They reached the wall separating his warehouse from its taller neighbor, and doing a run-up, he launched himself to the roof one story above their position. He pulled himself up and over, leaning back down to grab Rachel's hand.

From there, they made their way across a string of rooftops before they encountered a large gap between their current roof and the next. Adam skidded to a halt. Could she make the jump? Adam didn't think so, but unfortunately, they didn't have time to find another way to escape. They would have to risk it.

"Rachel?" he called, gaining her attention. "We have to jump. Remember, land on your toes, spread your momentum through a roll. And for obvious reasons, don't land on your heels! Got it?" he asked. She gave him another small nod of understanding. _Good girl._ "Now. Jump."

He saw her glance at him, and then back at the drop, before nodding again. She backed up.

After a running start, she launched herself into the air and off the roof. She landed hard and a little short, but she did as he'd taught and appeared to roll to her feet unharmed. He let go of the breath he'd been holding and quickly followed her.

Mid-jump, he saw one of the Org's men top the roof ridge from the other side of the building heading toward Rachel. "Siciym _Ya_!" he swore in irritation.

He hit the roof hard, bouncing into a roll, and immediately came up running, freeing his blade from its sheath at his hip in the process. He wouldn't make it in time. The man grabbed for Rachel before Adam could get there, but he'd forgotten she wasn't completely defenseless.

Twisting her hips, Rachel dropped her weight to her knees and sent the agent flying over her shoulder and right into his path. Adam caught him as he fell, and they scuffled for a moment, before Adam found his opening and drove his blade through the man's heart, and ending his life.

With one opponent down, Adam had a second to breathe and reassess the situation. He identified three more agents on the next rooftop over. In two strides, he was next to Rachel. "Run! Don't look back. There's a ladder on the other side leading to a parking garage. I'll meet you there."

Adam turned, readying himself for a new attack. "Go!" he ordered over his shoulder. The sound of her footsteps retreating indicated she obeyed. Good. He'd be able to concentrate now. Just in time, too, for the first man landed in a roll and was immediately followed by a second man.

Now that Rachel wasn't by his side, they had drawn their weapons. Adam charged the closer of the two and grabbed him by the throat before he could shoot. A quick jab of his blade into the man's gun hand ended the first contest. Adam spun as the second attacker pulled the trigger and caught Adam's hostage in the chest. Adam felt the bullet exit the man's body and graze his skin. Blood welled and dripped down his side.

Another inch to the right and that might have ruined my evening.

He marched forward, keeping the wheezing, dying man in front of him. They'd gone only a few feet before the man in Adam's grip became dead weight and had to be tossed aside.

The remaining attacker hesitated, fear and shock in his expression. _Not a career soldier, then_ , Adam thought and used that moment of confusion to lunge. A twist and a smack disarmed his opponent quickly, and then Adam dispatched him.

Looking around, Adam confirmed the third Org operative had fled.

Adam took a deep breath, curbing the impulse to give chase. The Order's regulation stated that Adam needed to find the man and dispatch him before he could get away, but only if this task didn't jeopardize a civilian. For once, Adam didn't chafe at letting an enemy live.

Much.

The danger hadn't abated, and Rachel needed him.

Striding forward, Adam made his way to their rendezvous point, hoping she waited for him as he directed. He didn't relish the idea of having to hunt for her. Lowering himself down the ladder, Adam felt a moment of relief at finding her there before the sensation fled. Her skin had a pasty green color, and she knelt on her hands as knees, looking like she was about to vomit.

He stepped toward her, and she screamed.

***

Rachel shook all over.

In her mind, she could see the blood spurting out of the dead man's throat. His blind, staring eyes, mocking her.

She shuddered, trying hard not to relive the scene, but failing miserably.

Her stomach heaved; if she didn't redirect her thoughts, she would throw up.

When Adam materialized in front of her, she screamed.

Lacking the energy to run away, she watched him warily as he cleaned the blood off his blade with the hem of his shirt, then sheathed it.

He looked so calm, so unperturbed. Her only indication he was not as he appeared, was when he took out his cellphone. He paced as he waited for his call to connect.

"Darius. Black speaking," he said, his voice clipped. "Listen, I need a clean-up crew at the studio. And a _taxi_." Rachel tipped her head to the side. Adam used the word taxi as if it were code for something else. "They blew out my car's tires." He stopped to listen for a moment. "Yes, they found me," he confirmed. "And a team needs to be dispatched to Zach's apartment; he might also be in danger. I'd go to him myself, but I—" Adam paused, then answered, "No. I left four of them inside and three on a roof. The last one turned tail and ran."

There was a longer pause this time. Rachel listened to the buzz of a second voice but couldn't quite catch what was said.

Then Adam spoke again. "I wasn't alone." He looked annoyed at the caller's response. "Yes, I know what you said!"

Silence and rumbles of the other voice followed, and Adam frowned. "Understood," he snapped and ended the call.

Adam walked toward her, and Rachel instinctively cringed.

Clearly searching for something to say, Adam eventually asked, "How do you feel?"

She looked up at him, licked her dry lips, and tried to hide the fact she might throw up on his shoes. "What... what do you think?" she finally managed to say.

"This is not how I planned for our evening to end."

"...no shit."

They stared at each other.

"Who are you?" Rachel dared ask after a long silence. "Those men... they called you _Hashashin_ ... What does it mean?"

Adam crouched in front of her, his expression serious, and she wondered how she had never seen the cold fire which burned inside them. "I am not authorized to tell you that, Rachel."

"Authorization? From whom? None of this makes sense, Adam. We're not in a movie."

He reached for her and slid his fingers along the side of her neck and down her shoulder. She froze, a shiver of dread zipping down her spine. If he genuinely wanted to kill her, nothing could stop him.

She felt a prick on her shoulder—right where a nurse would inject a vaccine—and Rachel realized too late it wasn't violence she should have expected. She gaped at him. "What did you—" Her vision wavered, and the world spun as if she rode a _Tilt-a-Whirl_.

Adam caught her as she fell.

"I got you."— _Not reassuring_ —"It's only a sedative, but it's necessary for now."

She grabbed for his arms and missed. Her numbed fingers slipped along the leather of his bracer. "Adam?" she slurred.

He cradled her in his arms. "I'm so sorry."

Darkness closed in around her, and she blacked out.

# Chapter 7

The sharp staccato of Patrick's footfalls grated on Adam's nerves as they walked toward the infirmary. "Mr. Alexander is here."

"Good. Any injuries?"

"Minor."

_Even better_ , Adam thought, and instead of listening to the litany of Zach's ailments, Adam studied Rachel in his arms. Her breathing seemed steady, and she was making soft whimpering noises as the sedative wore off.

Adam's focus snapped to Patrick when the man darted ahead of him and opened the infirmary door. Adam nodded his thanks as he passed, earning himself a small differential bow from the home office associate. Adam tried not to roll his eyes. He did his work like all the rest of the Order's employees, and he didn't think he deserved preferential treatment.

"If you need anything else, sir, let me know."

"Thank you, Patrick. That will be all."

Focusing on the medical room, Adam spied an empty cot and strode toward it, nodding to Zach and then the doctor as he passed them. After settling Rachel on its surface, he waved the doctor over. As she approached, he stared at her while trying to recall her name.

_Ah, yes._ Adam remembered her now. Dr. _Renee Wilson._ She had a peripheral involvement in his rehabilitation after his shoot-out in London. "Doctor," he greeted before leaving her with Rachel and joining Zach at his examination table. As he drew near, he noted the scratches, the blood on Zach's clothes which couldn't have come from his own wounds, and the visible swelling already threatened to shut his right eye. In a few hours, Zach would have an impressive shiner. All of it was indicative of a severe fight.

"Is she... is she hurt?"

Adam shook his head. "Sedated."

"Her vitals are stable," Dr. Wilson said, interrupting them before Adam could inquire about Zach's health. "You have been using the usual?"

"Yes. Order-issued."

"Good. She should wake up soon." The doctor lifted her gaze to his. Standing, she came over and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't go anywhere. I'll need to clean that," she added, pointing to the bloodstain on his sweatshirt from where the bullet had grazed his side.

Adam brushed her off with an "I'm fine." He could clean his wound later. Hell, it was barely a scratch; didn't even hurt anymore.

While the doctor worked on Zach, Adam tried to gauge his trainee's mental state. Zach stared back at him, his eyes haunted. Adam recognized that look; he'd seen it often enough on others. Adam didn't think he had ever sported it himself, though. Even as a teenager, he couldn't remember ever being fazed by the death of an enemy. At least, not the way most people seemed to be affected.

As a Hashashin, trained since childhood, he had quickly learned that hesitation—no matter the source—could mean death, especially while on assignment. The constant drills and training had removed almost all emotion at the idea of ending an enemy's life. The Order stressed that 'everyone's life was precious', but some had to die for the greater good, and he lived by that philosophy.

"You did well," Adam stated baldly. "You walked away while your enemy did not."

After a long silence, Zach finally whispered, "I didn't intend to kill him. I aimed for his leg, but he moved at the last moment and—"

Adam interrupted Zach before he could continue. "What have I told you? Disabling your enemy isn't enough. They will show you no mercy, and hesitation will get you killed." Zach looked away, and Adam sighed.

He should probably be finding something a bit more comforting to say right about now, but it wouldn't help Zach get over his ordeal. Thankfully, Zach's recruitment was for his skill at assimilating new languages and memorizing history and not for his fighting prowess. Zach's gift for languages wasn't a skill the Order saw often, and it meant the Order gladly invested the manpower to keep Zach—the asset—healthy and out of harm's way. It was one of the reasons why he was in St. Louis with Zach, after all, and not in Istanbul with any other recuperating _Hashashin_.

"Why did you bring her here?" Zach inquired. "She's a civilian. She shouldn't be here."

Adam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "She was with me in the studio when the Org's men attacked. She saw... everything." Zach's eyes grew huge, and Adam shrugged. They both knew the rules.

"What will happen to her?"

"I don't know," Adam replied unhappily. "Darius will be the one to decide." He didn't think Rachel would like her choices. Once again, he berated himself about not leaving her alone. If he had, she'd be safe and not about to become enmeshed in his world. Zach nodded once, but thankfully, kept his mouth shut and didn't offer any snide comments about Adam's latest mistake.

Dr. Wilson finished her medical ministrations to Zach and turned her focus to Adam. "Your turn now, Mr. Black. Hop on the examination table and let me look at your side. You can continue your discussion while I'm working."

Adam scowled at her. "I told you it was fine."

She pointed to a second examination table. "Now, Mr. Black."

Adam grumbled but complied.

As he sat down, he took off his hoodie and folded it. "Your t-shirt also, Mr. Black. Then, please lie down on your side and lift your arm," she said, stopping in front of him.

Silently, Adam pulled his shirt off and folded it as well before setting it down beside him on the table. He surveyed the damage. The bullet had barely bitten into the fleshy part of his left side, leaving a graze across the skin. "So, doctor, will I need stitches?" he joked, wagging his eyebrows.

"Lie down," she repeated. After a cursory glance, she confirmed, "No. It won't need stitches." She resumed treating his wound in quick and efficient steps. It was one of the reasons Adam respected her. Her minimalistic approach was refreshing, not to mention, her evident lack of hero worship. "You need to be more careful," she admonished as she finished placing a bandage over the injury. She patted Adam on the shoulder before walking away with the bloody gauze in her hands.

"Adam?" Zach said after a while. "Does... does it ever get any easier?"

For a moment, Adam thought about lying, but in the end, it was the same as trying to sugarcoat the situation: it wouldn't help.

"I don't know, Zach. I never had to think about it before." He shook his head and tried to soften his voice as he continued, "Life is precious, and the taking of it is a serious matter, but it is also something I have trained to do for my life. Being _Hashashin_... it's in my blood. Has been for generations. I simply have never known anything else." He sighed. "Frankly, I don't know if it ever gets easier. I don't remember a time when it has ever been hard. An enemy is an enemy. And enemies are to be removed."

Zach laughed humorlessly. "When I first met you, I thought it was so cool that you went on all those missions to kill the bad guys and that you were this badass assassin. But now... Now I think I might not be made for this."

"You were not recruited to follow me. Your job is language and history. Just because you have the courage and strength to defend your own life doesn't mean you should feel guilty about it. They are the ones who attacked you first; they are not innocent. We're at war, Zach, a shadow war, but still a war."

Zach looked down and nodded. Hopefully, what Adam had told him would sink in, but he was no psychologist.

As the conversation lapsed, Adam's mind switched to processing variables and existing data points. Why hadn't he been informed of the impending attack? And if the Order hadn't foreseen it, how did the Org manage to pull something of this magnitude off without the Order learning of it? The Organization's ridiculous idea of membership recruitment meant civilians of all walks—businessmen, politicians, military personnel, functionaries, or anyone else considered useful—were brought into their fold with barely a question asked. With that many loosely tied people, they always had information leaks. So, why didn't the Order have advanced warning this time?

The infirmary door burst open, and the Stratigos for the Midwestern United States stalked through. Darius looked pissed. He looked more than pissed; he looked about ready to explode. He stopped and glanced around the room, searching for Adam. It was only by the grace of Adam's many years in the field, facing enemies both big and small, that kept him from flinching when Darius's attention locked in on him from across the room.

Dr. Wilson paused in reading the chart she'd been consulting to greet him, "Good evening, Mr. Darius." After acknowledging his presence, she resumed her work in the ward as if Darius weren't about to rip Adam a new one.

"Zachary, a room has been prepared for you. You should go rest now," Darius ordered. "Please see Cynthia for an escort."

"Y-yes, sir," Zach squeaked as he stood. "Good luck, man," he whispered to Adam as he passed, which earned him one of Darius's deadly glares.

After Zach left, Darius turned that harsh expression to Adam. Adam didn't need to hear his superior's verbal storm. He'd already said everything to himself, but he refrained from sharing that tidbit with his mentor. Darius didn't take smartass retorts well, especially not at a time like this.

"Put your shirt on, Black. Report to my office in two minutes. Do not. Be. Late." Not waiting for an answer, Darius stalked out.

Adam sighed as he hopped down and walked over to Rachel's bed. Glancing to make sure Dr. Wilson was on the other side of the room, he crouched and took her hand. "I'm sorry I brought you into this mess," he whispered before kissing the back of her hand and placing it on her chest. One deep breath later, Adam stood and left the infirmary for Darius' office.

***

"Report," Mark barked when his phone rang.

"Unsuccessful," John replied. "Ten down. The two leads have reported back. No pursuit identified."

"Shit!" Mark growled, barely containing the anger in his tone. "How the hell, did Black overcome seven of our men? And for that matter, how did that runt of a teen dispatch three?"

"Unknown, sir. The leaders were not present during the initial attacks. We will attempt event reconstruction after the Order leaves the exercise studio and the dorm room. But by then, all evidence will have been scrubbed so our efforts will not be satisfactory."

"Find out what you can and call me back," Mark snapped, ending his call.

"Daddy?" a little voice asked.

Mark whipped around to find Liz standing in the doorway to his home office. Her hair was mussed from sleep, and she held her stuffed dog under her arm. Mark schooled his features. He didn't want to scare her. "Yes, sweetheart?"

"Are you angry, Daddy?" she asked. "I heard you yelling. Did Mommy do something to make you mad again?"

Mark pulled Liz into his lap to give her a reassuring hug. "Oh, no, sweetheart. There is nothing wrong. I received a message from work I didn't like. Do you want me to tuck you in again? It's too early for you to get up for school," he told her. He felt her nod in agreement.

"Okay, big girl. You know you are getting too heavy for me to carry, right? Do I need to put bricks on your head to keep you small forever?"

"Dad!" she said as she giggled at the joke.

Mark stood and carried Liz to her room. After tucking her in, he returned to his desk. Grabbing a pad of paper, Mark scratched out some notes on how to do damage control on this failed mission. He needed to figure out how to contain this news and spin it in his favor before the board heard about it. He had written down a few ideas when the gravity of the situation registered.

Black was still alive!

Wild-eyed, Mark checked the room as if Adam Black were about to burst from the shadows like the infamous boogeyman of his childhood. Mark wiped his clammy hands on his slacks before clenching them into tight fists. What was he going to do? If Adam Black knew who was behind the attempt on his life, Mark's own would be on the line. Again.

It took the family dog huffing at his feet to shake the panic that held his mind frozen. He spent the next hour before Liz had to wake, figuring out which operatives were in the St. Louis area and available for a surveillance operation. Black had to be stopped before he figured out what happened.

***

"Hello, Ms. Flanagan."

Rachel pried her eyes open at the sound of a woman's voice and struggled to focus on the blurry form of a blonde wearing a fitted Oxford dress shirt underneath a burgundy lab coat.

"My name is Dr. Wilson, and I'm here to make sure everything is fine while you wake up from the sedative. Sometimes we'll get someone with an allergic reaction, but your vitals are strong, so you don't need to worry about that."

Rachel inwardly cringed at the condescending tone all doctors seem to have perfected.

"You should be well enough to sit in a few minutes. I ask that you stay on the cot until I give you the all-clear. I don't want you falling and hurting yourself." She patted Rachel on the shoulder and walked away.

While Rachel waited for the world to stop spinning, she looked around the room. Eventually, her eyes came back to Dr. Wilson, who was standing by a counter and writing down some notes in a file. The woman noticed Rachel and smiled reassuringly. "Would you like some water or juice? You have to be thirsty."

Rachel hesitated, thoughts of drugged drinks flashed through her mind. But what would be the goal? She barely felt strong enough to sit on her own, let alone get up and run away, not to mention, Adam could have killed her back at the parking garage. "Juice. Apple, if you have it," she finally said, figuring a beverage was the least of her current problems.

Dr. Wilson disappeared behind a curtain, returning a few seconds later with a small juice box in her hand. She handed Rachel a plastic cup with some ice and the juice. "Let me take your blood pressure while you drink. You might be a bit groggy for a while yet, but that will wear off soon. Other effects can include vertigo and some emotional volatility, but don't worry, those effects are temporary." Dr. Wilson wrote down some numbers she read off the blood pressure machine. "Mr. Darius will be back shortly to talk to you about your options."

"My options?"

Dr. Wilson's expression turned from open and approachable to closed and sad. It made Rachel nervous. Who was this Darius? She searched for an answer. She remembered Adam talking to someone named Dar on the phone months ago and a Darius at the parking garage, maybe this Darius was the same person. But why did Darius need to speak with her? And what kind of options did he have to explain? Her mind simply refused to ponder the implications.

"He's meeting with Mr. Black now, but once he finishes, he will come and talk to you. In the meantime, relax, take a nap, or even walk around if you want. You are cleared to get up from the bed." She paused and then continued with, "If you need anything, push the call button over there. Someone on duty will come and help you."

"Thank you," Rachel responded.

Dr. Wilson left her side and tidied up a few things on the counter near the wall before she smiled at Rachel and left the room.

After several long minutes, Rachel finally felt stable enough to move. Slowly, she stood and set her feet on the door. With each step, her balance improved. Her mind, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. Thinking about anything was a challenge, and her lack of fear—or any strong emotion, really—was a sure sign the drugs weren't out of her system.

Rachel eventually reached the door and tried opening it. The handle wouldn't budge.

Locked? Why?

Unease prickled her skin, and Rachel shivered. Hospitals didn't lock people into their rooms.

The air in the room grew heavy, squeezing her lungs until Rachel feared she'd hyperventilate from the pressure. She had to get out. Now. She needed a key, a bobby pin, a lock picking kit. Something. Anything. Studying the room, Rachel immediately dismissed everything but the medical counter as useless. Curtains and cots wouldn't help her get out.

At the counter, she opened drawers and doors to all the cabinets, but nothing looked helpful.

_Maybe I can break a window and climb out_ , she thought.

She walked toward the closest window curtain and pulled it to the side. The reflection of light she'd seen under the curtain had been fake. There was no window. She flung open the second curtain and discovered it, too, was false. That meant her only exit was the door, the locked door.

Shit.

What were they planning to do to her?

If she couldn't break out... She shook her head, refusing to think negatively. She could fight her way out if she needed to. Returning to the drawer of medical equipment, Rachel grabbed a scalpel. She searched for another sharp weapon, but other than some hypodermic needles, there was nothing else she could use.

In the end, she settled for some small, completely useless, pointy scissors and positioning herself by the door. She wasn't sure how long she would need to stand there before this Mr. Darius arrived, but Rachel wanted to be ready to make a run for it when he did.

# Chapter 8

Adam stepped inside the sparsely furnished office and closed the door behind him. He stood at attention with arms crossed behind his back, hands clasped, and waited. Darius—his superior, friend, and mentor—stood immobile, looking out the tinted office window and into the night. The silence stretched inside the room. Adam was too experienced to start twitching as he waited, but still, he wished Darius would get started.

"I gave you an out, Black. Several, in fact," Darius said to his reflection. "The least of which was in the guise of two orders. I did everything in my power to prevent this from happening. And yet you still proceeded with this foolish course of action. Do you realize what you've done?" Darius asked, his tone weary and angry. "Do you realize the gravity of this situation? Of the position, you have put me in? I have _always_ protected you. Defended you when others wouldn't, and at great risk to myself, because I knew where your heart lay. Your rule-breaking ends now, Black. I can't keep putting myself on the line, no matter how much I respect your skills or our friendship."

Spinning, Darius slammed both hands onto his desk, rattling the laptop sitting there. "You acted like an eighteen-year-old novice, Black! I ordered you not to romance Rachel. Dammit, Black, couldn't you have waited? Couldn't you have petitioned _Antipolemarchos_ Valis first? You will face an inquiry. I cannot prevent it!"

Adam opened his mouth, but Darius stopped him with a violent slash of his hand. "No. I don't want to hear it. I don't want your explanations or your excuses. It's bad enough you went against my express orders. I hope it was worth it. Ms. Flanagan certainly won't thank you after she realizes the gravity of the situation your foolhardiness put her in."

"This was... We... I got carried away," he finally replied, knowing that, as a justification, it sucked. It also wasn't entirely accurate.

"You don't say," Darius snapped back. "She better believe that screw with you was the best one she ever had because you utterly destroyed her life for it."

Adam winced at hearing his misdeeds reduced to one crude statement. "But, we—"

"Do you understand, Black, why we have the rules we do?" Darius asked over Adam's contradiction.

"They are there to protect civilians and to hide our existence," Adam responded. At Darius's glare, he quickly added a "Sir."

"Do you think our rules don't apply to you? That they're simply there so Adam Black can break them anytime he wants?"

Adam gritted his teeth. "That is not it, sir." _...there's something about her._

Darius took a deep breath and sat down in his office chair. He steepled his fingers in front of his chest and leaned forward. "She will, of course, be offered the same choice they all are in this kind of situation."

"She could be sent back home," Adam interjected, knowing the suggestion wasn't an option, but feeling the need to try, for her sake if nothing else.

"Impossible. You know this as well as I." Darius pinched the bridge of his nose. "The rules are the rules, Black. You do not get to decide when to bend them. You need to take them seriously." Darius let his hand drop to the table with a loud smack. "I'll grant you, the times you've discarded the rules in the past worked out for the better, but you have to reevaluate your decisions." Darius scowled at Adam a while longer before he heaved a deep sigh. "You know her options."

"Choosing between death or a lifetime in what amounts to a gilded cage isn't much of a choice," Adam grumbled.

Darius fell silent, and once again, Adam waited. The rules governing Darius's decisions were strict, and Rachel's prospects bleak. Adam sincerely hoped she wouldn't choose death over a lifetime of seclusion.

"There _is_ one other option," Darius said after a long break in the conversation.

"Sir?" What other option? Then something in Darius's pensive gaze clued him in. A sensation, much like the one Adam had every time he succeeded in a mission, grew in his chest. "You'd let her join? Become a recruit?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I have my reasons," Darius evaded.

"How? That's unheard of. We don't recruit that way, not after seeing what Rachel has seen, and not without being vetted well in advance."

"I have my ways," Darius responded. "If she chooses to stay with the Order, you will take charge of her training unless and until I say otherwise. After the usual timeframe, she will be free to choose her headquarters and whether or not she ever wants to see you again."

Adam stared. "I really don't think me being her mentor is the best idea. After what she learned tonight—"

"This isn't open to debate, Black," Darius snapped, cutting him short. "You are the one who put her—who put _all_ of us—in this situation, and by God, I will make certain you remember that fact."

"Yes, sir."

"As for Rachel's fate," Darius said, pulling a file toward him, "She has some skills the Order can use. Her employment record shows she has potential in the programming field. I want you to make sure she chooses the option which benefits the Order and not the one where she is removed. Understood?" He finished with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes, sir."

"Good," Darius said and nodded.

Adam studied him for a moment, confirming the storm had passed, before he asked, "How did the Org find me? My current location isn't exactly well known."

Darius's expression turned weary, and Adam tensed anew. "I can't be certain yet, but some disturbing reports have come to my attention. In the past few hours, there have been several organized assaults against our London team."

Stepping closer, Adam asked, "What do you mean?"

"I don't know all the details yet, but it looks like we have a mole. _Lokhagos_ Hurston"— _Mitch?_ —"has gone missing and is feared lost. Current intel points to him as our leak."

"He wouldn't do that."

"Normally, I would agree," Darius replied, catching Adam's eye. "But the evidence against him is substantial."

"Evidence?"

"Yes, evidence. The reports I read on my flight here, stated the strikes all targeted _Lokhagos_ Hurston's agents. If he is not to blame, then why were all his _Hashashin_ targeted?"

"I don't know," Adam replied, shaking his head. "But, I refused to believe Hurston is behind this." Adam shifted his weight on his feet, itching to pace. "Mitch wouldn't have deflected. He would have taken his own life before breaking his confidences with his agents. Something else happened." Adam paused, realizing he'd given in to his movement impulse. He turned to face Darius. "What is Isaac doing about this?"

Darius shrugged. "He's doing what any _Stratigos_ in his situation would do: he's investigating his missing _Lokhagos_ and the deaths. Unfortunately, London lost most of its best _Hashashin_ in the attack, and there is no way to know at this point if more operatives will be targeted."

"How many are confirmed dead?"

"I don't have a final number, but what I do have is staggering. Four _Hashashin_ were killed in London, one in Italy, and three third-year novices tasked with escort duty."

_Damn._ Adam stumbled to a chair and sat. "Any injured?" he asked.

"Yes. Two. Both in critical condition," Darius replied, his voice strained. "But secure."

Eight dead and two injured? That was almost half of Isaac's force. Perhaps Adam should call. See if Isaac needed any help. Not that Isaac would be amenable to his offer, knowing him.

Darius raised his hand, forestalling Adam's next inquiry. "I can't send you to London unless the _Stratigos_ specifically requests your presence. You know this. I haven't briefed you on the situation only to see you tearing off after what might very well end up being a new enemy we know nothing about. You will wait for your orders, like any other _Hashashin_ ," he said, and then sighed again. "You're one of the best men the Order has, Black, but you need to use your head a little more. I don't want a repeat of London."

The muscle in Adam's jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth. The London debacle had been unprecedented. "I will wait for my mission orders," he responded curtly.

"Good. You're not alone in this anymore, Black. You have one, and hopefully two, trainees to look after."

Adam glared. "Is that why you assigned Zach to me? Well, apart from his safety and spying, that is."

"It's time you grew up, Black. The Order doesn't need a loose cannon, and mentoring Zachary should help you settle down a bit."

"But you do not deny he was your informant?" Adam asked, already knowing the answer from Darius's posture and what he didn't say but wanting confirmation anyway. Not that it would change things.

Darius smiled. "Comes with the territory."

"Ah. Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?"

Darius snorted and looked at his watch. "It's about time for Dr. Wilson to report on Ms. Flanagan's progress. Why don't you get some rest, Black?"

"Sir," Adam replied, acknowledging the dismissal.

"Oh, and, Black?" Darius called, stopping Adam's progress before he left the room. "Your sister is fine. Her boys are, too."

Adam gave a minute nod before he stepped out.

***

Time passed in a mess of sweat, shakes, and vertigo, but eventually, the lock on the infirmary door turned, and Rachel flattened herself against the wall where the open door would shield her presence.

Here we go.

The door opened abruptly, slamming into the wall inches from Rachel's shoulder and the biggest black man she had ever seen barged into the room.

"Ms. Flanagan," he commanded in a deep, calm voice. "Please put down the knife and scissors. I only wish to talk."

Rachel barely registered his words, her mind too busy trying to find exploitable weaknesses which would enable her to escape, but everywhere she looked, the man was covered in muscle. Deciding on a few moves from her self-defense class in combination with a few from aikido, she flew into motion. Within seconds, she was pinned in a straightjacket hold, her blades clattering to the ground.

"Ms. Flanagan," he chastised. "Desist, please. I don't want to hurt you."

Knowing the battle was lost even before it had begun, Rachel nodded and stopped struggling.

Releasing her, he said, "Thank you, Ms. Flanagan. Now, please have a seat."

Rachel backed into a cot and sat gracelessly.

"Ms. Flanagan," he began. "My name is Martin Darius, but please call me Darius. I am the Stratigos for the Midwest region of the United States for an organization we call the Order. Your companion, Mr. Black, has caused you—and me—a world of problems." Darius stopped and rubbed his brow before continuing, "Black is one of my top men, an elite field agent within the Order, and he—"

"A Hashashin?"

"Yes. _Hashashin_."

"What's a Hashashin?" Rachel asked.

"A Hashashin... I know the following explanation might sound fantastical, and you have no reason to believe me, but for now, I will need to be vague since you are not one of us."

Darius paused. "You see, Ms. Flanagan, the Order is old," Darius began, seeming to ignore her earlier question. Or, maybe he was answering, but obliquely. Rachel sat straighter and listened intently. "spanning almost a millennium, and throughout written history, the Order has fought for humankind's freedom. Now, you may be asking why I am telling you all of this instead of answering your direct question."

Yep.

Darius studied her a moment, perhaps to gauge her inquisitiveness, before he spoke again. "Black made a grave mistake when he pursued you, and now, unfortunately, you will suffer for his actions."— _Suffer?_ —"Trust me when I say I regret this, but the Order cannot afford to leave civilians outside the fold, knowing of our existence and able to talk about it, is impossible. You would be a target. Someone they wouldn't hesitate to interrogate."

Darius's explanation lacked sense, but part of it rang clear. He was threatening her. Finding her voice, she cried out, "I'll be quiet. I promise. I won't tell anyone about what I saw tonight!" Her eyes pleaded with him, begging him to believe her.

"Normally, when a civilian finds out about our existence," Darius said as if she'd never spoken, "we have two courses of action directly related to how they found out about us. First, if the civilian learned of the Order through making a nuisance of themselves, they are usually removed from the equation. In the second case—and this is much rarer—the civilian happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. In these instances, we invite them to live within the Order as a permanent guest.

"Yet, your situation is the rarest of all. Our agents are usually a bit more... circumspect in their actions and do not involve civilians for—shall I say—their more personal needs." Darius grimaced. "Usually," he said, "I would only be permitted to offer you one of the two previously mentioned options. You could choose to stay as our guest... permanently. Or you could choose the moment and means of your own honorable death."

_Death_?

"But, as I mentioned before, your case is a special one," he continued, forestalling any chance she might have had of speaking her mind. "Black might be one of my best agents, but he didn't follow normal protocol in his dealings with you. That reason alone should limit you to one of the two options currently on the table, but I do have one other one."

"What is it?"

"You can become an agent of the Order."

"An agent?" Rachel swallowed, shaking her head. "Like what Adam does?" _Nu-uh. No way._ She couldn't kill anyone.

"No. You would join us as support staff, in a position similar to Zachary's."— _Zach?!_ —"We can always use software engineers." Rachel's eyebrows lifted toward her hairline. How did Darius know this much about her already? She rubbed her sweaty hands on her thighs.

"If you choose the Order, as a permanent guest or employee, your former life will be forfeited: friends, family, job. To them, you will be dead. If you choose death," Darius huffed. It sounded a lot like an unhappy chuckle to Rachel. "Well, the result is the same. Again, it's your choice, but you must make a decision quickly."

"How quickly?"

"I can give you twenty-four hours."

Rachel stared at him in shock. She couldn't have heard him right. "Twenty-four hours?!"

"Yes, Ms. Flanagan," Darius said. "Hello, Cynthia," Darius added. _Cynthia?_ Rachel leaned to the side to see around the big man. Sure enough, a young black woman stood in the doorway. How had he known she was there? She hadn't heard anyone approach.

"Darius. Ms. Flanagan," Cynthia greeted, smiling tentatively at Rachel. "Your room is ready if you would follow me."

Rachel stood, but Darius stopped her with a hand to her forearm. "Please think hard about our offer."

"I will," Rachel replied, stepping around him and joining Cynthia at the door. Cynthia nodded and turned to leave, but Rachel remembered how Darius never did answer her question. "What's a Hashashin?"

"Good evening, Ms. Flanagan."

Rachel's shoulders slumped. "Uh, yeah. Good evening," she replied and followed Cynthia out the door. They walked down several hallways, around two corners, and entered one elevator for a ride up one level, before they stopped in front of a plain wooden door.

"Here is your room," the woman said, opening the door and handing Rachel the small card key. "There's a call button next to the door. If you need assistance or wish to leave your room for any reason, press it, and someone will be by shortly."

"Wait," Rachel said, latching onto the most disturbing fact the young woman had stated. "You're locking me in?" _...Again?_

The young woman frowned. "I'm sorry. I thought Darius explained it to you."

"Sort of."

The woman smiled brighter. "Great. Then you understand!"

"Uh." Rachel understood nothing.

The woman's smile faltered. "Guests can't be left alone."

"Oh, yeah. Sure." Rachel replied, backing into the dark space. "He did say that."

Cynthia followed Rachel's progress into the room, stopping at the threshold. Her fingers curled around the open door. "I hope your stay with the Order is pleasant." She paused as if waiting for Rachel to respond. When Rachel didn't, she added, "Good night" before closing the door and leaving Rachel in darkness.

For one heart-pounding second, Rachel thought she was back in Adam's closet. The bite of bile hit the back of her throat, and she tried not to choke as she swallowed it down. Her hands smacked the wall near the door until she found the switch. Light flooded the room, and she sighed in relief.

Turning on her heel, Rachel pressed her back to the door and surveyed the room. She snorted. It looked exactly like a hotel room. Non-descript. She marched to the window, unsurprised to find it was false exactly like the ones in the infirmary.

What the hell had she stumbled into? What was the Order? Some ancient sect? Some secret society like the Illuminati? She snorted. That thought sounded like something from a lousy summer flick. Rachel's head snapped up. _No_. What Darius's offer sounded like was some poor fangirl's Assassin Creed fanfic. She shook her head.

Life imitating art, imitating life.

Rachel sat on the bed and flopped backward. _What a mess_.

What wouldn't she give to go back a few hours to before the end of her class tonight and change her mind about cornering Adam for some answers.

"I wish I never met you," she murmured. Her heart cracked on the lie, and Rachel began to cry.

# Chapter 9

Rachel awoke with a start and found herself lying on top of the covers in a strange bed.

There was a knock at her door.

She frowned.

"Who's there?"

"Room service, Ms. Flanagan," a stranger said.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she had been denied dinner due to Adam's "attentions" and the subsequent attack. Still, she hesitated a long moment before replying, "Okay."

There was the sound of a lock turning, and the door opened to reveal a young man with a rolling cart. On top was a tray service with a shiny lid. He nodded in greeting and wheeled the cart into her room before turning toward her. "I'll be back in a little while to take care of the dishes. Enjoy your meal," he said, and left her room, locking the door behind him.

Rachel stared at the covered tray for a while before she walked over to it. The scent of eggs and bacon teased her nose first, but when she lifted the lid, she saw there was also a plate of toast, muffins, pancakes, and even some cereal.

How much did they think she ate?

"I didn't know what you would want for breakfast, so I had the chef make you everything from today's," Adam said from right behind her. Rachel squawked and dropped the lid. It clattered against the cart before landing on the floor.

Where had he come from? Rachel hadn't even heard the door open.

Adam stepped around her and calmly retrieved the lid from the floor before placing it under the cart. He then walked toward the small table and took a seat. "I hope you don't mind the plastic utensils. I hear you tried to jump Darius with a scalpel last night." He smirked slightly, seeming to find the notion amusing.

Rachel glared at Adam and, without a word, grabbed the plate of eggs and bacon. She dropped a slice of toast on top and picked a packet of jelly before joining him.

It wasn't until she'd ate half the meal that she thought about her newly found distrust in Adam, her situation, and Darius's ultimatum. She lifted her eyes and caught Adam staring at her.

"Have you decided?" he asked her with no preamble.

"Like I have a choice? Life or death, hmmm, what would you choose?" she drawled, dropping her fork to her plate and crossing her arms.

"There is always a choice. Sometimes, the choice isn't ideal." He paused and then continued with, "Most of the Order doesn't do... what I do. Zach is going to get a nice cushy job translating ancient documents in a dusty old library. Your skills with computers would keep you away from any of the front lines as well. No harm will come to you."

"Yeah, Darius mentioned something like that."

"I could even try to convince Darius to transfer you to a different headquarters, far away from me if you wished. You could live the rest of your life without ever having to see me again. If you work for the Order or become our guest, you will always have money and a place to live. Everything from your meals to your rooms would be provided." He ran a hand through his hair and gave her a look that was half pity, half apology. "You might not be able to see your friends or family again, but you will want for nothing."

She stared at him as his speech trailed off, anger building in her chest. "Those are _things_ , Adam. Not people. Not friends. Not Family! If I choose this," she said and waved her arm in a general encompassing motion. "I have to give up everything, even my job! Now, why would I ever want to do that?" Dragging in a ragged breath, she added bitterly, "Adam, why the hell did you do this to me? Why? For an easy lay? Anyone else could have satisfied that, that, urge. Why me?"

As soon as it slipped her lips, Rachel desperately wanted to take it back. In fact, she wanted to take the whole tirade back, but it was too late. She had said it, and now Adam's eyes had transformed into those dark, burning pools filled with shadows. His hand lifted from the table, and she launched herself from her chair in fear.

Oh, God. He's going to kill me!

She skittered back until her knees hit the edge of the bed. She sat down with a small "oomph" and rolled away to the other side, putting the bed between them. Adam, instead of following her, slowly raised his hands in a placating manner. "I'm unarmed. You can finish eating," he said to her and motioned to her plate. "Besides, I promise I won't hurt you."

Slowly, she straightened and rejoined him at the table, but she was no longer hungry.

"Believe me," Adam said. "I've heard it all from Darius. I fucked up. There is nothing I can do about any of it now. All I can do is help you get settled in this new life and make certain you are taken care of and protected. Without the Order, you will never be safe from the Organization—those are the men who attacked us last night," he said. "We're not preventing you from seeing your family and friends to punish you. As long as you are connected to them, they will also be in danger. The Org won't hesitate to use them against you.."

He sighed. "Truthfully, I hope you choose the Order over death, but in the end, it is your choice to make."

"How can you even say that with a straight face? That's not a choice at all," she replied, disgusted.

Adam shrugged, and at that moment, she hated him for not having an answer for her. "Darius will come back to ask you about it this evening unless you come to a decision sooner."

Rachel stared at him as he fell silent. She wanted to punch him, but would he hurt her if she did? Rachel didn't know.

Adam stood and walked toward the door. When he grasped the doorknob, she blurted, "What's a Hashashin?" She hoped he'd answer this time.

His shoulders drooped, and he addressed the door when he answered. "It means assassin."

And with that, he left her alone with her thoughts once more.

***

"What will she choose?" Darius asked as Adam joined him in the hallway.

Adam laughed bitterly. "You still pretending she has a choice? Even she can see that this 'choice' is really no choice at all."

"That's the way the Order has always operated. It may not be optimal, but it is a choice," Darius answered.

Adam shook his head before saying, "She'll choose to live; they all do." As he turned to leave, he mumbled, "I'm going to go hit the gym. I need the exercise."

***

_An assassin_. Adam was an assassin. Rachel sat in the small chair under an unadorned floor lamp, thinking about the last things Adam had said before he left her that morning. That revelation of what _Hashashin_ truly meant nearly obliterated everything else in its severity. Only one other fact topped it. Death or a new life within this... within the Order.

Rachel knew her answer, had since the moment her 'options' were presented to her by Darius in the hospital wing. She was going to live, but could she give up everything: family, friends, job?

Would it be like living in the Witness Protection Program? Only the "protectors" would be members of a deadly secret society? Her brows drew forward. _Or are they a sect?_

Abandoning the thought, she wondered if she had to wait the full twenty-four hours before Darius returned for her answer. She knew Adam had said she didn't need to. She toyed with the idea of simply giving her answer aloud, confident there had to be some sort of surveillance in place in the room, yet, she hesitated.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. Loudly, she called out, "Okay! I choose the 'I want to live' option! Now what?"

It only took a few moments before a knock on her door announced someone's arrival, but, before she could invite them in, the handle turned, and Darius poked his head into her room. "You've made your decision?"

"Yes."

"Follow me, then, Ms. Flanagan," Darius added, holding the door open further.

Swallowing hard, Rachel stood and joined Darius in the hall. He guided her to the elevator before sending them skyward. Near the top of the building, they exited and made their way to his office. Once inside, Darius indicated she should sit in one of the guest chairs.

On the desk, clipped in a neat bundle, were a few easily identifiable documents: a passport, a Social Security Number card, a driver's license, and was that a city library card?

Darius sat and pushed the documents toward her.

She plucked the driver's license from the desk.

Rachel Munro.

"Welcome to the Order, Ms. Munro."

_Munro._ She'd arrived only last night. How had they accomplished a new identity for her in that amount of time? Either they worked quickly, or they had known about her weeks before. But how? Adam hadn't shown any genuine interest in her until two weeks prior. Could they have been planning for her since the mugging back in November? Now that seemed farfetched, she thought. Despair clogged her next thoughts, _I guess I'm lucky to keep my first name_. _I could have ended up a Sally Blowhard_.

Tears threatened, and she let her hand fall to her lap. "How did I die?"

"You haven't yet," Darius replied.

Rachel looked up from the license. "I haven't?"

He shook his head. "In four days, you will die in a horrible car accident. You will drive your rental off an embankment near the bluffs, leaving behind an unrecognizable body. Identified only by falsified dental records." Darius nodded to a piece of paper, and Rachel exchanged the license in her hand for the new document.

Her name stared back at her—her _real name_ —coupled with a black and white photo of horrible quality dating back several years to when she first left home. The blood drained from her face, leaving her lightheaded as she realized she held her future obituary.

Car accident.

Would her parents believe it? Would Sarah? Both knew Rachel gave up driving after she'd totaled her clunker last year. The more Rachel thought about it, the less she believed Sarah would buy it. Rachel had had no reason to rent a car, not with Uber and Lyft in existence. Besides, she never went anywhere other than work, the Gateway studio, the dojo, or her home.

"Why don't you speak with Dr. Wilson?" Darius asked when she'd been silent far too long. "She can help you work through your feelings if you need to talk to someone."

Rachel refocused on him. His neutral expression didn't reveal much. Darius had delivered his earlier confusing overview of the Order—which had been far from comprehensive—with the exact same expression as her upcoming death. Was he even human? She had to wonder, considering his apparent lack of emotion.

She gave him a thin smile. "That won't be necessary."

"If you are certain," Darius said, managing to sound slightly dubious.

"I'm sure." Dr. Wilson hadn't seemed to be the most empathetic of women.

Rachel returned her attention to the obituary.

Car accident.

There had been a dog...

"Ms. Munro!"

Rachel's attention snapped to him.

Darius frowned. "Did you hear what I said?"

She shook her head, dispelling her memories. "No. Sorry."

"I invited your assigned mentor"—Assigned mentor?—"to my office; he should be here momentarily. He will help you settle into your new life within the Order. Now, if you'll excuse me," Darius said as he stood. "I have work to attend to elsewhere." He stepped around his desk and out the door.

Standing, Rachel meandered over to the window. She pushed the blinds aside, expecting the curtains to have been a façade, and found the window looked out over the city. From where she stood, she could almost see Adam's loft only a little over a mile away.

People walked the sidewalk, and cars moved along the roads. It looked the same as it had the day before and the day before that. She let her forehead fall forward to the glass, rattling it in its frame. It wasn't fair. Shouldn't the world miss her or something?

She sighed.

What now?

The door opened again behind her, and she pivoted to face the newcomer.

_Adam?_ He rubbed the back of his neck and gave her his charming smile.

Rachel scowled. Nope. That look wasn't going to work on her any more! "What are you doing here?"

"Darius told you I was coming." Rachel gaped. He was the one to help settle her into her new life?! That was rich. _He_ was the reason she was stuck here in this "life." "Since you already know me," Adam said. "Darius thought I would be the best person to—"

"No," Rachel barked, cutting him off.

Adam's smile faltered, then disappeared as she glared at him, her hands fisted at her sides, nearly vibrating in rage. Unable to keep her temper under control, she stalked over to him. With a deep breath, she reared back and punched him right in the jaw, her fist connecting with a satisfactory thud. She felt vindicated when his head snapped to the side.

He grunted and returned his attention to her. "I deserved that," he said.

"Good. Glad we agree."

After a long moment of silence, Adam asked, "Do you truly despise me?"

Rachel shrugged, her anger evaporating as quickly as it came. She didn't despise him, per se, but she didn't like him much right now, either.

"It's all right if you do," he added. "You're stuck with me for three years, but after that, you can petition Darius for a new headquarters to get far away from here. From me."

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around her torso. She'd already left her family, friends, and job, could she also leave her hometown? Rachel wasn't sure.

Returning to the window, she stared outside. Adam followed. Rachel tracked him by his reflection on the glass.

"It won't be that bad," he said. "Three short years, and then you can be free of me if you want."

Was that what she wanted?

Adam sighed. "I can't say this enough. I'm sorry."

Rachel nodded and wiped a tear from her cheek.

"Come on," he said. "Let's start your training."

Again, Rachel nodded and followed him out the door.

# Chapter 10

Adam didn't exactly hide from Rachel in the days after her induction into the Order. No, he simply... gave her some space, and aside from the required contact, he didn't seek her out. Instead, he spent his time with Zach or suppressed his urge to demand a deployment to London. Isaac's will be damned.

The wait for news—any news—was killing him.

One morning, a week after the attack at his loft, Adam called Zach to a sparring session in the sparsely furnished gym near the guest quarters. Now that Zach's eye bruise had faded to an ugly greenish-yellow and the swelling was down, he needed to get back to work. Training by himself kept up Adam's strength but did nothing for his reaction time. He needed a sparring partner. Even someone as inexperienced as Zach. Sure, Darius would have been better, and Ella more so, but neither was available, so Zach would have to do.

"Again," Adam barked.

They had already completed his usual warm-up combinations and some timed sprints and were now working on his standard routine. He missed his studio. This gym was not an adequate replication of an authentic fighting environment. "Use the walls, to get above and behind me," he coached after sending Zach to the mat for the umpteenth time. "Always use your environment to get ahead, even if it is a sterile room with mats on the floor and walls."

Zach made a noncommittal noise and stood slowly. Adam waited for a heartbeat or two while his trainee settled into a defensive posture. He launched a fresh attack and was seconds away from the killing blow when the door to the room burst open, and a child barged in.

"Darius wants you in his office," he announced, panting.

"Now?"

The boy nodded vigorously and pointed at Zach, "Him, too."

Adam nodded once. "We'll be there shortly," he told the messenger, before walking over to grab his towel and water from an out of the way corner. "Let's go find out what he wants," he said as Zach joined him at the door.

***

Rachel's boredom knew no bounds. At least when she'd 'been alive', she'd had books or her PC to fill her idle time. But here? Here the only thing for her to do was eat, sit in her room, exercise, or ride the elevator to the top story and stare out a window for hours on end. Hell, she didn't even have any official "mentee" duties yet.

_Maybe I should get something to eat_ , Rachel thought, playing with the cord ties of her sweatshirt, but she dismissed it with a sigh.

She wasn't hungry.

If only she could get a cellphone. At least then, she could play solitaire. Hell, even _training_ with Adam in the gym would be better than sitting here, bored and alone.

Maybe she would do that.

Train.

She smacked her hands against her thighs and stood. Her legs were restless, and she needed to move. Rachel left her room, took the elevator up to the top floor, and walked toward Darius' office intending to request a computer, eReader, iPad, or something to while away the hours, and then she'd hit the gym for some training. Stopping outside Darius's door, she rehearsed her request one more time before lifting her fist to knock. The door opened before she could, and it startled her.

"Hello, Ms. Munro. Please, come in and have a seat." Darius gestured for her to step inside. "What can I do for you today?"

How had he known she was there? Cameras? Her approach hadn't been that noisy. She checked the corridor's ceilings and corners but did find any closed-circuit cameras. With a shrug of her shoulders, she entered.

"I wondered if I could get some entertainment."

"Whatever you want—within reason—you can have."

"Really?"

"Yep. Name it." Darius held up a finger. "Be forewarned your internet usage will be monitored and, if need be, blocked." He shook his head. "And I can't give you a phone, land-line or cell."

"Why not?"

"Too much temptation," he replied. "We have found—for recruits, and reluctant guests, especially—that the need to send one last message to their loved ones is too great. Phones—in any capacity—are too much of a risk. You understand, don't you."

Grudgingly, Rachel agreed.

"Great. What would you like?"

"A PC and an eReader," Rachel announced after mentally amending her request. "I can use my library card for books, right?"

"Yes. And you can buy some, should you desire too. Your credit card works."

_Uh_ ... Rachel hadn't expected it to be functional. "Who's footing the bill?"

"The Order."

"So, I could buy shoes? New shirts?" She plucked at the simple sweatshirt she wore. "A gaudy Christmas sweater with actual working LED lights embedded into the weave?"

Darius chuckled. "Yes."

"Huh."

"But I ask that you hold off on that sweater for a little while."

"Why?"

"No place for you to wear it."

Rachel laughed. "I doubt it would be much use in training."

Darius smiled and inclined his head in agreement. "No 'ugly sweater' Christmas parties around here either."

"You don't practice Christmas?" That news was unexpected. Rachel figured a super-secret sect with "traditional values" would be hardcore Christian.

Darius shook his head. "As a group, we're too diverse. All religions are welcome within the Order, but none receive celebration for fear of alienating our members."

"Huh."

He shrugged.

"So, no holidays at all?"

"Not as you know them. But, we aren't all work and no play, Ms. Munro. You will find, you have plenty of time to relax, and no one will chase after you to get their dedicated 9-5."

"Yeah. Okay," Rachel said, curious. If no one worked regular hours, then how did the Order have enough money to pay for her future shoe collection?

"It was fortuitous you were outside my door," Darius said, drawing Rachel's attention. "It saved me the trouble of having to find you."

Not that she was particularly hard to find, Rachel thought with a grimace. She only had access to her room, the kitchen, the gym, and the corridor leading to Darius' office, which happened to have a window at the end of it overlooking the river and East St. Louis.

"Information?" she asked frowning. Getting information from him had, until now, been like pulling teeth despite his apparent goodwill. She had finally given up on receiving a straight answer to any of her questions.

"I'll explain everything once Zachary and Black get here. In the meantime, I wanted to take this moment to explain a few details about your present circumstances."

"Why now and not before?"

"I felt you needed time to get used to the situation first, Ms. Munro."

"Okay, fire away," she prompted, willing to roll with his answer, even if it was an excuse.

He nodded with a single twitch of his chin. "Typically, recruits and lineage children—that is, people like Black whose families have been a part of our society for generations"— _Generations?_ Jeez!—"already know all of this, but for your sake, I'll explain. As you are aware, the life of and Order agent is intense and dangerous. The three years you'll spend with an experienced agent will better prepare you for the challenges you'll face in the future."

"But why am I paired with Adam, then? You told me before I accepted that I wouldn't have to do what he does. I won't—I refuse to!" The thought of ever having to kill anyone turned her stomach.

"What Black does is specific to his duties as a Hashashin. That's not something we'll ask of you," Darius said gently. "Still, we try as much as possible to pair people like you or Zachary with operatives in the field, and sometimes even _Hashashin_ if one is available and interested. We wish everyone to have a rudimentary understanding of what these soldiers encounter, even if they never experience it again personally. It provides our support staff with respect for that line of work. It is easy to forget how exciting life can be on the front lines."

Rachel didn't particularly wish to be on the front lines of anything, not even as a trainee. "I don't have any other choice, do I?"

"No, Ms. Munro. You don't. This new life is what you chose when you accepted our invitation to join the Order."

Oh, joy.

"Were you also one of those _Hashashin_?" she asked, stumbling over the still unfamiliar word. Something in the way he moved and spoke about the position told her it was a possibility. How many people like Adam were there in the Order?

"Yes, until age and responsibility caught up with me." Darius smiled at her. "It isn't so bad here," he continued. "You'll get used to it. The insurance plan and travel opportunities are the best you'll find anywhere." His quip brought a wan smile to her lip, but she wasn't sure she found much humor in her current situation. Darius sighed. "Back to serious business, then?"

"I suppose."

"Well, then, this morning, I received a request from Isaac Haddad, a fellow _Stratigos_ , to send Black on a mission on this colleague's behalf. I agreed. This mission will consequently affect you and Zachary. Both of you will be deployed alongside him. I am giving you this advanced warning, due to your recent admission into our ranks. I understand that what we are asking of you isn't easy, but I hope you'll come to understand why we do the things we do."

Rachel gave him a skeptical look.

"Enter," Darius called out. The door opened and admitted Zach and Adam.

How had Darius known to do that? She hadn't heard a knock, or footsteps, or anything.

After they each took a seat, Darius spoke, "The Stratigos of Western Europe has requested Black's presence, and by extension, you two, in London."

"Finally," Adam grumbled.

Darius paused and gave him a dark look. "As I told Black a few days ago, the Order lost some excellent agents last week. These attacks are described as 'random' for now, but the sheer number of them and in such a short timeframe, has the Order searching for an intelligence leak. Additionally, London lost track of their _Lokhagos_."— _What's a_ Lokhagos? she wondered and vowed to ask as soon as an opportunity presented itself—"That, coupled with the fact that all the deaths were agents who reported to the London _Lokhagos_ , makes us suspect the _Lokhagos_ is probably our informational source. The Western Europe _Stratigos_ is, of course, extremely concerned. If losing _Lokhagos_ Hurston wasn't enough, one of the research scientists from Scotland went missing at the same time, and her transportation detail was found dead, stripped of their vambraces, the Org's typical calling card."

"Three third-year novices were eliminated?!" Zach interjected.

Rachel glanced between the three men. Each wore a deep frown.

Darius cast a look at Zach before returning his gaze to Rachel. "To answer your unvoiced question, headquarter staff, like our scientists, are usually given bodyguards if they wish to leave campus."— _Bodyguards?_ There was hope she could one day leave this bland office building. "Typically, headquarter staff lack the same training as our field operatives," he said, waving vaguely in Adam's direction, "and consequently they are provided additional protection whenever they leave. Often, our _Hashashin_ novices in their final year volunteer for the duty. This gives them experience in a more controlled and less dangerous environment than on a mission."

Rachel nodded. "What does a _Lokhagos_ do, exactly?" Rachel asked. "And why does his disappearance make you suspect him as the leak?"

Before Darius could respond, Adam answered, "A _Lokhagos_ is the leader of a group of _Hashashin_ connected to the _Stratigos_ of his region. Historically, before the Order assimilated our group, the position was called _Rafiq_ ; they reported to the Grand Master and relayed the master's orders to the _Hashashin_ under the _Rafiq_ 's leadership. After we were incorporated, the official job title changed, but the job requirements remain. The position still holds sway within the Order, and _Lokhagos_ have leeway to argue or ask for repeal on any deployment assigned to them or their men. This gives us some level of control over missions that have the potential of being suicidal."

Darius slid an envelope across his desk to Adam, who took it as Darius added, "You leave for London tomorrow on a one-forty-five flight." Darius gave Adam a meaningful look. "Be advised and take precautions. You have a layover in Detroit." He shook his head and said curtly, "No, Black, we will discuss that later."

"Wait. What happens once we get to London?" she asked, looking from Darius to Adam.

"The Stratigos will brief you upon arrival." Darius's reply didn't reassure her they weren't being sent to England to dispatch the leak, assuming, of course, Adam found him.

"You are dismissed. Good day and good journey to you all," Darius said and indicated they should leave. Not needing to be told twice, Rachel stood and hurried out of the office with Zach following more slowly. Adam brought up the rear and slammed the door to Darius's office shut as they exited, leaving Zach and Rachel in the hallway.

What was that about? She glanced at Zach and saw the same question written in his eyes. In an unspoken agreement, they both leaned toward the door to see if they could eavesdrop.

"What is it this time, Black?"

"I will be faster without them. How can I help Isaac if I have to take care of some green trainees to complete my assignment?" After a moment, she heard a grudging, "Sir." Then Adam continued, "Remove them from my care. At least for the duration of this mission. You know I work best alone."

"Working alone is a cop-out, Black, a defense against past mistakes. I will not allow you to hide behind your excuses, on this mission or in the future. You have to learn to keep a level head when there is more at stake than just your hide," Darius replied.

Cop-out? Past mistakes? She studied Zach's expression for a moment and noted the slight sadness in his eyes. She vowed to ask him about this 'past mistake' later since he had known what Darius referenced.

Darius went on, "You know the rules, Black. Trainees follow their mentor for three years to gain this experience. Zach will be an asset, he has proven this is so only last week, and from what I have seen—and experienced—Rachel will be, too. This is no longer up for debate. You will take your team and leave tomorrow for London. I'm sure Isaac will be _pleased_ to see you."

That sounded ominous. Why would Isaac be unhappy with Adam's presence? Hadn't Darius repeatedly said how much of an asset Adam was to the Order? Something didn't add up.

Thudding footsteps drew near, and Rachel and Zach barely had enough time to right themselves and took a step back before the door was wrenched open in front of them. Adam glared at each of them and pushed past forcefully, leaving Rachel and Zach to gaze after him.

# Chapter 11

"Why are we flying commercial instead of a private charter?" Rachel asked Zach.

They were loitering in the shade by the airport's entrance while they waited for Adam to finish handing their one piece of shared luggage. Glancing at Adam, Rachel tugged at the cord on her hoodie while she listened to Zach's answer.

"Many reasons," Zach murmured. "Circumspection, for one. Finances, for another."

"But D.," Rachel said instead of using Darius's name as he'd instructed before they left, "said I could have anything I wanted. Wouldn't that mean there's virtually unlimited funds to draw from?"

Zach cocked his eyebrow. "Uh, why do you think he"—Zach said with a twitch of his head in Adam's direction—"had an exercise studio?"

"Practice," Rachel replied, though, by Zach's tone, she knew her assumption was wrong. "To keep up his skills and yours," she added, but Zach shook his head.

"That's just the skill he knows he can sell legally. He doesn't like being a burden, and having the studio let him support his rehabilitation and gave him a monetary outlet in aiding the O's bottom line, so that they, in turn, can fund us." Zach pointed to himself and then Rachel as he paused to glance around. Rachel mimicked him, remembering she was supposed to help watch for danger. "Every dollar he made in profit and not used on survival, he funneled back to the O. He didn't keep a cent more than he needed."

"Really?"

Zach nodded. "Picture Communism—the way the ideology intended, and not the actual application of it—where everybody has what they need, and there are no rich, and there are no poor. _That's_ what it's like to be in the O as a full member."

She adjusted her carry-on backpack on her shoulder as she contemplated Zach's statement. "If finances are like that, then why did D. offer me anything I could want?"

"What did you ask for?"

"A PC and an eReader."

"And he said?" Zach prompted.

"Sure."

Zach nodded. "Anything else?"

Rachel frowned. "Some clothes. Shoes."

"And what would you do once you had these new shoes and clothes?" Rachel's frown deepened. "You can't go anywhere—no dance clubs or anything—you don't even work. So, what would be the point of the items?" She tugged at the cord of her hood. "It's a self-regulating system," he added. "The PC makes sense. You can use that for work or fun. The clothes don't. A few purchases like those, where you never get to use them? And the problem of you over-spending, or over-collecting goes away. Poof!"

She didn't know what to say, but it didn't matter, their time to chitchat was up. Adam had finished his task with the fast check-in employee and was on his way back to them. With a nod, he said, "Let's go."

Once inside the airport, they bypassed the long lines at the security checkpoint and headed straight for the Fast Pass line. As she set her carry-on bag on the conveyor, she snuck a peek at Adam. He seemed entirely at ease as he did the same, and she didn't know how he did it. If she had a wicked blade stored in a secret compartment in her bag, she'd be as red as a Washington apple and as emotionally wrecked as a fish caught on a hook. In short, security would know something was up.

She glanced around guiltily, hoping her very thought hadn't alerted any of the TSA.

No one paid her any attention, and at the other end of the security conveyer line, she retrieved her bag of clothes and toiletries and stepped away from the hub of activity, hoping her blush would recede before anyone noticed it.

Returning her attention to Adam, she found him conversing with a TSA agent who had his bag open and was peering inside. Her pounding heart skipped a beat before returning to a frantic tempo. Then the TSA agent laughed at something Adam said, and he glanced her way. When Adam noticed her watching, he winked.

She swallowed back a curse. "You think they found it?" she whispered to Zach as he joined her.

Zach shook his head and adjusted his bag on his shoulder. "Nah. Just his usual charming self."

Rachel grunted and looked away, fearing her over-zealous staring would alert security to something wrong. She crossed her fingers. She didn't think it would be possible for Adam to get away with smuggling in his blade, but when he cleared the line a moment later with no issues, she grudgingly admitted the false bottom of his bag—which he swore had been insulated against the digital x-ray machines and built in such a way that the TSA would miss the spatial disparity—had worked. Rachel sighed in relief. Hopefully, his blade would stay concealed in that pouch for the duration of their flight.

"We're down there," Adam said, walking off in the indicated direction with Rachel and Zach following.

Five minutes later, the three of them were at their concourse, finding seats against a false wall, and settling in. While Adam and Zach studied harried passengers, Rachel retrieved her book from her bag. She set her carry-on on the floor at her feet before reclining in her seat, craving saffron water for her frayed nerves. Leaving Adam to worry as he saw fit, she popped open her book and began to read.

Time passed, and eventually, the wait for their flight ended. As their plane arrived at their terminal, she turned to Adam and Zach and announced, "I'm going to hit the lady's room quick. I'll be right back." Adam appeared as if he would refuse her request, but she ignored him and walked off. A girl had needs, and she didn't want anyone following her to the bathroom.

***

"No" was on the tip of Adam's tongue, but he managed to refrain. Unease tapped a strange metronome in his chest, and although he hadn't confirmed it yet, he was sure his trio was under surveillance by the Org. He felt their eyes, like the sting from a wound after a blade had made a slice in your skin.

_There! And... There_ , he identified two men eyeballing Rachel as she walked away.

"We're being watched, aren't we?" Zach asked quietly.

Adam barely nodded his head in agreement while he kept scanning the crowd, searching for the remaining culprits. When he found them, he said, "There are at least four. Two are tracking Rachel, and the other two are wandering around, pretending to be passengers. There might be others on the airport grounds, but we've been here long enough that they would have been called to this location if it were true."

"What do we do now, A? This is a public place. We can't cause a scene; we'll be arrested for sure."

"We hold," Adam replied. "The 'watchers' don't look like they are going to act anytime soon. I believe they are part of a recon mission. We're going to have trouble when we get to Heathrow. Might even have a problem in Detroit, but I'll be armed by then."

Adam glanced at Zach, who swallowed nervously but nodded, not saying a word.

"Isaac will have supplies waiting for us in London," Adam reassured him. He flipped his cell phone open long enough to send a short, encrypted text to Isaac at HQ. With some luck, Isaac would send a team to dispatch the Org's agents waiting for them, and if not, at least he would be aware of the situation and leave the usual "package" for them.

Adam turned his attention back to the women's bathroom door, waiting for Rachel to reemerge. He didn't think she was at risk while inside, but he wanted her back beside him where he could protect her. He couldn't forget the fact the Org wanted her alive, and now would be an easy time to take her.

Finally, almost ten minutes later, Rachel reappeared, and Adam reaffirmed his suspicions about the two men when they surreptitiously trailed Rachel's movements as she came back to Adam. When she had traversed half the distance, Rachel glanced at one of the agents, and Adam's heart skipped a beat. If she recognized them as being Org men... Well, it would complicate things. But then, she smiled, dismissing the agent with a shrug, and Adam exhaled slowly.

Rachel hadn't given their game away.

***

"Daddy?" Liz inquired.

Mark shifted his focus from his report to his daughter. "Yes?"

"Can we watch a film after you check my work?"

"Not tonight, sweetheart. Daddy has work to do, and I must feed you. Are you almost done with your math?"

"Almost," she said and smiled before turning back to her task. Mark ruffled her hair and returned to his work.

He typed a few clarification questions related to the raw data he'd gleaned from his captured Order scientist. Under the influence of the NOM, Dr. Fiona Greer had eluded to new DNA research conducted by the Order. What she had outlined aligned with Mark's ideas and goals for the NOM, and he wanted to include her findings in his report to the council.

Mark grinned smugly.

The NOM had proved even more reliable and useful than the Organization first imagined. There were hints the device did more than serve as a 'truth serum.' The interrogation of their prisoners had proven that the NOM altered behaviors, rewired attitudes, and ultimately even changed personalities. Luminations marketed it to scientific journals as the best cure for depression, psychosis, and other ailments of the brain. No more psychiatrists! One or two treatments from the NOM and all your neurological problems were reduced or gone altogether. This new technology would revolutionize the medical community. The NOM offered what he always suspected: the power to control the human mind. The benefits of it would be astronomical.

"Daddy? I'm done. Can you check my work?" Liz asked, drawing Mark out of his brooding.

He smiled at her and took the sheet of paper from her hand. He was so proud of her. Not only was she doing well in school, despite the disturbances of the last two years, but her efforts in learning the piano were paying off. She'd performed in a recital earlier that week and had done so well the program director had pulled him aside to discuss her lessons. He had explained that her talent should be cultivated and asked Mark to think about enrolling her at the music conservatory next year.

Mark had to give it to his ex-wife. She had been right in her assessment of Liz's musical skills. He was pleased that, at least, her request for additional child support money did indeed go to pay for something more worthwhile than the tart's clothing and shoe habit. Liz was worth every shilling, as long as she—and not her mother—received the monies.

It was too bad that children needed mothers. Otherwise, Mark might have fought harder to keep Vicky out of their lives. Permanently.

Mark's mobile buzzed in his pocket. He worried the very thought of the woman's name had conjured her into calling him. _Impossible_ , he chided silently and answered the phone.

"Sir?"

"Yes, John?"

"The team captain in St. Louis reported in. He's at the airport."

Mark blanched. If Black was at the airport...

"His trainee and the woman are with him. They have tickets for London. Their flight leaves in two hours. I checked the flight number at the terminal where they are waiting. One layover. Detroit. An hour and fifteen minutes after takeoff."

"Duration?"

"An hour, sir."

"Understood," Mark replied, glancing at his watch. _Three hours._ That didn't leave him enough time to put a "welcoming party" in place for their Detroit landing. Besides, there was no reason to believe Black would sit and wait at such a prominent location where anyone could see him. "If anything changes, I want a report immediately."

"Yes, sir."

So, Black was on his way back to London. Was it a coincidence, or did he know who was behind the attacks? Regardless, Heathrow—and not Detroit—would be a perfect place to eliminate Black. _Home turf, as the saying went_ , Mark thought, smiling.

There would be no mistakes this time. Mark wanted Black gone.

***

_Every damn time!_ It was as if the airports deliberately reduced his sightlines with throngs of unmoving bodies, and Adam needed to be able to see now that they were on the ground. His breath hitched, and he forced it steady. Emotions were useless here. Adam had to find his calm center before his frustration could take hold.

Finally, the three of them were free of the Heathrow Customs queue, and as they entered the main terminal, Adam glanced around the concourse. He needed to determine what they were up against—find his contact and get them out of there—but he couldn't do that if Rachel stood right next to him. She'd ask too many questions, and he didn't have time for a leisurely interview. Adam needed them on an errand. "Zach, Rachel, can you go buy some coffee and snacks or something?"

"Yeah, okay," Zach grumbled. "I could go for a bagel."

Adam didn't watch them leave. Instead, he studied the crowd.

Where are the Org men?

There was a zero percent chance of the Org's absence here in Heathrow. Especially since their layover in Detroit had been free of all enemy combatants, it had been unexpected, unprecedented, and it had set Adam's nerves to jangling for the duration of their flight. His gaze swept the terminal, and his intense scrutiny found two Org soldiers disguised as laymen with an inordinately high interest in Zach and Rachel's movements. _Who else?_ Another scan of the terminal's exit highlighted another individual loitering suspiciously. _Three._ That meant a fourth man couldn't be far. The Org always sent four-men teams. The question was, how many units did the Org have on the concourse?

Movement caught Adam's eye, and his gaze landed on a lone man heading toward the bench-like chairs ten feet away. Adam's attention didn't drift as the man hung up his cell phone and sat down. He adjusted his jacket's lapels, opened a book, and started to read. Adam spied a small rectangle of red on the right side of the stranger's collar. He quickly identified the design on the lapel pin.

_Isaac's man. He must be from another region,_ Adam thought. A field agent, not a Hashashin. Adam didn't recognize him.

Adam casually walked in front of the seated agent.

"Adam!" the man exclaimed, setting his book aside. Standing, he enveloped Adam in a bear hug. As they pounded each other on the back in friendly affection, he said in a quiet voice, "What did you do, Black? The place is teeming with Org men. Five in this room alone."

"I survived," Adam replied tersely.

"Ah. Well. We weren't expecting this many." The man broke the embrace, and said in a conversational tone, "Hey, you have time to catch up before your holiday?"

"I have a few minutes, yes."

Adam led the other Order agent to a sheltered spot beside the small shop where Zach and Rachel were finalizing their purchases. Both men put their backs to the wall and leaned against it in false casualness before they continued their chat.

"I have a car for you with the usual," the man said as Adam kept an eye on the entire waiting area. "But I don't recommend using it. Isaac never imagined from your text it would be this bad, or he'd have sent in a team. By now, the Org's certainly planted a bomb on the car, and you're going to be toast if you take it. The goods should still be in the trunk and intact, though," his contact said and handed him a car key. "Get the package from the trunk and make your way to the northernmost corner of the long-term parking garage. Camera there is out completely, courtesy of a friend. There are a few cameras still sending legit signals to the security office, but the rest are on a loop until we get the all-clear from you."

They paused to survey the room before the man continued. "The car is on the second level. I trust you to get to the third floor without using the normal methods. Isaac needs you to be on camera, seen walking in like a civilian so he can pull strings should things end bloody. That corner doesn't have stairs and is used the least because of its distance from the exit. With so many agents outside, you're going to draw their attention, especially if you don't take the car. There were two stakeout vehicles when I left, and there may be more by now."

"What about you," Adam said with concern.

"I'll be fine," the agent said with a shrug. "They don't want me. They only have eyes for you." Adam grunted noncommittally. His worry was not assuaged. "Lastly," the contact added. "after one look around here, I requested the 'high profile' clean-up crew. You have about twenty minutes, tops, before it gets exciting. Good luck to you and yours. Safe journey."

As Adam went to shake his contact's hand, the contact pulled him into another bear hug, before sauntering away. None of the Organization's men batted an eye as the contact passed. The contact hadn't been kidding when he said they weren't interested in him.

Zach and Rachel joined him a moment later. "You have a plan?" Zach asked.

Adam nodded and pushed away from the wall. "Let's go."

# Chapter 12

Rachel knew something was wrong. She had known the moment they had stepped off the plane, and Adam had not so surreptitiously placed her between Zach and himself. He expected trouble. But then, why had he sent them off to buy snacks, when earlier that day, he'd barely allowed her a trip to the bathroom unattended.

Adam had to be overreacting.

Probably.

Hopefully.

"Come on, Rach," Zach urged. He sounded tense, entirely on edge. Maybe Adam wasn't overreacting after all. She looked around them, trying to identify the cause for their alarm. Unfortunately, the most dangerous thing she found was an aggressively colored shirt on a fellow American as he stood at the baggage claim.

Rachel slowed. Speaking of baggage...

"Can you walk any faster?" Zach murmured, grabbing her by the sleeve, and pulling her past the passengers congregating near the luggage conveyor belts.

"Yeah. Okay." She picked up her pace as she followed Adam and Zach out the airport doors, across drop-off lanes, and into the parking garage. They bolted up to the stairs to the second floor where Adam led them down an aisle, and she didn't notice he was hitting the car lock button on a key fob until a black sedan chirped in response. They strode toward it, and Adam opened the trunk to put his bag inside. With barely a pause, he grabbed what appeared to be the same bag again and slammed the trunk shut.

Wait. What?

"Evasive maneuvers. North corner. Third floor. Go," he ordered.

Zach crouched and, using the cars as a shield, ran to the corner Adam indicated. Rachel followed him. At the specified ledge, Zack hopped up onto the concrete barrier, grabbed a drainpipe spanning the open space, and climbed. Rachel reached the same corner seconds later and followed Zach without prompting. She kept her gaze firmly up and tried not to think of the drop. At the top, she hopped off the rail and moved out of Adam's way as he vaulted over the edge behind her.

"I want you both to head toward the elevators. Walk slowly and calmly—Remember, you're on holiday, so try to speak with excitement and not fear. The goal is to appear as if we recently parked and are heading to the airport for our flight."

Zach nodded, gave a little tug to Rachel's elbow, and turned to implement Adam's instructions. "I hope we can visit the Statue of Liberty while we're there."

"I've seen it," Rachel replied, playing along. "She's big, green, and wears a tiara."

They'd traversed half the distance to the elevator before there was a squeal of tires at the end of the row, and a car came barreling toward them. The driver slammed on the brakes, stopping a few feet away. Rachel expected a gun when the driver's door opened, but instead, a long cylindrical object came flying toward them. It hit the ground at their feet.

"Go! Now!" Adam ordered as thick, white smoke poured out of the contraption.

Zach grabbed Rachel's hand. "We need to get farther away from the gas, or we'll be incapacitated," he said through his sleeve, covering his mouth.

"But Adam—"

"Has far more experience than either of us at staying alive in these conditions. Come on, Rach."

Zach pulled her away from the fumes, but before they could make any progress, the passenger door of the stopped vehicle flew open.

"Duck!" Zach yelled as he shoved her between two cars.

Landing hard on the pavement, Rachel scraped her hands and knees. Her backpack, unsettled by the rapid motion, smacked her in the head and her chin to the pavement. Wincing, she scrambled on hands and knees toward the gap between the car bumpers as bullets whizzing through the air.

"What do we do?" she asked, only to realize Zach wasn't beside her.

_Where did he go?_ Rachel's heart went for a trip to her knees and back. For an instant, panic rooted her to the spot, but then, adrenaline spiked, sending her back into motion a moment before two bodies, locked in a struggle, landed beside her. She lurched to her feet, ready to kick the man choking Zach only to be tackled from behind. Rachel went down a second time.

Twisting and turning, she slipped out of her backpack's straps. As the bulk fell away, she escaped her attacker's grip and hastened to stand, but before she could hop over Zach's fight and get away, her attacker threw her bag at her back, unsettling her. She stumbled, and her attacker recaptured her before she could fall.

The attacker yanked her backward as Rachel kicked him in the shin and thrashed in his arms, but he didn't let go. Instead, Rachel felt the sharp edge of a knife as it pressed into her ribs. "Don't make me hurt you," he whispered in her ear as he brought them both toward the waiting car.

She made herself go limp as she paused, hoping he'd think her cowed. If she played this right, she'd treat him exactly like that mugger from a few months earlier.

"Let her go," Zach said as his form coalesced out of the smoke haze. Where was Zach's attacker? Had Zach killed him? Zach appeared to be alone, and his hands were out, waving in a placating manner. _Wait? What is he doing?_ "She's just an innocent civilian." Zach tensed.

_No_! Rachel wanted to yell. He was about to ruin her opossum routine by sacrificing himself! All she needed was a few more seconds, but before she could act, Zach attacked. His snapped side kick caught her assailant by surprise, and the move succeeded in freeing her. Zach grabbed her hand, and they backed away as her attacker stabilized himself against a car hood.

Behind them, someone coughed. A bullet whistled past, and Rachel and Zach dropped to their knees.

"Org's car. Now," Adam barked as he stepped over them. Rachel squealed at his unexpected appearance. The assailant, who had been chasing them, pivoted, legs tensing, ready to run. He didn't get a chance to take a step. A second later, Adam was on him. A single, strangled cry of pain proceeded the man's death. He crumpled to the ground at Adam's feet.

"I said," Adam began before bending at the waist with a deep, laborious cough.

"Adam?" Zach asked, hurrying toward him.

"Get in the Org's car," Adam gasped between coughs. He shoved something in Zach's hand. A gun, Rachel determined from its silhouette.

Zach,d once again, offered to help Adam, and this time Adam took it. Rachel followed them to the attackers' abandoned vehicle.

"Rachel, you drive," Adam said, his voice sounded as if he'd swallowed cut glass.

Had he gone insane _?_

" _What? I_ can't do that!" She'd kill them all in an accident, for sure.

"Rachel," he called, and she met his gaze. "I can't see enough to drive right now." His eyes were red and puffy, and clearly, his vision was impaired. "And I need Zach—who's been training years longer than you have—to help me should this dissolve into a gunfight."

Rachel set her shoulders and nodded before sliding behind the wheel. Adam and Zach climbed into the back seat. Her palms were icy and slick with sweat.

She had to do this.

She would do this.

She could do this.

Fresh tire squeals dragged everyone's attention to the rear windshield. A second car stopped, and a gun emerged from the passenger side of the vehicle. A gunshot echoed, and Rachel flinched. _Oh, shit, shit, shit_!

"Drive!" Adam barked.

She didn't need to be told twice.

Rachel stomped on the gas pedal.

The tires screamed.

A bullet blasted through the windshield and itself in the dash right next to her.

She jerked and scraped the front passenger side panel of their car against a parked car's back bumper. "Sorry!" she yelled, correcting her trajectory. At the end of the aisle, she took the corner too fast, throwing everyone to the side when she whipped around it. "Sorry!" she yelled as she drove the car toward the exit ramp.

As they spiraled down, the Organization's second car followed them. At the bottom level of the garage, she drove toward the gate. There were pay-booths at the end of the aisle, and all of them had their barrier bars down. Rachel slowed. What should she do? She didn't have any money on her, and no parking slip.

"Rachel now isn't the time for scruples," Adam snapped from the back seat. "Go through them!"

Rachel cursed under her breath. She floored it and drove toward the closest gate, shattering the wood barrier bar into bits and denting the front hood of the stolen car. Her windshield cracked as debris pummeled it.

Rocketing out of the garage, she wanted to scream 'which way?!' but she knew already. _London_. She needed to head to London.

Gripping the steering wheel tightly, the leather squeaking in protest, Rachel accelerated down the exit lanes while simultaneously trying to follow the roadside signs overhead and watch the car pursuing them. The attackers were gaining on them, yet she feared going faster on the airport roads. The traffic provided too many opportunities for an accident. Getting in a fender-bender wouldn't help them escape. Her gaze flicked to the rearview mirror again, and she watched in dread as their pursuers drew closer.

Finally, she saw an opportunity. Speeding up, Rachel crossed the double lines and swerved in between two trucks. The maneuver earned her several honks and a few rude gestures.

Rachel licked her dry lips, relieved to have some traffic between her and the attackers' car.

Flashing lights and sirens in the oncoming lane, caught her gaze, and she watched as several police cars drove past on their way to the airport behind her. Her heart skipped a beat, but they gave no heed to her battered vehicle or the fact she drove too fast.

"Isaac's diversion?" Zach inquired.

"High profile clean-up."

_Clean-up?_ What did he mean, clean-up? On second thought, she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

"Airport will be closed for several hours, at least," Adam added.

She caught a glimpse of more emergency vehicles—police, ambulance... _bomb squad_?!—as she made the final turn toward the M4 highway.

Weaving in and out of heavy morning traffic, Rachel made sure to change lanes frequently if only to put one more car between them and their pursuers. Now that she was on the highway going the same direction as everyone else, she felt better—more in control.

Glancing in the review mirror, she watched as Adam—who had finally stopped coughing—took a swig from a water bottle Zach had purchased earlier. After his drink, he used some of the remaining water to soak a clean t-shirt from either his or Zach's pack and pressed it over his inflamed eyes.

"Anyone following?" he asked, his voice muffled by the fabric.

"Yes, a few car lengths behind us."

"Go faster."

"I can't go faster."

"Yes. You can."

Rachel swore as she stepped on the accelerator. She kept an uncomfortable tab on the speedometer as it went up: seventy-five, eighty-five, ninety-five miles per hour. Her underarms were drenched in sweat. Her shirt stuck to her ribs. She wanted out of the car, off the highway, and as far from this mess as she could get.

"Still behind us?" Adam asked.

She flicked her gaze to the rearview. "Right on our tail," she confirmed.

"What exit—junction—is the closest?" Adam demanded. "What was the last one?"

Rachel stammered, "I don't know... 'A' something. A32... no A312, but that was a distance back."

Adam caught her gaze in the mirror. He sported the same burning, focused look she had encountered in the loft. It meant he was thinking about another dangerous plan. "Rachel, listen to me. You're going to have to cause an accident."

"What?! No!" Rachel's vision wavered, reseeing the shadow of a dog running across the street and the feel of car tires as they fell off the road and onto a gravel shoulder. Before she could prevent it, she jerked the wheel hard, swerving into another lane and earning a honk from a driver she displaced. She suspected that wouldn't be the last time someone honked at her today.

"Rachel," Adam said as if she hadn't twitched the wheel hard enough to make him brace his weight against the door. "Up ahead, there is a junction where we'll exit, but we need to slow the Org down first. Slam on the brakes, decelerate twenty or so miles per hour, then gun it and change lanes. Repeat until you can leave the motorway. I want you to collect as many panicked drivers between us as you can. Otherwise, this won't work."

He's crazy. He's insane! Did he want her to kill them all?

"Do it," he said again, prompting her to drop the complaint forming on her lips.

Rachel glowered at Adam in the rearview mirror. If they survived this, she planned to give Adam a piece of her mind.

Slamming on the brakes, she followed the consequences of her actions to her fellow drivers in the rearview mirror before accelerating and repeating the procedure. Each time she braked or changed lanes, more traffic piled up. There had to be several accidents on the highway behind her by now.

"Exit," Adam barked, and Rachel swerved, earning herself a few more angry honks from irate drivers. Once on the ramp, Rachel slowed. The feeder street was even busier than the airport roads and left no room for maneuvering.

She checked her rearview mirror for the umpteenth time.

"Anyone following?" Zach asked.

"No." She heaved a sigh of relief. "No one is behind us."

"Good," Adam replied before he broke out in a fresh round of coughing.

"Adam says to turn left," Zach prompted.

"At the light?"

Adam coughed.

"No," Zach said. His arm thrust between the front seats to point. "There. Turn left there."

Rachel swore in exasperation, already too close to the side street to make the turn safely. She gripped the wheel harder in irritation and turned on her blinker. She checked traffic and swerved to her left at her first chance and received a honk for her trouble.

One more lane.

This time, she managed to find a kind soul who let her over in time to take the turn.

"Now what?" she asked between gritted teeth when she had to stop at a median to wait for incoming traffic to use the one-way lane before she could continue.

"Keep going. We're almost to the cross street," Adam wheezed. His voice sounded better, and he didn't burst into another fit of coughing immediately after speaking.

"Where are we going?" Rachel asked.

"We'll ditch the car at the park. You'll have to turn right at the next street to get to the entrance."

She drove for what felt like forever, but probably was only half a mile from the feeder street. Rachel kept checking the rearview mirror, worried that their pursuers would reappear behind her. She wanted nothing more than to stop somewhere and get out of the car. Her hands hurt from gripping the wheel so tight.

As soon as the trees on her right thinned and houses started to dot the side of the road, she grew concerned. "Adam? Did I miss the turn?"

She heard rustling in the seat behind her and assumed Adam was looking around to get his bearings. "No, we're entering Brentford. It's a little farther."

"Okay," she said, only somewhat reassured.

Sure enough, moments later, she came to an intersection.

Across the street, a sign pointing right announced the upcoming Gunnersbury Park Museum. A park. They had to be close, she thought in relief. After checking for traffic in the wrong direction—twice—she finally felt comfortable crossing the intersection and turning right.

She drove past several row houses, fretting some more about missing the turn into the park. It seemed as if they were never going to get there.

Finally, she spotted the entrance. At first glance, it looked like nothing more than a jogging path, but the arrows indicated she should turn. After a few more feet, she saw the small parking lot and pulled into the first available space.

She took a deep breath.

She wanted to cry.

"We get out here," Adam said. "Zach, wipe down the interior. Anywhere and everywhere we may have touched. Rachel, give him a hand; I'll take care of the outside of the vehicle. Don't forget your hood."

Rachel nodded and turned off the engine, hands still shaking. For a moment, she simply sat. After she calmed herself a little, she wiped down the steering wheel and gearshift with the edge of her sweatshirt. When she finished, she contemplated her work. Frowning, she wondered if she had she erased all her fingerprints? She had no way to know for sure, and she had no time to dwell on her thoroughness since Zach and Adam were already out of the car.

She threw the door open and cast around for her purse, before remembering she didn't have one. Not only that, but she'd lost her carry-on backpack with her spare clothes and toiletries as well. Rachel swore as she clambered out of the car, wincing as she gained her feet. She had been so tense the entire chase, that now her muscles protested all movement. Delayed by stretching her arms and legs, Rachel had to jog to catch up to the two men. Tentatively, she inquired, "Where are we going?"

"The Underground," Adam answered. "Busy, lots of commuters, foot traffic. I'm pretty sure we left the Org behind, but this will confuse the trail even more."

"And after that?"

Zach answered her, "Isaac. We go see Isaac."

# Chapter 13

Now that Adam and his team were safely ensconced in the London safe house waiting on Isaac, he felt free to reflect on their earlier escape. It was a miracle they'd made it out alive with little more than some aches and pains.

Adam swallowed back a sigh and glanced at Isaac's door.

He hurt, and all he wanted to do was take a shower, but Isaac hadn't seen them yet. He knew that when they did, he'd get an ear full from Isaac about how much damage they left in their wake, but he was hardpressed to care. If Isaac had wanted less of a mess to clean-up, he should have sent in a bigger team to help extract them.

He glanced at his hands. They shook slightly, and he pressed them to his thighs. Apparently, he also needed to visit the infirmary to get the gas he'd inhaled purged from his system. Adam swallowed hard. He hated the infirmary almost as much as he hated waiting on Isaac. The shagging pillock.

What was taking Isaac so long? Adam wondered if he had enough time to run to his room for some painkillers before Isaac consented to see them. He dismissed the idea immediately. It would be precisely like Isaac to pop out of his office the second Adam left. Instead, Adam glared at the door. Surely the _Stratigos_ of Western Europe wasn't as busy as he let on. Isaac had plenty of minions at his disposal, all ready and willing to do his bidding, so why was he making Adam and the others wait for over an hour? And Adam wasn't the only one annoyed at the delay.

At his side, Rachel had long since dropped any pretense of patience. She was now furiously tapping her foot against the thick pile rug covering the hardwood floor of the renovated Victorian building. Additionally, she drummed her fingers on the arm of the chair, sighing repeatedly. Any minute now and she'd burst from her seat and personally go pound on Isaac's door, demanding an audience. He had to admit. He couldn't wait to hear her reaction to Isaac. Or better yet, Isaac's response to her. It was going to be epic. The thought brought a chuckle, which lit his throat with fire, and he had to swallow past the pain.

A solid click of a door hasp disengaging had the three of them swiveling their heads to find the source of the sound, and a familiar face appeared around the door jamb. "Adam," Isaac said, his tone cold and aloof as usual.

_Arrogant. Imperious. Haughty._ Isaac hadn't changed much in the past two years. Would it have killed Isaac to be a little friendlier? A "Hello, how the hell are you? Is this your team? Good to meet you! Glad you're alive." Adam had to remind himself, he wasn't here for a visit, but because he was a Hashashin, duty-bound to serve, and because he'd received a direct order from his own _Stratigos_.

"Isaac," Adam greeted in return as he and his team stood. He looped the weapon-filled backpack strap casually over his shoulder as he joined Isaac.

Isaac's gaze swept the group. He included everyone when he said, "Please join me in my office."

The three of them followed Isaac across the foyer and entered the luxuriously decorated room. Already familiar with Isaac's routine, Adam found a comfortable spot and planted his feet in front of Isaac's desk. He set the bag of weapons retrieved from the Order's getaway car to the floor and adopted a parade rest stance. A moment later, Zach copied him. Adam bit back his smile as Rachel, stone-faced and furious, cocked one hip to the side, foot resting loosely against her ankle, and glared at Isaac.

_Oh, this is going to be good_ , he thought, ready for the fireworks her personality was sure to light in this office. Isaac wouldn't know what hit him.

Adam returned his attention to Isaac and waited.

"The BBC reported on some excitement at the airport," Isaac said with a pointed look at Adam. "A knife fight broke out on the third floor of the car park, and a car ended up set on fire."— _Heh, so that's what happened_ —"Some 'concerned citizen' called the emergency services, and the subsequent uproar from the incident closed the entire airport down."— _High profile clean-up to the rescue!_ —"Things still haven't returned to normal." Isaac made sure to catch and hold the gaze of each member in Adam's party before coming to a rest on Adam. "I also heard an erratic driver in a tan sedan caused an eight-car pileup on the M4, causing traffic to back up for several miles. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Isaac asked, his voice clipped and annoyed. "Where did you leave the Org's car?"

"Gunnersbury Park," Adam answered, knowing that _this_ question had been Isaac's point the whole time. The sarcastic ribbing had been a bonus.

Isaac nodded, picked up the phone, and barked to whoever answered it, "Destroy the car. Gunnersbury Park."

During the exchange, Rachel had studied Adam and Isaac. Her gaze bouncing back and forth as if she watched a tennis match, and Adam figured it wouldn't take her long to figure out the truth. Well, the other truth. It didn't take much more interaction with Isaac to know he was a prick.

Isaac dropped the phone back into the cradle and leveled one of his stern warning glances at Adam. Adam tried not to roll his eyes. That look hadn't worked on Adam since he was ten and still sought Isaac's approval for everything. "You always did like to cause a scene, brother," Isaac added in disgust, and Rachel sucked in air sharply. _Or, Isaac could announce it and ruin all my fun_. "Was this one big enough for you?"

Adam considered Isaac, who was frostier than usual today, but Adam had expected that. They weren't on the best of terms on a good day, and today wasn't a good day.

"Brothers, eh?" Rachel whispered to Zach.

"Yeah," Zach agreed. "but they don't get along at all."

"Really? I would never have guessed."

Adam tried not to snort at her snarky reply. "What information do you have?" he asked, keeping his voice neutral.

Isaac's annoyance bled through when he answered, "There is no doubt the Org is involved."

"Proof?"

"Of sorts," Isaac replied. "We received an unnamed encrypted file from our contact. The details are chilling. The decrypted report categorizes and details the ten successful strikes and mentions our two injured men." He scowled. "And before you ask, Marco and Dimitri not only survived the attack but are healing as well."— _Good_ , Adam thought—"Gwen and Daniel are on location with them now, assessing the situation. I have confirmation that Marco eliminated the Org threat to himself before he lost consciousness. Dimitri injured two of the four Org men sent to kill him."— _Then why did he survive? What happened to the other two?_ —"He is in a safe location in Johannesburg, recuperating." Isaac sighed in irritation. He sounded more aggrieved than worried, but then, Adam amended, Isaac always sounded that way.

"I promoted Ella to _Lokhagos_ in Hurston's absence, and Simon is currently in the complex,"— _Awesome, he's here_ , Adam thought and fought the downward turn of his lips—"helping her. Nicholas has been deployed to Romania to investigate a possible new cache of supplies."— _Another one?_ —"I do not have enough agents available to watch the known Org operatives here in London plus do all their other duties. Mark"—At the mention of that name, Adam's expression darkened. Could this "Mark" be his old target?—"Yes, that Mark," Isaac confirmed, giving Adam a pointed look. "—has resurfaced."

If Mark is involved...

"He bought an expensive apartment"— _Big surprise, not._ —"and made himself at home. He now works for Luminations Corporation. Regretfully, they remembered the consultant who brought them their main source of profit"— _Of course they_ did.—"and extended him a warm welcome when he came out from hiding. Our awareness of this was when an agent noticed him at a press conference last week. He's changed some details in his general appearance along with his last name, or we would have noticed him sooner. I sent a report to _Polemarchos_ Sadik,"—Adam scowled at Isaac. That was unlike his brother to be so sloppy. The _Polemarchos'_ name should never be used in front of novices, trainees, or anyone without the proper clearance. His identity had to stay a well-guarded secret—so secret, that even those in the know didn't say his name without good cause—"requesting permission to eliminate him, as he is a proven threat."

Isaac fell silent, glaring at Adam without acknowledging his mistake, and began pacing the room, with his hands clasped behind his back. Adam wanted to call him on the name dropping, and probably would have if it had only been the two of them in the room—if for no other reason than to get a rise out of him—but with Rachel and Zach present, it wouldn't be the right time to show insubordination. Besides, he didn't want to draw any more attention to the name in case the others missed the significance.

Coming to a stop, Isaac faced Adam. "I wouldn't have to do any of this if you'd done your job like you were supposed," he snapped.

Adam frowned. "We went over this before, Isaac." His brother's barb was calculated to make Adam lose his calm and, Adam assumed, was directly related to Isaac's slip a moment before. He refused to accept the challenge presented.

The Stratigos leveled him with a cold sneer. "Another discussion may be in order. In any case, we have three suspects."

"What about the kidnapped people?" Rachel asked, sounding as if she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer. "The scientist and the general?"

" _Lokhagos_ ," Zach whispered the correction.

Isaac shook his head. "Their status is unknown, but the chances of finding them alive are low. We will continue to look, of course, but have found no trace of them." Isaac's answer surprised Adam. He hadn't expected him to reply.

Rachel shuffled from foot to foot behind Adam while she came to grip with the probable death of the two Order members. "But..."

"It isn't likely," Adam told her. She needed to let go of her false hope.

Isaac resumed his pacing. "I have teams watching surveillance videos and intercepting correspondence, but I need more evidence." His expression turned sour. "With your presence, here," he said, leveling a pointed look in Adam's direction. "I hope to shake them up a bit." Isaac turned and leaned on his desk, hands pressed to the top. He lifted his palms from the surface, resting his weight on his fingertips. Heat and moisture signatures around Isaac's fingers fogged the polished wood and gave away his physiological reaction to their conversation.

Interesting. Isaac was more worried than he let on.

"I will not let the death of those agents go unpunished," Isaac continued, and for once, Adam could sympathize. The Order's rules were strict. No blind retaliation. It kept the bloodbath between the two factions to a minimum. Unfortunately, it also meant Isaac needed iron-clad proof that the Org was behind the hit before he could do anything about it.

"Hopefully, it won't take long, and we'll have the evidence we need to dispatch this threat." Isaac paused to give Adam a once-over. "You are aware of your mission?"

Adam nodded slowly. "Darius briefed me right before I left."

"And?"

"Make myself seen. Stir up as much shit as humanly possible; do whatever I'm asked," Adam replied. "But keep my trainees out of it. This mission is too dangerous for them."

When he had first received his orders, Adam had been eager to comply, ready to remove the threat to his fellow assassins, and keen to go back to active duty. Darius had pulled him aside right before they left and informed him of what Isaac had requested. Baiting the Org was dangerous and foolhardy and seemed a waste of _Hashashin_ skills. Adam would do it, but it still rankled.

Isaac was about to answer when Rachel blurted, "Wait... You want Adam to be bait?!"

"Rach, hush," Zach chided, and at the same time, Adam replied, "Yes. It's not an unheard-of tactic in such a situation."

"But that's..." Her voice rose as she said, "Sending your brother—"

"With all due respect, Ms. Munro," Isaac snapped, "you have been privy to the existence of the Order for what, a week?"

"Eleven days," Rachel grumbled.

"You have no idea what we're up against," Isaac continued as if she hadn't spoken, "and no say in the matter." Dismissing her, Isaac addressed Adam, "Now, if you would please send your trainees out, we can continue this discussion in private—"

"No, I'm not leaving," Rachel announced, and Zach barked a laugh, which he quickly squashed with a cough. "I want to know more about this... this... threat. Maybe if we use our heads, we won't need to use Adam as bait." Rachel took a quick breath. "You said there were three possible suspects."

"Yes."

"Tell me about them."

Isaac straightened, hands clasped behind his back. He quirked an eyebrow but otherwise gave her a disapproving look. "Which one."

"I don't know... Start with your most likely suspect." Adam snorted, and Isaac glared at her. When Isaac didn't reply, Rachel folded her arms over her chest and tapped her foot. "I'm waiting."

Isaac glanced at Adam, and Adam shrugged. He had no intention of raining in Rachel. Her courage, stubborn nature, and level-headedness impressed him now, while facing his irate brother, just as much as it had at the airport. It would have been easy to panic at the idea of driving at breakneck speed in rush-hour traffic, especially in an unfamiliar city and with some sort of anxiety against driving, but she had stayed firmly in control despite her fear.

Isaac sighed. "Option A is Mark, who we know—" Adam quirked an eyebrow in silent question as Isaac, in an uncharacteristic move, began explaining his thoughts in detail. Isaac shrugged as if the shrug answered everything, and Adam supposed it did. Rachel and Zach had to learn about the inner workings of the Org sometime, might as well be now, "—has access to the kind of resources required to mount such an operation. Option B is an Organization Council member who has recently moved into the area and now resides north of London. He also has access to the resources necessary for a strike of this magnitude. Lastly, option C is an Abhay Kulkarni. A young man, born in the United States but raised here in London, who is slowly making his way up through the ranks. This attack might be a bid of his to gain notoriety amongst his superiors. It's hard to say at this point. We have very little information about him."

Adam pondered this for a moment. _What are the chances of Mark being behind it all?_ The simultaneous attacks had his high-profile signature all over it. Patience was never Mark's strongest trait and one of the reasons the Order targeted him in the past.

"Why do you think it's this Mark guy and not the Councilor or Abhay?"

"Because it fits with his usual method."

"Mark isn't subtle. He tends to use hammers instead of scalpels for solving his problems." Adam addressed Isaac with his next question, "What has he been doing? Why did he reappear?"

"Mark?" Rachel inquired, to which Adam replied, "Yes."

Isaac huffed. "Mark has been quickly rising through the ranks of Luminations Corp., a medical equipment and research company, on some very advantageous technology." Isaac put enough emphasis on those last two words for Adam to frown. Did Isaac suspect some new alien technology had found its way into a legitimate enterprise? Something worse than the alloy? Adam wouldn't put it past the Org or Mark. Introducing that technology to the business sector had been Mark's old job, after all.

"What kind of technology?" Rachel blurted, sounding puzzled.

"Dammit, Black," Isaac exclaimed. "Get control of your trainee."

Achievement unlocked.

Adam caught Rachel's eye and gave her a quick shake of his head and a wink, but he knew his censure would go unheeded. He loved needling Isaac, had done so for a better part of his life, and now he had Rachel's help. Adam tried not to smirk. For her part, Rachel nodded as if she understood his reprimand and would comply, but her eyes glittered, and Adam knew she hadn't finished being a thorn in Isaac's side.

"A few years ago," Isaac resumed. "the Org worked to release a special alloy into the medical market, using a carefully selected small company called Luminations Corporation. It made their fortune. We don't understand what is in the alloy, but we do know the Org's archaeologists discovered an unknown compound from a cache they control."

"The ancient technology," Zach chimed in, earning him a glare from Isaac to which he ignored. "was usually buried in caves with collapsed entryways or entombed in shrines."

"Zach," Isaac said, his tone clipped and cold in reprimand. "As far as we can tell," Isaac continued. "they managed to blend this compound with naturally occurring earthbound metals and minerals to create a strong but flexible composite. It will bond to whatever it is added to, regardless of if the reinforced material is synthetic or natural, including other metallic and non-metallic alloys, fibers, skin, and bones. Our inattention has cost us, and now Mark might well want to create a big enough distraction to keep us from paying too much attention to his activities at Luminations."

"But that compound sounds useful," Rachel interjected. "Why wouldn't the Order want that in the world?"

"Because, Ms. Munro, we are unable to prove it's innocuous. This alloy, most assuredly, has other uses not currently unexplored. Otherwise, the Org would not want it. We need to study it. Learn its nuance. Experience has taught us, for every benefit found in the hidden technology, there is something sinister at work."

"What are they using this alloy for then?"

"Luminations Corp. has been marketing it as a new and improved way of fusing bones. They tout its usefulness to people with skeletal diseases or severely broken limbs. The documentation claims people with spine problems will benefit the most due to the flexible nature of the alloy. I've seen it repeatedly bent in half without breaking. The demonstration is disturbing. Luminations claims the eradication of spinal fusions, and they are selling it to hospitals for this purpose. It wasn't until they sold the alloy wholesale to other industries that their profits increased exponentially. It turns out the alloy also makes for a perfect solder material: both light and an excellent conductor. This is worrying news. What else is it capable of doing? Already, electronics companies are snapping up the alloy in record numbers. Luminations is unable to meet demand."

As only silence followed this explanation, Rachel once again took the lead and asked, "And what about the other guy, Abhay?"

Isaac sniffed, another sure sign of annoyance, and Adam fought down a smile. "We possess little information on the man, other than his slow gain in prestige inside Progress' headquarters here in London, virtually nothing is known about him."

"Progress? Sounds familiar," Rachel said, humming to herself. "Isn't Progress the electronics company whose new line of smartphones surpass the signal range of anything else currently on the market?"

"Yes. We're not sure what the Org's stake is in all this, other than moneymaking, but something devious is at work. Progress uses the same alloy Luminations has patented in their products, and this is too big of a coincidence not to be a concern. This alloy has to have a secret purpose."

"Okay. Yeah. What else does Luminations Corp. do?"

"Elaborate."

"A big corporation like this one doesn't stop once it has managed to put something good on the market. What's on Luminations' horizon? What do they want to introduce in the next few years?"

"Their research and development department is always busy, but nothing stands out right now."

Adam could almost feel Rachel's frustration behind him, fighting down his smirk became even harder.

"You said a few minutes ago, that the Order should have been watching Luminations more closely. Have you checked their recent filings or stock documentation? Sometimes they list new products in those releases," she asked.

"Privately held."

"But if they are in the business sector, then the records are traceable. I'd be watching government paperwork: patents, regulations, even tax breaks."

"That's fine, but it will not help us determine guilt."

"Um," Rachel said, clearly hedging.

Dismissing Rachel, Isaac returned his focus to Adam. "Our situation here is dire, and I need the best the Order has to offer. Naturally, your name came to mind, since my entire surviving force is either recuperating or on missions, and right now, you are my last resort."— _Gee, thanks. Love you too, brother_ —"Seeing as Ella rejected my request to have Simon deployed locally."

"Why?" Rachel inquired.

"Instability."

Rachel glanced at Adam. He shook his head in response at the same time as Zach murmured, "Let it go, Rach." For the second time today, Adam wanted to avoid addressing old hurts.

"Okay," she said, clapping her hands together and rubbing. "What can I do to help?"

And with that question, Adam saw Isaac's patience expire. Isaac's lips thinned as he pressed them tight together in displeasure. Isaac had never been all that good at being a mentor. He could lead, but he couldn't teach. "Your services are not needed."

"But Darius—"

" _Stratigos_ Darius is not here," Isaac said, cutting her off. "And despite _Stratigos_ Darius's best intentions, he does not know what I do or do not need. You will sit. You will be quiet. You will stay out of the way, and you will do as told. Is that clear?"

Rachel opened her mouth to retort, but before she could, Zach interjected a "Yes, sir."

"Good," Isaac said and put his phone to his ear once more. "Cynthia? Please come to my office to escort our guests to their quarters." He hung up the phone with more force than necessary before leaning against the desk and resting his weight on his hands. The four of them stood in silence for several heartbeats before there was a knock on the door. "Enter!" Isaac barked.

Cynthia, _Hashashin_ Kyle's teenage daughter, employed as an office aid, stuck her head into the room. She smiled at Zach and then Adam before pushing the door wide. "Mr. Black! Mr. Alexander!"

"Cynthia," Adam replied to her exuberant greeting.

"Cynthia," Isaac snapped. "Please take Ms. Munro to the central wing"— _The guest hall? What are you doing, Isaac?_ —"And Mr. Alexander will get the room next to Mr. Black."

"Yes, sir," Cynthia replied. Adam half expected her to curtsey. She turned to Rachel and Zach and addressed them next, "If you will kindly follow me," she said, inviting them forward. "I will show you to your rooms."

If Rachel had been wearing a skirt, she would have rustled it aggressively as she swept from the room with a huff of irritation, her back ramrod straight. Zach snickered but followed her out without further discourse.

Adam turned to face his brother.

Isaac ignored him.

Instead, Isaac jotted a note on the pad of paper residing next to the phone. "She needs a guard. I don't want her to have free reign of the compound," he murmured, almost as if he forgot Adam were in the room with him, except, Isaac would never be that absent-minded. No, his statement calculated to hook deep as another barb.

Adam debated the merits of responding. Unwilling to let it go, and half hoping to prevent more frustration on Rachel's behalf, Adam offered, "She is already comfortable with Zach. Have him do it."

Returning his censuring gaze to Adam, Isaac asserted, "Not good enough." He tapped his pen on his desk. "But, Grace will do."

_Grace?_ Grace was Ella's third-year _Hashashin_ novice, and, as of last week's attack, the last of her generation stationed in London. As Adam thought about it, Isaac's reasoning became clear. The new task appointment would keep her safe inside while also not advertising her need for confinement. It wouldn't work—any mildly intelligent third-year would figure out the ruse immediately—but what was the point in telling Isaac? He would ignore the advice since anything less than her full house arrest wouldn't fit his overall vision.

Finally, Adam spoke, "If you insist on keeping Rachel tethered to the safe house, let her research Luminations and Progress. Who knows, she might even find something we don't already know. If you were to give her the case file—"

"No," Isaac said. "Who is to say she won't make a mistake and cause more trouble than she's worth? It's bad enough _Stratigos_ Darius decided to recruit her in the first place. But to turn her loose on the compound and give her internet access for a foolish research project? One that our men and women have already conducted? Unacceptable."

"She doesn't need babysitting," Adam tried again. "She's faithful to the Order. I'm sure of it."

"Why are you sure of it? Hmm? Because that's the fastest way into her knickers?"

The crass statement infuriated Adam, but he tried to keep his expression calm. "No. She has proven her loyalty repeatedly since becoming a recruit. She's calm under pressure, hasn't voiced any complaints that would lead me, or Darius, to believe she would turn traitor and cause a problem. Besides, if you don't give her something to do, she will most certainly end up causing trouble. She's not the type to sit meekly in her room, but if you give her a PC, she'll entertain herself with her search and stay out of your hair and off your radar for several days."

"Fine," Isaac grumbled. "But I still do not trust her." Isaac waved his hand in dismissal. "Go and prepare. I will alert Ella about Grace's new mission."

Adam nodded, turned on his heel, and left his brother's office.

# Chapter 14

Cynthia, a tall red-headed girl, opened the door to a room on the second floor of the middle wing and waved Rachel inside. "Make yourself at home, Ms. Munro," she said. "Mr. Alexander, if you will follow me—"

"I know the way," Zach said, cutting her off. "I'm going to wait with Rach. Make sure she's settled. You understand."

"Very well, Mr. Alexander. If you need anything..."

Rachel didn't bother listening to the rest of Cynthia's statement and, instead, stepped into her room. It looked a lot like the guest suite they had used after their arrival earlier that morning—old and faded—like a hotel room well past it's prime. She sighed and checked the corners for cameras. She didn't see any. Maybe she was finally safe from the Order's all-seeing eye.

She blew a raspberry. _Fat chance on that_ , she thought.

Turning, Rachel eyed the recently closed door. _No_ keyhole. But that didn't mean there wasn't a lock preventing her from leaving. She shook her hands, letting them flop about at her wrist, and then waved her arms in a desperate bid to rid herself of her tension. It didn't help. Her skin nearly vibrated with her agitation. Not only did it make her limbs tremble, but it made the skin between her shoulderblades itch as well.

Zach watched her in silence for several minutes. "You okay?" he finally asked.

She grumbled something unintelligible about bait, asshole brothers, and locked rooms with nothing to do and nowhere to go. Again.

With a sigh, Zach responded to her grousing, "Both Adam and his brother," Zach went on "are bound by a ridiculous number of rules that define every decision and action. Hell, it even defines how they interact with each other."

"But bait?!"

"It's his job, Rach. What did you expect? There is more to his job than killing people."

"That's all I've ever seen him do," she muttered. After a few passes around the bed and past the small desk next to a window, Rachel gave up pacing as a futile effort. There was not enough room to truly get going. Rachel curled her fingers over the back of the chair and stared at the curtain. "I doubt that's a real window," she remarked. "They're never real windows."

"I'm sorry?" Zach asked.

Ignoring him, Rachel continued, "Wouldn't want the recruits to see the world outside and remember all that they left behind, now would we?" Leaning forward, she twitched the fabric aside and bit her cheek as she confirmed her assumption. "Nope. Nothing but a wall." Rachel sighed and spun the desk chair around before she sat, only to find Zach sitting on the bed, staring at her. "What?" she asked, confused, and a tad defensive.

Zach shook his head.

"Okay, so, what happens next?" Rachel asked. _Throw me a bone here_ , she thought.

He shrugged. "We wait for our orders."

Quietly, "Like good little soldiers all in a row..." Then louder, "Any idea what they might be?"

"No. Not really. But, at minimum, we'll be tasked with tagging along, even if it's only to get underfoot while Adam tries to generate a miracle. He'll fill us in once he's finished getting his mission details from Isaac."

She nodded, and they sat quietly together, but as the expired minutes mounted, Rachel's freshly found calm, eroded. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore, and she blurted the first question that came to mind, "Do you know anything else about this Mark guy or Abhay or the Councilor?"

"Never heard of Abhay and I don't know which Councilor Isaac meant—there's a whole board of them in the Org—no centralized power there—but, Mark, yeah. I know a bit about him."

Rachel leaned forward. "Can you tell me anything new?"

"Hmm." Zach tapped his finger on his lip. "Well, he's been known by at least six different names. Plus, two years ago, Mark's inability to keep a low profile triggered a chain reaction ending the order to remove him. Permanently. It's the same mission where Adam ended up sent to the US for recuperation from his injuries." Zach pointed to his brow and made a slicing motion as an explanation.

_Huh._ "Is this the one Darius meant by 'past mistakes' when he said Adam needed to take us to London to make himself a better mentor?"

Zach's expression shuttered. "I'm not supposed to talk about that."

"Ah, ha! So, it is the same one."

Zach squirmed his seat. "I can't tell you that."

"Okay. Sure. Traditional values and security reasons. Got it," Rachel said, and took pity on him with a prompt to continue telling her about Mark, to which, Zach obliged.

"He was a consultant, see, at _The Furrowed Brow_ —a ridiculously stupid name for a front business masquerading as a research firm where Mark used to work—and, one of his former duties within the Organization was to distribute the R and D'ed technology to the correct industries after cleared for use. I remember a year or so after I joined the Order, but before I became Adam's trainee, asking Darius about _The Furrowed Brow_. Darius explained to me how there was this guy—Mark, he went by Dendric then—who used his own finances to push research and claim credit for the successes. His influence grew. His wealth did too. Eventually, he knew too much. And when Mark made a bid for an Organization Council seat. The Order decided it was time to act. They couldn't let him become a Council member. The power at his command? Yeah. Not easily defeated. Not with what he knows. Anyway, the Order's mission ultimately failed, and Mark's laid low ever since."

"Wow, and Adam failed?"

"Spectacularly—"

"How?"

"—Injuries. His friend—"

"That's enough, novice," Adam said. Rachel jumped at the sound of his voice. She tried to hide her surprise by crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her foot on the carpet, but she didn't think she fooled Adam.

Adam closed the door behind him. "You weren't in your room."

Zach leaned back on the bed, and rested his weight on his hands, as he replied, "One, I'm not you're your novice. Two, Rach looked lonely. And three, I thought we'd kick it together while we waited for you."

"Uh-huh." Adam rested his weight against the wall. "And I just happened to be a topic of conversation?"

"Nah," Zach replied. "We were talking about Mark. But you're so closely tied to him I can see why you thought it was all about you."

After a long pause, where Rachel wasn't quite sure what went through Adam's mind, Adam turned to her and said, "I did get clearance for you to work on some of those questions you brought up in the meeting. You'll have a laptop, with internet access, tonight or tomorrow at the latest." He chuckled. "You sure ticked Isaac off; he doesn't appreciate being interrupted or questioned. Good job."

Without thinking about her words first, Rachel said, "Your brother is an arrogant bastard, you know." She regretted it instantly. She didn't have to like Adam's brother, but Isaac was still his flesh and blood, and Adam probably wouldn't like it if she insulting him.

She opened her mouth to apologize, but Adam spoke first, "Well, technically, he's not a bastard. We did have a father, and our father was married to our mother." He continued, "Isaac's not always quite that bad, but he's made several mistakes these past few weeks and is under a lot of stress." Adam shook his head, as if amazed, he could be defending his brother. "In addition to having to clean up this mess, the fact he didn't involve the upper ranks immediately, and well... my presence here, have combined to make him a singularly unpleasant man to deal with right now." He gave her a rueful smile and a small shrug. "What can I say? I bring out the best in him."

Before she could respond, Zach asked, "What am I to do to help?"

Addressing Zach, Adam replied, "Right now? Nothing. Or, at least, you can't help me. If you feel the need to do something, help Rachel or study in the library. It is yours to explore if you want. Otherwise, train and rest. You'll be needed soon enough." After a long drawn out silence where Adam appeared to be waging an intense internal debate, he said, "Grace will be by sometime today to bring you some changes of clothes and to introduce herself. She'll be keeping you company while you are here."

Rachel stiffened. Adam's sentence sounded a lot like she would have a guard. "I'm getting a babysitter?"

"Grace is Ella's novice," Adam explained as if that made everything clear. "She is the only remaining _Hashashin_ novice in London, and Ella and Isaac agree about keeping her close to home and out of harm's way for the moment. You serve as a convenient excuse."

"That seems... flimsy. He doesn't trust me, does he?"

Adam shook his head. Rachel's shoulder's drooped. If she chose to be pragmatic about it, Isaac's hesitation made sense. She had only been with the Order a little over two weeks. She needed to change the subject. All these emotional highs and lows were making her stomach hurt. "Ella? She's the new _Lokhagos_ , right?"

"Yes. And since Ella is acting as the new _Lokhagos_ , Grace will be reassigned to a new mentor for the remainder of her training. No decision yet, but I suspect Gwen will take on the task. She's the next logical choice."

"Why?"

"The switch?"

Rachel nodded. "That. Yes. I thought that once you had a mentor, that was it."

"Usually, yes," Adam replied. "But with Ella's promotion and the depleted _Hashashin_ force, Ella can't devote enough time to Grace's training. It is causing a bit of a conflict of interest, plus there aren't a lot of female _Hashashin_ 's to choose from."

"Why does it need to be a woman? I'm paired with you."

Adam frowned. " _Lokhagos_ try to pair novices with mentors of the same gender whenever possible. Hero worship occurs all too often, and same-sex pairings tend to cut down on inappropriate behaviors." Adam's frown deepened. He shook it away and said, "Anyway, Grace will be by later to show you around and answer any questions you may have. If you can't find me, seek her out. And, worst-case scenario, you can always ask Isaac for help." He smirked.

"I'd be surprised if he gave me the time of day."

"He's not that bad."

"Really?" she replied unconvinced.

"He did issue you a laptop and gave you internet access," Adam pointed out.

"Oh, joy. May his generous nature never cease!" Once again, Rachel needed to change the subject. "How long do we have to stay here?"

"I'm not sure. I'm hoping my reappearance in London will be enough to get some leads, but more effort might be needed. Your research might also bring to light something new. I will try to convince Isaac to let you see the case file." He sighed. "In the meantime, why don't you rest or shower, and afterward, we'll go for lunch in the cafeteria."

"Yeah. Sure," was Rachel's lackluster reply.

***

Adam and Zach left Rachel's room for the other side of the facility where the fully initiated members lived. They were walking down the main hall toward the central stairs when Zach interrupted Adam's thoughts with a question. "Rachel's right, you know, about playing bait being stupid. Why can't you repeal the order?"

"Well, for one, I don't have the authority."

"Ask Ella then."

"I'm not one of her _Hashashin_."

"Uh... I thought who you report to transferred around depending on where you are stationed."

"In the event of a permanent move, yes, I would report to Ella and Isaac," Adam explained. "But, thankfully, I am only on loan."

"But, then, why does Isaac have such control over your mission?"

"Part of it is the request's details. Darius granted temporary authority to Isaac. Which means, Darius can bring us back to St. Louis if needed, but his influence is limited while we're here. Isaac gives the orders, and we obey them as if he were our acting Stratigos."

"Still, why don't you ask Darius to help you convince your brother this is wrong? Or Ella? You know she's got your back."

And admit to Isaac's colleagues and peers that Adam had concerns? That Isaac was struggling and acting on instinct? Not hardly! Prick or not, Adam wouldn't betray Isaac like that. For now, he would obey, but once everything settled, he'd take Zach and Rachel and return to the States. Gladly. He no longer felt at home here.

Adam shrugged in answer to Zach's repeated question and paused to unlock the door to the main quarters. "Teasing Mark with my presence is as good an idea as any. I'm also hoping to learn why Hurston didn't enact the contingency plan." Adam opened the door and held it open for Zach as he continued, "Besides, I don't want to add insubordination to the list of my 'sins'. This whole situation with Rachel spiraled out of control, and I'll answer for it—again—once Istanbul receives the report." Thinking about Rachel sparked a memory. "Hey," he said as they ascended the stairs. "I'll need you to be a good little novice and help Grace keep an eye on Rachel."

"Uh, not your novice, and," Zach frowned. "Why? I mean, we're on house arrest, right? It's not like she can go far."

Zach's assessment was correct. "To some extent. You will have more freedom, though." Adam waved to the residential wing of the compound as an example. "Isaac doesn't trust her, even though he should. But that's not what I meant. The Org showed a remarkable amount of restraint in Heathrow when it came to you and Rachel."

It didn't take long for Zach to process the information and come to the same conclusion he had. "They want one of us? But why?"

"Not you, her. And neither Darius nor I could ascertain why. Their recruitment tactics are not like ours, and there is nothing in her background that would suggest this level of care to acquire her. You? Yeah, three years ago, perhaps, but not now. Now you're just a target. It doesn't make sense why they would want to bring her in or why they didn't just shoot you when they had the chance."

Zach nodded in agreement. "I hadn't thought about it, but you're right. We were out of the smokescreen and easy targets."

"It's troubling, and I don't like it. Keep an eye on her for me. Make sure she doesn't go out."

"You got it, boss." 

# Chapter 15

After Adam and Zach left, Rachel perused her room's dresser and discovered several new sets of sweats and several sealed bags of boxer shorts. Snagging some men's underwear, a shirt, and pants, she laid the clothes on the bed and disappeared into the shower with the bag of boxers. Once clean, she shimmied into a pair of skivvies and wrapped the bath towel around her head before leaving the bathroom.

Rachel paused at the foot of the bed and surveyed the overlarge clothes she'd left there. Depressing, she thought and made a face. Still, it was better than nothing, Rachel supposed. She loosened the towel covering her hair and tossed it to the floor before finger-combing her hair into a semblance of order. She grabbed her dirty sports bra off the bed and went to pull it back on when there was a knock at her door.

"Just a minute!" she yelled.

"Rachel! It's Grace," a lilting, perky voice called to her.

"Give me a second. I'll be right there!"

"Throw something on over that underwear and come open the door!"

Rachel tripped over the endds of her pants as she hopped to the door. With a final tug to her waistband, she finished pulling on her pants as she wrenched the door open.

Grace, loaded down with gear, pushed past her. "Listen, get dressed in the loo next time. The blokes in the security room don't need a free show."

Rachel's face reddened in embarrassment, and she glanced around the room again.

"They're hidden, of course," Grace replied with a small shrug. "Here," she said, offering up the items she carried. Rachel took the clothes, towels, and shoes from Grace, and dumped them on the bed. Returning her attention to the petite, blonde, third-year _Hashashin_ , her gaze sought and found the vambrace she expected to see. It looked nothing like Adam's. His was practical, unadorned, and bordering on bulky, but Grace's was small and had delicate etchings worked into the leather. Rachel stepped closer as Grace said, "I intended to get these to you before your shower, but I was in the middle of my daily training and couldn't get away." Grace shrugged off the laptop bag strap, slung over her shoulder, and added the bag to the pile on the bed.

"That's okay," Rachel said, dismissing Grace's apology with a wave. "Can I see it?" she asked, pointing to the bracer.

"This? Sure," Grace answered, holding out her arm for Rachel. The leatherworking was exquisite with scrolls and small flowers along the edge. "My mom and dad gave it to me as an early graduation present when I turned nineteen this year."

"It's beautiful." Rachel wondered at its purpose.

"Thanks!" Grace said, beaming at Rachel's praise. She extended her hand, and Rachel shook it. "Nice to meet you, Rachel. It's tea time. Ready? Adam told me to come and get you."

"Sure. I could eat."

Grace nodded and grabbed the door for Rachel. "I can't believe you're with Adam," she said as the two of them left Rachel's room. "I was too shy to even speak to him when he used to work here, but then I was quite a bit younger and"—Grace fanned herself—"well, he's very impressive." Her smile turned into a huge grin. "Maybe I should have tried anyway. He sure is nice to look at, isn't he?"

"Hmmm... I guess?" Rachel said mildly perplexed at Grace's admission.

Grace schooled her expression back into something more serious as she continued speaking, "No one expected Adam to fall for a civilian. Ella sure was surprised when she learned about you."

Rachel made a strangled noise deep in her throat. It seemed as if her recruitment story spread through the Order faster than a rumor about a free cake left in a work break room.

Grace, appearing to misunderstand Rachel's reaction, said, "Ella tells me I am too verbose, forgive me for speaking out of turn."

"No worries."

Grace nodded, and Rachel saw her fists clench around the main stairwell railing. "It is good he is here, though. He is the best _Hashashin_ in the field. I'm confident he'll succeed." At the bottom of the stairs, Grace said, "Cafeteria's this way."

They entered what appeared to be a repurposed ballroom. The front half of the room was for relaxation with a large screen TV, several couches, and armchairs, but the back half of the room was a dining area. It had some buffet tables and several dining tables with chairs situated in pleasing configurations. Rachel had expected something more industrial, like a hospital eatery or a dorm quads student union, and not this plush dining area.

"Ella is going to be joining us, but she had to talk to Mr. Haddad first."

"Mr. Who?"

"Isaac."

That's right! Rachel thought, remembering Darius's usage of Isaac's full name. In all the excitement, Rachel had forgotten. The memory did bring a question to mind. "But, if he's Adam's brother, why wouldn't they have the same last name?"

"Technically, they still do," Grace replied as she guided Rachel to the buffet. "Adam just anglicized his, is all."

"Oh," Rachel acknowledged and focused on the food. There were cold cuts, some sort of—it looked like ham salad—rolls, cupcakes, beans, a salad bar with the typical fixings, and two hot roasts—chicken and beef with gravy.

"Don't eat the ham salad," Grace said.

"Why not?"

"Elvis made it," Grace replied, as if that answer were sufficient, and stepped up to the first buffet where she grabbed a plate and loaded it down with food. Rachel followed her lead.

After they made their choices, they found a seat at one of the long tables. Grace sat with her back to the wall at the head of the table, and Rachel sat facing the door.

Rachel had finished two bites of her surprisingly good roast beef with the overly thyme seasoned gravy when a tall, stately looking, black woman, with tight curls constrained by a white headband, walked in. She scanned the room, spied Rachel, smiled, and headed toward her. She stopped at their table, her hands resting on the back of a chair, her fingers curled over the edge. Rachel noticed her bare forearm with a faint tan line and perfectly manicured nails. "Rachel?" the woman asked.

Rachel stood and held out her hand. "Yep."

" _Lokhagos_ Ella Mori, but please call me Ella."

"Nice to meet you, Ella," Rachel said.

"Likewise," Ella responded. Continuing, "Flight, okay? I heard you had some excitement on your drive over."

"You could say that again," Rachel agreed with a grumble. "But, yeah, the flight was uneventful. And, I guess, since I didn't die, I'd say the drive here was all right, too."

Grace and Ella chuckled.

"How are you adjusting to life in the Order?" Ella inquired. "I hear your recruitment was pretty abrupt."

Rachel didn't know how to answer. Aside from Zach and Adam, she didn't know anyone, and the few she did know either avoided her or were too busy to talk or were downright rude. After thinking of and discarding several responses, Rachel decided on, "It's been hard. Quiet. And a bit boring and lonely."

Ella nodded. "I'd suspected as much, Order ties are deep and unbending, almost cliquish, but you're here now, so things should start to look up soon, and I hear, Isaac cleared you for working on the case with the intelligence team—"

"He did?" Grace asked. So, that was what Adam had meant.

"—Not bad, for a newbie," Ella finished. "Have you met them?" Rachel shook her head. "Hmm, well, you did just get here. I suspect they'll make themselves known in the next day or so."

"Okay," Rachel replied, then remembered, "I'm sorry for your loss. It must be hard," she said, referencing Adam's mission and all the _Hashashin_ which had died.

Ella's expression shuttered, but she nodded. "Thank you."

"Is Luke back from assignment," Grace asked, and Rachel secretly thanked her for the subject change.

"Yes. He's checking in with Dr. Frostmyer and then plans to join us for tea."

"Cool. I wanted to ask him about the Istanbul phase one initiative."

Ella smiled. "He'll like that. Did you speak with Gerry as I suggested?"

"Oh, yeah! She was the one who told me to speak to Luke."

"Intelligent woman," Ella replied and addressed Rachel, "Gerry-Geraldine-Faulk is one of the librarians at the Istanbul safe house. She's the liaison for our third-years and their research assignments."

"Research?"

"Yes, all our _Hashashin_ get GEDs and a degree from University. In their final year, they all have research assignments which account for half of their grade."

"Which university?" Rachel inquired.

"Ours."

"Oh." The Order hasd _their own University?_ Rachel didn't know why that information surprised her since Adam was well-spoken and highly educated. She supposed the act of killing people had overshadowed this fact and made her forget. Turning to Grace, Rachel asked, "So what _was_ the Istanbul phase one initiative?"

A voice from the entryway responded, "A disastrous mission into the heart of an Org controlled technology cache proposed and lead by agent ZT back during WWII." Rachel looked at the speaker and watched as Adam and Zach entered the dining area. When Adam joined them at the table, he pulled Ella into an embrace and kissed her on each cheek.

"It's good to see you again," Rachel heard him murmur, and her eyelids narrowed in speculation. The hug was too familiar, too comfortable, and Rachel knew with certainty, Ella and Adam had a history of the horizontal variety. She didn't know how to feel about it. The sensation she had wasn't quite one of being threatened, per se, but the desire to separate them was strong. Yet, Adam had clearly shown his interest in Rachel, so whatever his and Ella's relationship had been, it was over now, right? She had nothing to worry about, right?

Zach bumped her shoulder with his. "Sup, Rach." She smiled at him, thankful for the distraction. "Hey, Grace," he added, a light blush turned his cheeks rosy.

"Hey, Zach," she replied.

They avoided an awkward moment of silence when another man entered. Rachel's mouth dropped open in awed surprise. He was male-model gorgeous with short, nearly shaved, dark brown hair, a five-o'clock shadow on a light brown, well-defined face, high cheekbones, and thick eyebrows. He walked toward them with the calm assurance and swagger of a man who held no fear. On his arm was the customary vambrace, which, in Rachel's opinion, explained the extreme confidence.

"That's Luke," Grace whispered.

"He's divine."

"Yep," Grace agreed.

Zach chuckled at their pronouncement, and Adam quirked an eyebrow in her direction. Rachel mouthed, "What?" and Adam shook his head in evident amusement before facing the newcomer.

"Luke," he greeted as the other man finally arrived at their party. "Any troubles?"

"No, pretty standard," Luke answered, and all the recently arrived Order agents drifted off to the buffet, leaving Grace and Rachel behind.

Rachel sat and pushed her food around her plate. After a few bites, Ella, then Zach returned, sitting across from Rachel. Eventually, Adam and Luke followed them, and as Adam took his seat next to Rachel, he asked Luke, who sat at the head of the table across from Grace, "What have you done so far?"

"Not much," Luke replied. "Haddad's kept us close while he pushed his papers." Adam snorted. "But I heard the intel dept. wanted to bug his office..."

Rachel didn't hear the rest of Adam's conversation because Ella, who was closer to Rachel, asked Zach a question about his studies back in the States, to which he replied, "Oh, they're going well. I had to file for extensions in all of my classes, but the TA, Elizabeth in my Classical Arabic class, was willing to help me submit a few of my assignments early before we left—"

"Classical Arabic?" Rachel interrupted.

"—and the rest, I can turn in later, barring missing the rest of this semester, of course," Zach finished before answering her question. "I'm studying middle-eastern languages at SLU." He huffed a laugh. "About six credit hours to go after this semester. If I don't get yanked and transferred again."

"That happens a lot?"

"Lately."

"Zachary is one of the lucky few," Grace offered. "The Order wasn't able to coordinate enough tutors in St. Louis, so they are paying for his degree from a civilian school. Oh!" she exclaimed, making Rachel jump. "You should practice your Egyptian Arabic with Luke!" Grace leaned toward Rachel and said as an aside, "Luke's from Aswan."

Rachel nodded as if she knew where that was besides a general 'Egypt' which she inferred from the 'Egyptian' part of 'Egyptian Arabic' of Grace's statement. Rachel vowed to look up that place name before the day finished. She didn't want to be 'that American'—the only one at the table who didn't know where a place was on the map. Ignorance was not bliss.

"Any plans to stay here long term or relocate to Istanbul?" Ella asked.

Zach jerked his gaze upward from its general direction of Grace's breasts. "No, not unless Adam transfers. I'm stuck with him for another two years."

"I heard that novice," Adam said.

"Dammit, Black. Stop calling me novice!" Zach gave Adam an exasperated look. "I never should have given you that video game." Adam smirked, and Zach uttered a grunt of disgust. "It was a joke, okay? I thought it was funny. You know... assassin? _Hashashin_? I'll never live it down now, will I?"

"No," Adam replied, and Rachel heard him mutter "Novice" once more, and Luke snorted.

Zach rolled his eyes. He lifted his middle finger and rubbed his nose before he dropped his hand back to his lap.

And that was when Luke took a bite of his ham salad and promptly spat it out into his napkin. "Who in the bloody hell made this!" he yelled, pointing to the pink and white glob of ham salad goo on his plate.

"Elvis," Grace replied, again, as if that explained everything.

But apparently, it had for everyone else at the table. Both Adam and Ella pushed their servings to the side of their plates and said in unison, "Oh."

Rachel hadn't learned much on this trip so far, but she felt confident that Elvis couldn't make ham salad. She wondered if there were other Elvis foodstuffs she should avoid. Eyeballing her plate with concern, Rachel asked, "Does Elvis cook anything else?" _...I should avoid eating?_

Grace touched her arm, drawing her eye. "He cooked everything today. He just can't make ham salad."

"Oh... Okay." Pacified, but still cautious, Rachel poked at her food, but the beef had been excellent, so she supposed, she was willing to give the other food on her plate another go. Spearing a bite of potatoes, she relaxed as the flavors—though not ones she was used to—melted on her tongue and blended well. That was a relief, she thought.

When Luke returned with a fresh plate, sans ham salad, the conversation had decidedly warmed. Rachel wasn't sure if it had been Zach's reaction to Adam's casual teasing, Adam's comment, or the simple act of Luke's disruption, but the atmosphere had relaxed and soon jokes, and stories were flying. Rachel's favorite had involved a plate of spaghetti, a food fight, a gymnasium ceiling, and a permanent stain of tomato sauce in an impossible place, thirty feet above a bunch of grade-schoolers heads. Rachel was willing to stake her life on the fact Adam was the culprit despite his vehement denials. His suppressed grin indicated otherwise.

Plates finished, appetites sated, laughter realized, the conversation wrapped back around to the missing Hurston and Greer.

"So, you really don't think they made it," Rachel asked again, but the somber faces around the table made the last of her wishful thinking fade. Not only had Isaac and Adam agree it wasn't possible, but Ella, Luke, and Grace were sure they were lost as well.

"Look at it this way, Rach," Zach said. "Seven fully trained _Hashashin_ died, two injured to the point they can't come home, and three third-years are gone. There is no way a scientist—who doesn't train like they do—made it out, and Hurston has a contingency plan—he would have implemented, if not right away, then as soon as possible. They're dead, Rach."

Rachel glanced around the table. There were a whole lot of sympathetic, pained expressions, but none of them held even a glimmer of hope.

She nodded.

Greer and Hurston were dead.

#  Chapter 16

Mark ground his teeth in irritation. His body betrayed his agitation with a twitch of a leg or excessively rubbing the scar on his thigh while he waited in the formal sitting room of Councilor Ridley's townhouse. Ridley had done well in the two years since being awarded Mark's Council seat. Initially, Ridley had been passed over for the position, since Mark had been lobbying for it for years, going as far as marrying—but then divorcing—the current acting chair's daughter to improve his odds. But that carefully constructed plan had come crashing down around his ears the second the Order showed up and took out his bodyguards.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Mark shoved the thought aside. It was all water under the bridge now, and he could do nothing about it. Instead, he needed to focus on the task at hand.

This meeting was not going to be pleasant—more like a trial—with three of the highest-ranking Organization members in attendance. Mark and Councilor Ridley would be joined via video conference by Councilor Sander in Berlin and Councilor Reed in Hamburg. He needed to talk fast to explain how two men were dead, two traceable cars totaled, and how Black was still roaming free.

Movement in the hallway drew his eye, and Mark looked up to find Councilor Ridley's assistant heading toward him. "Follow me," she said. Once in the conference room, she handed him a cup of tea and left.

"Please be seated, Prescott," Councilman Ridley said when he stepped into the room a moment later. "You have met Councilors Sander and Reed already, I presume?" he asked, indicating the TV screen currently connected to the video conferencing equipment.

"Sir. Ma'am," Mark acknowledged.

"First off," Ridley said, "congratulations on your successful strike against the Order. It was bold, decisive, and ultimately successful. It is a shame that your miscalculations cost us several men, but it is an understood risk for an undertaking as all-encompassing as First-Color. But it appears that one of these failures has now found his way to London."

Mark steeled himself for a long afternoon.

"Could you please explain why it took a total of three teams in the American city of St. Louis and three more here in London to attempt to eliminate one lone _Hashashin_ and his trainee?"

Mark answered Ridley carefully, "During our—my—reconnaissance mission, I learned that the _Hashashin_ was one of the top members of the American Midwest region. I sent in the additional teams to mitigate failure. While studying his movements, we—I—determined that his newest recruit had potential and made plans to extract her from the Order's clutches." He paused for a second. "The plan was solid; four men should have been more than adequate to dispatch him—the other ops indicated as much. It should have worked. A surprise attack was key, but, for some reason, the team was unsuccessful. Everything went according to plan. They'd disabled the _Hashashin's_ alarm system at the vendor, and his focus was on other matters. I am unsure, as of yet, why or how he heard them enter. In the end, it was impossible to extract the recruit."

"Yes, a Rachel Flanagan, AKA Munro. We've read her file," Reed interjected. "We also understand that this _Hashashin_ you targeted is the same agent who attempted to take your life in the past."

Councilor Sander spoke for the first time. "We don't tolerate personal vendettas, Prescott."

"Understood," Mark replied tightly. Sander was not someone he wanted to cross. She was one cold woman. Completely ruthless.

Ridley spoke again. "Of course, now it has gone past personal vendetta. The fact he is in London indicates he might know who orchestrated the attack and has personal plans for your removal. We expect you to take care of the threat or die trying. We will not be so free with our agents this time. Trying to subdue the _Hashashin_ from the States proved too costly. We lost twelve men that night. Consider them your existing bodyguards and do not request more."

Mark gulped. "But if he gets me... Who will take care of my daughter?"

"Your ex-wife, per the courts," Sander replied, dismissively. Mark had expected no less.

"But she's—" Mark tried to speak, but Councilor Ridley held up his hand.

"This is your mess. If you want a different future for your daughter, then you need to clean it up yourself. You know our rules."

Grudgingly, Mark agreed.

"In total, you have lost eighteen men on your First-Color mission. This is unacceptable. The Council has decided to delay your bid for a seat on the board for another year. If you fail to remove Black and take possession of Rachel, per your stated goals, the Council will not consider you for the position. We have confirmed this decision with the acting chair on the Board, and he agrees."

Delay my bid, again? Bloody Hell!

With that unpleasantness set aside, the meeting turned to more positive waters, and they discussed the future of the new technology Mark was introducing to Luminations Corp.

***

On the fourth day in London, Rachel found herself wandering the quiet halls of the safe house. She wiggled around the stacks of boxes and furniture left haphazardly in the hallway. Worn wood floors creaked as she passed, adding to her general gloom. The dark Victorian architecture of the building and the rain hitting the roof did nothing to lift her mood.

Intricate architecture caught her eye, and she stopped to inspect it. Despite natural aging and countless touching hands, the woodwork and paneling stayed exquisite. She inched forward. Her musings brought her to a halt at a partly open door where soft light spilled from inside.

Curious, she poked her head inside and discovered two things: a private library and Zach.

Zach sat at a table, leaning over a book.

Rachel stepped inside. As she walked to him, she glanced at the wealth of knowledge around her. All along the walls, bookcases and shelving units were brimming with books, newspapers, and what appeared to be handwritten journals. She even spied some scrolls sitting on a shelf in the corner, and Rachel wondered if they were as ancient as they looked.

She stopped next to Zach. "So, this is where you disappear to every day. I wondered where you were hiding," Rachel said, plopping down in a vacant chair.

"Yeah. London's one of the older offices, and I knew they had a good collection of historical texts. Better than the selection in St. Louis, in any case. Besides, I'm supposed to be studying documents like these once I'm done with my degree, so I thought I'd get a head start on practicing my translations. I want to be up to speed once I get to Istanbul."

"Istanbul?"

"You know, in Turkey."

Rachel sighed in exasperation. "I know where Istanbul is. But why there?"

"That's where the Order of the Guardians for God was founded to protect what they thought at the time were religious relics straight from the Lord himself. Of course, they had the 'God' part wrong, but it doesn't change their overall mission. Anyway, the Supreme Commander and his close circle still reside in the Order's oldest compound, and it has the grandest library. Unrivaled. They preserved everything that survived the fall of Constantinople in 1453 in that building. That's where I'll be working." He grinned and chuckled sheepishly. "Sorry, I get excited thinking about it."

"That's okay. It's nice to hear a bit more about this whole thing," Rachel admitted.

"Hasn't anyone told you about the history of the Order?"

She shrugged and sighed. "A bit, but nothing in-depth. I'm not _trustworthy_ yet."

"I remember feeling the same way at first. I haven't in a while, though. After all, I chose this path willingly."

The statement reminded Rachel of one question. "How does one get recruited in the Order anyway? I mean, normally."

Zach pondered his answer for a moment before replying, "Some lineage families like Adam's have been part of the Order for centuries. The rumor I've heard is, his father's side goes all the way back to the original _Hashashin_ in the thirteenth century before they were swallowed up by the Order. I have no clue if it's true. He's never said. Regardless, the families like Black's who are lineage hold most of the positions in power within the Order—for example, the _Stratigos_ and the Supreme Commander. But things are changing, slowly. In the last fifty years or so, more recruits—that's people like me and, well, you—have gotten more of the 'management' jobs. The _Lokhagos_ back home started as a non-lineage recruit."

"And how did you get involved in all of this? It's not like you can send them your resume."

He smiled. "It was mostly by accident as far as I can tell. They have people around the world whose sole job is to scout for interesting prospects. I was," Zach paused. "in a bad patch at the time. My last foster home had been pure hell. The streets of Montreal seemed like a way to escape. They were heaven. It was that bad. Anyway, I survived there all summer washing car windshields on street corners and doing some freelance translation and editing work from the library computers."

"Translation?"

"Yeah, mostly it was French to English and English to French, but I translated others with the help of a good dictionary. But that took longer. There are some freelance websites dedicated to contract work. They didn't ask my age, only credentials, and I passed those easily enough."

"How many languages do you know?"

"Several," he replied with an awkward shrug.

"Oh?" she prompted.

"Well, before the Order found me, I only knew French, English, Latin, Mandarin, and a smattering of Classical Greek, although I could make comparisons to five or six more."

"Wow."

Zach chuckled. "Yeah. Elizabeth keeps pushing me toward a master's program, but I don't think the Order would finance it."

"Elizabeth? I thought you only had eyes for Grace."

Zach gave her a dirty look. "Ms. Linden is a teaching assistant in the department of language archaeology."

"Sorry." Rachel smiled. "You were saying? About the languages—"

"Oh, yeah, the Order wishes me to study as many of them as I can keep straight: ancient Egyptian, Aramaic, and Classical Arabic, among others."

"That's a lot of languages," Rachel said, awed.

Zach grinned. "Yeah. Two, nearly three years ago, I didn't realize I was a wiz at them. I just knew they made sense to me, and it was a way to make some money. I never asked, but I think I contracted a job with the Order through the freelance site. An agent approached me in the fall when the nights grew chilly, and I started wondering what I'd do that winter." He shook his head. "I still remember it. It sounded like a prank or some way to pick up vulnerable street kids. It took me a while to warm up to the guy and actually believe that the Order could offer me a life beyond anything I could imagine."

She looked at him, surprised. Rachel never realized Zach came from such a rough background. "Do you regret it?"

"Regret what? Being recruited? Hell no! The job's dangerous sometimes, but where else would you get the chance of experiencing alien technology—"

Rachel's mouth dropped open with surprise.

"—millennium-spanning conflicts, secret societies, and real-life assassins? It's like being in the middle of a damn video game." Then he grew serious again and passed a hand through his hair. "I'm glad they're not expecting me to do anything other than work at their library, though. I don't think I have the heart for Adam's job."

"Wait, Zach, alien? As in other countries 'alien', or 'alien' as in strange or..."

Zach shook his head as he continued, "Alien as in 'outer space' aliens. At least, that's the current theory." Grinning, he added, "I know, right? I really, really hope Adam gets permission from the higher-ups so that I can visit 'God's Library'. I want to see it for myself."

She blinked in confusion. "God's Library?"

"Oh, that's what the Order calls the alien cache in Turkey. It was discovered around the time of the Crusades, and people then believed they'd found God's workshop. Of course, technology and knowledge caught up with the Order at some point, and they realized they had something else in their hands altogether." He shrugged. "The Order has been a deeply religious group for ages, and it was only during the twentieth century that it became more or less secular, particularly right after World War Two." He paused, but then shook off whatever he remembered and continued, "But it's hard to bury your roots completely. Take the _Hashashin,_ for example. They have an elaborate fasting and prayer ceremony right before they are fully accepted. As you can imagine, finding out that you've been protecting weapons of mass destruction—and even more stuff we have yet to discover a use for—will tend to change your worldview."

Zach delicately closed the book he'd been consulting before she'd interrupted him. Although he didn't pull on the white cotton gloves he'd set down beside him, he did treat the old journal like it might turn into dust at any moment. He stood and put the book on a shelf behind Rachel, before choosing another tome and returning to his seat.

"Uh, any progress on your research?" he asked her after a while.

She sighed in disgust. "I hate to admit it, but that asshole Adam calls a brother might have been right. I've found nothing of use, and I think the only reason I was even allowed to research in the first place was to shut me up and keep me busy."

Zach snorted. "Asshole, eh? Don't let Isaac hear you. He might send you to your room without supper like a naughty child."

Rachel's lips twisted wryly at that mental image. "Let him try that one." She shook her head. "I still have one thing I want to look up before I give up for good. Some of the more recent news articles about Luminations mention human testing of their new tech. I'll see if I can find anything about it. Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll find someone who has participated in one of those tests, but it's a long shot."

But, long shot or not, it was at least something to do while they waited, and it kept her mind occupied and away from her friends' Twitter feeds, where the latest information posted about her funeral were both surreal and the saddest thing she'd ever read. Seeing Sarah's disbelieving posts about the circumstances of her death broke Rachel's heart. Her friend's distress was evident, and she wished she could alleviate it. Yet she hoped Sarah would end up accepting the Order's cover story, or she might get in trouble. In any case, it wasn't good for Rachel's mental health to dwell on this. There was nothing she could do at this stage.

"Earth to Rachel. Come in, Rach, you there?" Zach interrupted, snapping his fingers in front of her eyes.

Rachel blinked. "Yeah, sorry. What did you say?"

"I asked how talking to test subjects would help with your investigation."

But before she could answer, there was a knock at the door. Zach looked up and blushed. Twisting, Rachel found Grace standing in the threshold.

"Here you are!" Grace said. "I knew I'd find you eventually." Rachel wondered if she were about to receive a reprimanding wandering inside the compound without an escort. Rachel couldn't forget the fact Grace was her keeper and tasked with keeping an eye on her. "I'm bored and wondered if you two would want to join me? Ella's not available, and I prefer sparring to basic training."

Rachel shrugged and glanced at Zach. "I'm game if you are."

"Sure," Zach replied, standing.

While Grace waited for Zach to store his research material, Rachel excused herself and ran to her room for her gear. After rejoining them, Grace led them down the hall and then the main stairs. A few twists and turns later, and they were at the door for the main quarters. Grace unlocked it before motioning Rachel inside. Rachel climbed the back stairs.

Pushing past her, Zach said, "Hey, give me a second." He stopped at one of the doors in the hall and unlocked it. "I'll be right there. I want to change first."

"Sure thing, weakling," Grace teased.

Rachel heard the retort through the door. "I'm not weak!"

"Eh," Grace snorted under her breath and continued down the hall. Speaking just to Rachel, she added, "I need more practice with multiple opponents, and who better to enlist than the two who are always hiding in their rooms or the library all day. Sparring would do you both some good."

"I'm not sure."

"I need to keep sharp," Grace continued. "Keeping track of one person holding a gun is hard enough, but facing a whole team can put even the most well-trained _Hashashin_ in mortal danger, which is why we prefer stealth to open combat whenever possible." She pushed open a door, revealing the training room. Blue exercise mats covered the floor from end to end, including the walls.

Grace stepped inside, and Zach joined them a moment later.

Stepping to the center of the room, Grace said, "Some quick ground rules: don't hold back. I, on the other hand, will go easy on you. Our safe word to stop the fight is 'toenails'"—Rachel stifled a snicker at the mention of the safe word. She couldn't imagine yelling out "toenails" in the middle of a fight.—"Stop, quit, enough, leave me alone, etc. won't work. In the event of your takedown, I will let you reset before striking again. Do not extend me the same courtesy. The Org doesn't take turns, so make sure you don't either. We in agreement?" Grace asked.

Rachel glanced at Zach and wondered if Adam's instructions sounded similar. The way she understood the statement, if they succeeded in knocking Grace down, they should continue to attack, whereas Grace wouldn't continue to fight them if the reverse happened. When Zach nodded, Rachel assumed he had expected something similar.

"Okay. Let's get started."

"Shouldn't we warm up first?" Rachel asked as Grace settled into a fighting stance. Adam always had her do a few stretches before his core routine.

"In a fight, are you given time to do limber up?" Zach questioned.

"No. But..."

"Nope, no buts," Grace said. "I know I asked you to spar, but think of this as more like a simulation than a practice session."

"Okay," Rachel replied, bowing as she'd learned in the dojo, and fell into her ready stance.

Zach didn't change position. Instead, he immediately went on the offensive, launching himself into a roll and attempting to sweep Grace off her feet. She evaded easily, jumping over his sweeping arm, and putting herself to the side where she now faced Rachel as Zach regained his feet.

Rachel lunged at Grace, who deflected Rachel by grabbing her wrist and spinning her around before she flipped Rachel on her back. Rachel landed with her feet first to absorb the blow and rolled away as soon as Grace released her. She stood up in time to watch Grace as she struck Zach's chin.

He staggered back, and they circled each other again.

Slipping to the left, Rachel tried to get behind Grace while Zach kept Grace's attention. When she thought the timing right, Rachel signaled Zach, and they both kicked Grace at the same time. Zach tried to sweep Grace's legs out from under her while Rachel tried to catch her in the back of the knee. Grace jumped over Zach's leg and fell forward into a flip with her legs scissored out behind her. As her legs left the floor, Grace caught Rachel in the chest, and Rachel fell backward with an oomph. Zack, already standing, tried to catch Grace's foot before she finished her flip, but Grace's hand whipped out and snagged Zach's ankle before he could secure his hold. She knocked him to the mat and landed in a roll. She stood and spun, waiting for their next attack.

Rachel nodded at Grace, impressed by her moves. They were different from Adam's but held more skill than anything she'd encountered elsewhere.

Zach flipped his legs over his shoulders and rolled backward and onto his feet. He stepped forward and punched, trying to hit Grace while she was observing Rachel. Grace shied sideways as his fist passed by the side of her head harmlessly. He followed it with a punch toward her gut. She grabbed his hand and yanked him forward. Her knee came up and landed in his chest. Rachel heard the wind whoosh out of his lungs, and she winced in sympathy.

Changing her tactics, Rachel attacked, and this time managed to throw Grace to the ground, but her small victory was short-lived, and it wasn't long before she ended up on her back with Grace looming above her. Rachel wiped the sweat from her brow and grinned. Oh, how she'd missed the rush of a good sparring session.

# Chapter 17

An hour later, Grace stopped their sparring session, and Rachel slumped against the nearest wall to catch her breath. She could feel beads of sweat roll down her nape and between her shoulder blades. Zach's hair was wet and spiky from sweat and the half-full bottle of water he'd upended on his head. He gave her two thumbs up.

"We did good," he said with a grin.

"Hmmm. Not bad for a couple of trainees," Grace answered with a smile of her own as she toweled her face.

"Not bad?" Zach snorted in disbelief. "I say we did better than 'not bad'!"

Grace threw her towel to the side and laughed. "All right, all right. You did well. It shows that you train with an _Hashashin_ regularly."

"It better," he grumbled. "Since Adam doesn't care that I'll be a linguist someday, and not a Hashashin. If I train with him, he said, it'll be his way."

"By having your ass handed to you regularly?" Rachel interjected, trying to hide her smile. Rachel could speak from experience now that she had a few training sessions of what Adam called endurance training under her belt. He was relentless.

"Yours too now," Zach fired back with a wink.

"Mine, too," she agreed readily.

"I hope they fixed the steam room," Zach said, stretching and wincing.

"Steam room?"

"Yeah," Zach replied.

"We don't have a steam room, just a hot tub," Rachel said.

"Which, I admit, is calling my name right now," Grace replied with a smile. "Sorry, your steam room is busted. I'd ask you to join us, but it's in the women's locker room, and you can't come in there."

"A hot tub would be nice, too." Zach sighed. He pulled at his shirt and grimaced. "Regardless, I need a shower. Ladies," he said, and left the training room.

Grace watched him leave before adding, "Follow me."

After changing, Grace led Rachel to the back of the locker room where a small hot tub sat nestled in a corner. Rachel slowly lowered herself into the hot, bubbly water and groaned. It felt wonderful after the exertion of their training session. She didn't remember seeing one in the St. Louis compound, but then it wasn't set up for everyday living, unlike this safe house.

Rachel was getting comfortable when Grace joined her. "I don't want to encourage Zach," Grace told Rachel, a frown creasing her brow.

"Oh?"

The young novice sighed deeply and dipped her head under the water before answering. "Tony—" She tried again, "Me and another novice, we used to hang out quite a bit. We'd watch films and such in the common room. It wasn't serious or anything, but—" Her voice trailed off, and her eyes grew sad. "I don't want anyone to mourn me. No one should get attached to a Hashashin. It's not worth it."

Rachel went to protest. Loving a _Hashashin_ could well be worth it, then closed her mouth again. After all, hadn't she wondered the same thing regarding her attraction to Adam.

"It wasn't supposed to happen," Grace went on, seeming to speak more for herself than Rachel. "Hurston was always careful. Firm. But he took care of his own. No one expected he'd let himself be captured. How did those bastards ever manage to get all those names out of him?"

"I don't know, Grace," Rachel felt the need to say, although it didn't add anything to Grace's soliloquy. The young woman shook her head and fell silent for a long moment.

Rachel thought Grace wouldn't explain herself, but then she heaved a deep sigh. "Tony shouldn't have been there. I should have been the one to go. But Tony asked Hurston for the assignment, and Hurston agreed. He used my 'hesitation' as his reasoning."

"Hesitation?" Rachel asked, puzzled, but Grace didn't respond directly.

"I'm not a fool. I know why they assigned you to me," Grace said instead. "As the last novice in London, they want to keep me safe inside the compound."

Before Rachel could say anything, Grace continued, "My family has been _Hashashin_ for generations."

"Really?"

"Yeah. My parents—my father especially—wanted a boy, but I'm all they have." She shrugged. "Until recently, girls weren't allowed to become _Hashashin_. Ella was one of the first to be allowed in the field."

"Go, feminism?" Rachel said, trying perhaps unsuccessfully to make light of a situation which seemed to sadden Grace.

Grace chuckled and nodded. "That's one way to see it. Most women, though, don't stay in the field long. It's a hard life. From what I heard, Ella and Gwen are the exceptions to the rule. If it weren't for the fact my father wanted me to uphold the family tradition, I would have pursued something else."

"Oh? Like what?" Rachel asked, curious. Unlike Adam or Darius, Grace didn't appear married to the idea of becoming a Hashashin. What else was there for people like them?

"I don't know." Grace sighed. "Right now, Ella's working toward a solution, but I need to finish my training first." Grace paused. "It's nearly completely unheard of for the Order to recruit _Hashashin_ from within our ranks and even less common to find them in the outside world. The elders want lineage _Hashashin_ from traditional families like mine."

Or like Adam's.

"It makes for a small elite force, but now some lineage mothers are beginning to question the wisdom of the elders. Of course, they want to keep their kids out of danger. There will certainly be a backlash after the memorial."

"There are families that don't want their kids to do your job? I wouldn't have guessed," Rachel remarked sarcastically.

"Oh, yeah, especially now. And, of course, Cassandra's causing waves with Isaac about it. I mean, not everyone can be like Adam Black. Your boyfriend has quite a reputation in our group."

"What?" Rachel sputtered. "He's not my boy—"

Not listening to her, Grace continued, "He's a real legend; his whole family is. Until two years ago, he never missed a target, no matter how difficult or dangerous. It came as a shock to everyone when he almost died. I guess even living legends can make mistakes. One of the reasons Isaac and Adam don't get along too well is because Isaac was the best until Adam started training. I assume he didn't like being shown up by his little brother. Adam has a real talent for the job, just like their father before him." She shrugged. "Ella told me once that much of their antagonism comes from the fact Isaac is extremely focused on his goals, while he thinks Adam never takes anything seriously."

That wasn't true! Not in Rachel's experience, at least. But, she could see how Adam's disregard of the Order's rules could come across that way to stick-in-the-butt Isaac, causing friction between them. But she didn't think it was her place to defend Adam at this point, so instead, she changed the subject, "There are a bunch of boxes in the main hallway. What's up with that?"

"We're selling this location. It's compromised. But it takes time to move everyone since only a few of us can move out at a time. We want to avoid drawing the Org's eye."

"Drawing the Org's eye?"

"If your enemies know where you are, you need to not be there." Grace smiled at Rachel. "I'm not sure why we are taking such care, though. With Hurston's deflection, the Org already knows of this location, and the longer we stay here, the more probable it will be that the Org will try to infiltrate the building. Most of us will leave England completely, before filtering back in and going to new safe houses in the country. Some of us won't come back at all. The ones who don't come back will get reassigned to other regions. It will make for a chaotic few weeks."

"I'd think so. Do you guys change complexes often? I mean, doesn't the Org figure out where they are eventually?"

"Sometimes. We do try to change locations frequently enough to keep the Org guessing." Grace sighed. "This building's been a safe house for too long; it was too good of a building to abandon unless we had to. But it was bound to be discovered eventually. When we found it, it already had the guest rooms set up and an industrial-sized kitchen on the main floor. The only thing the Order had to modify was the infirmary and to add some security."

Grace relaxed back into the water. "My parents' current compound isn't this nice. They don't have the training facilities or the relaxation equipment available. So, before we move, I'm making full use of the hot tub. My next safe house probably won't have one."

***

The next day, Rachel once again made her way down the corridor to the library to find Zach. Her medical forum searches had netted her a few promising leads, and she wanted to discuss them with Zach since Adam was MIA.

Rachel's hand was on the library's door when she saw another door opening down the hall. The occupant left the room and walked away. Was that Zach? The man's build was the same, and he had short, sandy brown hair. "Zach?" Rachel called. The man's head whipped around, and she realized her mistake. She'd never met this individual before.

He pivoted and stomped toward her. Rachel's gaze fell to his right arm, where he wore the same kind of leather vambrace Adam always did. _Another_ Hashashin, she assumed. She had no way to prove if they all wore those bracers, but it now seemed a logical explanation since she'd only ever seen _Hashashin_ wearing them.

As he drew near, his expression went from surprised to wary and finally angry. His rage was palpable, and Rachel flattened herself against the wall.

He came to a stop in front of her and glowered. After a scathing appraisal, he turned on his heel and marched away without saying a word. With shaking hands, she fumbled with the library door handle and slipped into the room, where she found Zach, once again sitting at the table, pouring over yet another dusty journal. Her knees shook like Jell-O as she walked toward him.

Zach looked up and smiled. "What's up, Rach?"

Rachel shook her head. "Nothing."

Zach cocked an eyebrow. "Nothin'? Doesn't look like nothin'. What happened?"

"Nothing..." Rachel paused, then changed her mind, "Okay, there was a man I haven't met before in the hallway. I thought it was you at first, but when I called out, he turned around and stalked over to me. He didn't say anything, but if looks could kill, I'd be dead several times over."

"Really? Weird."

"Yeah," she agreed, but what could she do about the man in the corridor? Nothing. After a pause, she launched into why she'd come to see him in the first place. "Remember what I told you yesterday about the medical forums?"

"Okay."

"I think I found someone who helped with the early testing on that new device Luminations' press release talked about—you know the one that is supposedly capable of curing mental illness? Well, there is a whole forum thread dedicated to it on a medical site, and someone responded to a post I'd made."

When Zach's expression turned stormy, she hurried on, "I used a made-up name and claimed I was a health blogger, so I had a reason to be asking around. The man who emailed me back told me he'd be happy to answer my questions. He requested an in-person meeting at a coffee shop not far from here, but I thought I'd run it by Adam first, before doing anything more."

Zach groaned, "Rach, you have no idea who that person is. They could be Org! What are you even expecting to find out?"

"I thought, maybe, I can learn more about Luminations' research or more about that Mark character. It's a long shot, I know, but it's something I could do to help."

"No," Zach said in a hard, clipped tone. "Even I know that's a stupid idea." He pinched his lower lip between his thumb and index finger.

Rachel scowled. "I guess you're right," she grudgingly admitted, though she didn't like it.

Zach nodded and looked at her somewhat sheepishly. "Thanks for agreeing with me. Adam's always on my case about being too trusting, naïve, and I'm trying to save you a lecture. If you still think the contact will be helpful, tell Adam."

"I would, but he is never around."

"Try at night. He keeps waking me up when he comes back but is gone again by morning."

"Yeah. Okay," she said. "When does he get in?"

"Around three A.M." Rachel nodded. "And if you catch him, maybe you'll get lucky... Since that is what you both want anyway."

"Excuse me?"

"I don't know why you guys haven't bump uglies yet. It's painfully clear you both want it." Zach chuckled softly.

"What!"

"It is kind of funny," he continued ignoring her exclamation. "Adam always keeps people at a distance. The only person he's friends with is Darius, and that's a stretch of the definition friend. Hell, he doesn't even let me get close." Zach hummed to himself as he paused in thought. "I think he and Ella were friends at one time, but I never saw them together before the other day, and then Bam! You come along. He was totally interested from the beginning." Zach snorted. "I'd never seen him flirt before, and actually, I wasn't sure that was what he was doing at first, but then I realized he was coming onto you something fierce during classes."

Rachel didn't remember those first classes the same way. She thought Adam had acted a bit like a kindergartener, protecting his treehouse from girls with cooties.

"Y'know, we had a row about it after one class."

"You did?"

"Yeah. The night you were mugged, Adam called to see if the Org was involved. Darius told him to get rid of you."

Rachel blanched.

"No. Um. Not that kind of get-rid-of-you, yeah... uh... Anyway, it didn't stop Adam. Even I told him to lay off. Darius was surprised when he ignored a direct order." Zach shook his head and muttered, "Not sure why he was, though. Adam ignores most of his direct orders, why should the one about you be any different—"

"Tell me more about those journals you've been reading," Rachel interjected, embarrassed at the direction of the conversation. "Anything interesting in there?"

Zach's eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "Oh," he said, sounding surprised but eager. "It's fascinating. This one's all about the Han dynasty from 202 BC to 220 AD..."

# Chapter 18

Mark stepped out of his high-end townhouse and into the muggy morning. He felt nervous with Black back in London. It probably was madness to walk to work, but he liked the few minutes of fresh air it allowed him each day. And although his office was only a few blocks away, he didn't leave his home without first taking necessary precautions to ensure his safety. A glance to his right assured him one of his men followed hi discreetly. Pleased, he picked up his pace. Soon, he lost himself to his thoughts.

Mark arrived in the lobby of the office building, where Luminations occupied four floors and flashed his badge at the security officer at the front desk. The man barely nodded at him, which kicked off Mark's annoyance at the shoddy security the landlords maintained. He'd reached the lifts when the officer called out to him. Mark returned to the security desk to see what he wanted.

"Yes?" he asked.

"Mr. Prescott, sir, there was a gentleman here over the weekend wishing to speak to you."

"Oh?" Mark queried, only slightly curious.

"Yes, I didn't see him; someone from the weekend shift took the message. He said to tell you, 'I won't miss this time.' He refused to leave a name or contact information."

Mark blanched and left the daytime guard standing in the middle of the hall. He headed upstairs, brooding, and not liking the conclusions he drew.

Arriving at his office, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. Before he even set his laptop down, his assistant was at the door. "Mr. Prescott?"

"Yes, Bianca?"

She handed him a hot cup of tea and a memorandum. "Mr. Whitmore wants to talk to you as soon as you are in."

"Not now," Mark responded with a scowl.

The young woman hesitated, looking uncomfortable, but then nodded. "Yes, sir. Do you require anything else, sir?"

"Send up the main hall's security feed from the weekend."

If his assistant felt surprised by his demand, she didn't show it. She nodded again and left.

Fifteen minutes later, Mark was watching the video feed. "Impertinent git," he muttered, his gaze fixed on his computer screen. At eleven-thirty on Sunday morning, a man wearing a grey jumper walked casually to the officer on duty and struck up a conversation with him. Mark recognized him as Black since Black made no effort to disguise himself. After Black finished talking to the guard, he nodded, as if to say, 'I'm done here' and looked directly at the camera, a smirk on his lips.

Mark paused the video. "What the hell is he up too? This isn't how they do things," he grumbled softly. "Secretive. Unseen. Kill from the shadows. Black wouldn't just stroll in, wave to the camera, then leave. What could he possibly gain?" Mark couldn't think of a single reason, except... Maybe Black was here for something else. Did that mean the Order knew about the NOM? Did they suspect he held the scientist and their _Lokhagos_ captive?

It was time to ditch the evidence.

Mark stood up from his desk and marched out of his office and into the hallway. He proceeded to walk down the hall to the first conference room he found open. Once there, he grabbed his mobile and quickly dialed a number. Jorge answered on the third ring.

"Yes," Jorge grunted.

"Get rid of the _Lokhagos_ and the scientist; they've served their purpose."

"Sir, the female, she's perfect for more experimentation," Jorge protested. "She's a wealth of information. We haven't even scratched the surface of what she knows. The _Hashashin_ DNA research alone is worth keeping her alive for a while longer. Imagine what else we'll learn from her in the NOM."

Mark scowled; he didn't like it when subordinates questioned his orders, but Jorge had a point. The fact the Order now employed a geneticist, of all things, brought up intriguing possibilities and disturbing ones. They had to be planning something. If this was the case, Mark needed to know, regardless of the dangers of keeping her alive.

"Have John and Sal move the woman to safety. They'll know where to bring her."

Jorge sighed in relief. "All right, sir, I understand. Everything will be taken care of."

"Good," Mark said as he hung up the phone, then dialed a second number. It took him several minutes of talking to and threatening an absurdly correct butler before he gained permission to speak with Councilor Ridley.

The Councilor did not appreciate the interruption less than a week after Mark's official put-down for the death of his men. Mark didn't care. This incident was bigger than him. "Councilor Ridley, we have a problem."

"I'm listening," the older man replied, sounding annoyed.

"The Order has started sniffing around the Luminations offices. I'm afraid they might learn about our experiments at some point."

"What will you do about this problem, Prescott?"

Mark gritted his teeth. "I've already ordered the definitive removal of the _Lokhagos_ , but I need more agents to ensure my security, the security of the labs, and to guard the scientist."

The Councilor tsked. "No, Prescott, you will take care of the situation with the men you have. If you hadn't decided on independent action, you wouldn't have this problem. You know how important these experiments are. Do not let the St. Louis fiasco hinder them."

Mark felt a bead of sweat roll down his forehead. Unable to keep calm, he snapped, "If the Order succeeds in assassinating me, there will be no more experiments."

"No one is irreplaceable. We have others."

"And my daughter?"

"We told you before. If you die, I'm sure she will be safe with your ex-wife," Councilor Ridley replied, unperturbed. "Don't fail us, Prescott," he concluded and hung up on Mark.

Mark wanted to curse his superior, but he didn't dare do so aloud. He should have known he would get no more help from the Organization's Council. They didn't tolerate failure. But he wouldn't fail. Black's visit to Luminations was only a slight setback, nothing more.

***

Adam studied the softly illuminated Luminations' office building on the other side of the street and sighed. It was almost two in the morning, and he couldn't wait until he finished the second stage of his latest mission.

The first step had been easy; he had simply walked through the main entrance Sunday morning and went to talk to the guards. It frustrated Adam to leave such a blatant trail, but Isaac had been insistent. So, Adam had turned to the security camera in the corner and smiled, the move calculated to shake Mark up once he saw the feed. He hoped Mark lost sleep over it.

This whole posturing had been a pretense, of course, an excuse to enter the lobby and map its layout for later. It had also allowed Adam to evaluate the guard's apparent awareness level. He hadn't been impressed. Although the night team would not be the same, he doubted they would be any more alert.

It was such a waste of what he could do, and Isaac was taking great pleasure in giving him the worst mission orders possible for his skillset. After running all over the city for the last four days, being as conspicuous as an assassin with more than a decade of on the job experience and two decades worth of stealth training under his belt could possibly be, he now had the task of installing a bug in Mark's office.

_A bug of all things!_ Even entering the building unnoticed, the hardest part of the whole mission, wasn't that complicated for someone like him, and Adam hated squandering his skills. It was nothing but busywork, something a junior agent should do, not him. Although Adam understood Isaac's rationale—he wanted his remaining field agents far from danger for now—it still angered him.

Adam steeled himself to do the job quickly. Get in, get out, go home, and get some sleep. Isaac had him up at four in the morning to report on the last day's progress, and after doing two or three recon missions a day, it was getting to him.

It's not like this building was well-guarded, in any case. Adam could see the night team through the lobby window panes, sporting bored expressions as they scanned their screens and drank their coffee. In the last hour, he'd counted only two instances of a nighttime guard patrolling the corridors.

The most straightforward part of the mission was getting inside. The security blueprint the Order analyst had given him earlier today showed quite a few blind angles in the camera placement, and no motion sensors in the corridors or pressure sensors on the windows anywhere but on the lobby floor. It was as if no one expected an intruder to be able to get inside at an upper story. Quite a sloppy security job, if you asked him. But then, this was an ordinary office building, not an Org owned facility. He was surprised Mark hadn't pushed for better security after his arrival there, but the analyst had assured him the blueprints were up to date.

Time to get out of the cold, Adam decided. Confident in his skill to complete the job without a hitch, he creptd down the street and made his way to the alleyway separating the building from its neighbor. This time of night, the streets were empty, and the chances of detection were close to zero, but training had ingrained the need to stay unseen even in the dead of night.

Once hidden from view, he lost no time shimming up a drainpipe to a third-floor window. He freed one hand to fish a tool from his belt. He then slipped the long but narrow hook between the window and the sill and moved it around slowly until he caught the latch with it. The window sill was old and cracking. It only took him a few more twists of his wrist to turn the lock to the open position.

Adam slid the hook out and placed it back in the pouch on his belt. He grabbed a pair of thin leather gloves from his pocket and put them on before pulling the window up and making his way inside without a sound. Adam left it open behind him, in case he had to make a quick exit—as unlikely as it was, it was better to be prepared. He checked his watch and calculated he had twenty minutes before the guard's next passage on this floor.

He had memorized the building's floor plan, along with the security blueprint, so he knew precisely where Mark's office was situated. He made his way along the corridor, hugging the walls and jumping from dead angle to dead angle until he reached an oak door with a bronze plaque indication this was indeed Director of Research Mark Prescott's office.

Adam made short work of the old-fashioned lock, using a series of small picklocks he carried with him. Once inside, he closed the door behind him and scanned the room. Per the plans, the door to his right opened into the assistant's office. It wasn't needed tonight, so he ignored that room.

Lighting his mini-flashlight, Adam approached the desk, knelt in front of the computer tower, and took out a small flash drive from his back pocket. The Order's computer expert assured him the disk downloaded some sort of small spyware program that searched through Mark's files. Frankly, he hadn't listened carefully to the explanation.

He pushed the small drive into the USB port on the back of the machine and returned the maze of cables to their original positions. That way, unless someone went snooping, the fob would stay undiscovered. Then he sat down in Mark's overstuffed leather chair and took out the two small electronic microphones from their protective envelopes.

From the lack of clutter on the desk's surface to the proximity of the doors leading to the assistant's office and the hallway, Adam deduced the chances of Mark using this room for anything more than his most official business was slim to none. Still, he kept working. Even if this mission proved pointless, he would obey a direct order.

This time.

He checked his watch. _Ten more minutes_. Adam had plenty of time. He only had to install a microphone under the desk and one in the potted plant near the assistant's door.

A few minutes later, Adam completed the tasks and stretched, appraising his work. Satisfied, he'd left the desk exactly the way he'd found it, turned off his small flashlight, grabbed his tools, and exited Mark's office, locking the door behind him.

Again, he danced and dodged his way through the dark corridor, back to the window he'd used to get inside. With his exit in sight, Adam heard heavy footsteps in the hallway behind him. He swore under his breath.

The night guards.

No sooner had he climbed through the window, then Adam heard the guard mutter to himself, "Stupid employees, leaving windows open."

The guard slammed the window shut, narrowly missing Adam's fingers as he hung from the sill. Adam sighed, relieved; the guard hadn't even checked outside before he closed it.

A sideways shimmy allowed him to grab onto the drainpipe. He let himself slide down to the second floor, and from there, jumped away from the pipe. Adam hit the pavement of the alley and fell into a controlled tumble. He saw the broken beer bottle too late to avoid it and cursed when he felt it penetrate through his clothes and flesh as he rolled over it. Coming to his feet, he walked away from Luminations while tugging his shirt aside to inspect his injury.

Blood dripped from a three-inch gash.

_Siktir!_ He would need stitches.

Adam glanced skyward. Now he had to visit the infirmary before he could go to bed.

# Chapter 19

"Black," a man sporting a British accent and enough scorn to stain the carpets, broke the silence of the night, and Rachel froze at the corner of the hallway's main intersection, straining to hear more.

"Simon," Adam greeted him politely.

"You're not welcome here," Simon said in a low voice, his tone frigid.

Trying to stay hidden, Rachel peeked around the corner. Simon had his back to her, but she recognized the rigid set of his shoulders and dirty blond hair. It was the _Hashashin_ who glared at her in the hallway the other day.

" _Stratigos_ Haddad requested my presence in London," Adam said. "You know I am bound to obey orders regardless of your wishes, Simon."

Simon scoffed. "I know you too well, Black. When there's trouble, you're always in the middle of it. Who will die this time? Murderer."

Rachel's brows furrowed. Murderer? Wasn't Simon a fellow _Hashashin_? And if so, wouldn't that make his accusation two-faced?

Adam sighed wearily. "It's late, Simon. Can we rehash this old argument later?"

Simon stepped forward, and for a moment, Rachel feared a fight might break out in the middle of the corridor. Adam seemed to come to that same conclusion, as his posture tensed, and he switched his balance to the balls of his feet in preparation.

"Be careful, Black. One of these days, karma'll catch up with you, and you'll lose someone _you_ love."

"Simon..."

After what felt like an eternity, Simon shoved Adam and stalked away. His footsteps echoing down the hallway leading to the main living quarters. Rachel heard Adam sighed deeply, his shoulders drooped, and he pressed a hand against his right side as he turned toward the infirmary. Rachel stepped around the corner and followed him.

Before the door could close completely, Rachel caught it. She yanked it open and found Adam right on the other side. He loomed over her in his dark gray hooded sweatshirt with burgundy details on the right side and black cargo pants. "I wondered if that was you at the stairwell. What are you doing awake?"

Rachel shifted her weight from foot to foot, biting her lower lip as she tried to come up with an explanation that didn't sound as ridiculous as 'I skulked around the corridors at three in the morning the past few days in the hope of catching you'. She opened her mouth to speak, but then her brain caught up with what she saw. The red on his sweatshirt was blood slowly seeping through the thick fabric and not an embellishment.

"You're hurt," she blurted out.

Adam gave her his best "you don't say" expression.

"What happened?"

He scowled and didn't answer, but before Rachel could press, the doctor—a man in his sixties, stooped by a bad case of arthritis—called Adam over.

Rachel moved out of the way as Adam climbed onto an exam table. She heard his grunt of pain as he pulled the hoodie from his arms. Grumbling to himself, he folded it and then reached above his head to remove his undershirt. He folded the t-shirt as well. Finally, he unhooked the strap of his knife sheath from his belt and added it to the pile.

"So, what happened?" she repeated.

Adam glanced at his wound, and Rachel grimaced. It looked deep, ragged, and painful. The doctor stepped close and frowned as he inspected it. Once finished, he announced, "You'll need stitches."

Adam shrugged, unconcerned.

"Adam," Rachel prompted.

He scowled. "It was a broken beer bottle."

"Someone attacked you with a broken bottle?!" She had an image in her mind of an Org assassin breaking a beer bottle against a wall before lunging at him with it.

"No," he replied, his tone flat, almost hostile as the doctor cleaned and disinfecting the wound. "I did not see it in time to prevent rolling over it."

"I see," she said, dragging her attention upward from his ribs and across his bare chest. Her gaze snagged on all his scars. Seeing them up close sobered Rachel. They stood as a stark reminder that, for all his skills, Adam Black was still a man: human and fallible.

The doctor left Adam's side to get the supplies necessary for the stitches. The silence stretched as Rachel tried to think of something to say. For lack of anything brilliant, she opted for teasing him instead. "So, when you fight against several men trying to kill you, you end up with barely a scratch, but a broken beer bottle nets you stitches? Have I finally found your kryptonite?"

He glared at her, but the corner of his mouth twitched as if he were trying to stay mad, but unable to manage it. "It was dark," he replied defensively.

"Uh-huh."

Once again, the doctor interrupted them when he stopped by Adam's side, a syringe in hand. Rachel cocked an eyebrow. "Novocaine?" she guessed.

The doctor responded with a clipped, "Tetanus," then he went to work on the wound. _Wait? No numbing?_ Rachel thought, shocked, and took a step back to lean against the wall.

She winced in sympathy as the physician first gave Adam the vaccine, then began stitching. Through all of it, Adam stayed impassive, not even flinching when the hooked needle pierced his skin, repeatedly. In the end, the wound required twenty-six stitches before the doctor stepped back, satisfied. He nodded and taped a piece of gauze over his handwork. "I don't believe you'll abide my instructions, but _try_ to take it easy for a few days, won't you?"

Adam shrugged noncommittally, and the physician sighed, grabbed his instruments and bloody gauze, and walked back to his workstation to clean up. Adam was left to put his shirt on by himself. He snatched his t-shirt and sweatshirt off the exam table but took one look at their bloody state and frowned. He balled them up and stood. "I'm guessing there's a reason you've been waiting for me, but the infirmary isn't the best place for a deep discussion." He looked around and made a face. "I hate this place."

Rachel stared at him, surprised by the vehemence of his tone. He didn't like hospitals? That was news to her. His earlier stoic attitude implied otherwise.

"Er... somewhere else, then?"

Adam thought for a moment. "My room will do."

He gestured for her to precede him back into the hallway. Rachel did so, but for some reason, her heart beat faster. Behave, she scolded the traitorous organ. She wanted to speak to him about her internet sleuthing, not make a move on him or anything.

At the entrance to the main living quarters, Adam paused to unlock and open the door. They ascended the stairs, turned right into the training room hallway, and at the end of it, stopped. Adam opened a door and had her enter. Closing it behind them, he turned and raised an eyebrow in silent question.

Rachel inspected the room. It didn't look different from hers. She didn't know what she'd imagined; maybe some artwork on the wall or a fish in a bowl on a desk, something to make it homey. Regretfully, he too slept in an old, slightly faded hotel room. It was a little depressing that he didn't have a place to call his own, not even his loft in St. Louis.

"You wished to speak with me?" Adam prompted.

Rachel went to sit on the edge of his bed and bit her lower lip. Now that she had him in front of her, her whole plan about trying to find out more about Luminations through the health forums seemed harebrained, even if she may have dug up a lead. Besides, Adam, without a shirt, was distracting.

"Well," She hesitated. Gazing at his left forearm, Rachel once again thought it odd that he used something as old-fashioned as leather armor and a knife. "Why don't you use guns?" she asked. "A knife seems so..." Rachel tried not to shudder. Never in her wildest dreams would she have expected to discuss the art of murder with a known killer.

"Death shouldn't be easy," he said as he unbuckled the bracer and set it on the small table next to him. He rubbed his freshly exposed skin as he continued, "We _Hashashin_ should never forget the importance of human life."

"But," she hedged, "why a knife and not a gun?"

"I use whatever I need to get the job done, including firearms, but only if there is no other recourse. The blade is preferred."

"Why?" It didn't make sense.

Adam shrugged. "When our own lives are on the line with every assignment, when death is up close and personal, it reminds us that we should never end a life thoughtlessly. It keeps us grounded and mitigates unnecessary risks. Guns make us careless."

His responses answered her questions but didn't make anything easier to understand. She tried again. "How did you become this _Hashashin_?" In truth, she wanted to ask him why he'd decided to become an assassin, but forming those words proved too tricky.

"I trained. I trained for years until I was good enough to stand a chance of surviving against the Org, but that's not your real question, is it?" Adam replied, proving yet again, his ability to read her like an open book. "Let me guess. Your real question is more like 'why?'."

"Yeah, why? Why decide to kill others? I know you are lineage and probably had no choice, but still..." She didn't understand why anyone would choose to become a murderer.

"You're wrong about my choice in the matter. The option to do something different existed, but I never imagined being anything else; it's in my blood. My father was a Hashashin. Isaac, too, before he became _Stratigos_. Even my sister was one for a few years until she married and quit. As for the rest of my family, it goes back many generations."

"How young?" He cocked an eyebrow at her as if waiting for her to be more specific. Rachel took a deep breath and tried again. "How old were you when you started training?"

"Hmmm... four or five, I think. I don't remember exactly anymore." He shrugged as she stared at him, appalled.

_Four or five_?! That sounded horrific.

He must have seen her expression, for he continued, "We are not monsters. Nor is anyone else in the Order. It might have been different in centuries past, but these days, it's no worse than having your kids start sports at a young age. Serious training only began once I reached eight or nine and showed some aptitude." He held up his hand, stopping her before she protested. "Once again, it's no worse than a lot of children who will start training for their Olympic careers at around those ages."

Rachel's expression hovered between annoyance and dismay. "It's not the same thing at all! You were trained, as a child, to kill people." The thought of him learning how to best murder another human being sickened her. How could lineage families do that to their children? And Adam was so calm and accepting of it all!

Adam gripped her shoulders and forced her to face him. "I know what you're thinking. Don't pity me, Rachel. It wasn't a bad childhood; a little austere maybe, but not unhappy." He paused and smiled ruefully. "Mostly, I was proud to follow in my father's footsteps, even if he wasn't there to see it."

"Your... father?" Rachel asked, annoyed she had nothing more intelligent to say. It was hard to stay indignant on his behalf when he seemed so accepting of his fate.

Adam nodded and dropped his hands from her shoulders. "He was killed in action when I was four. An assignment went bad." He grew wistful. "I don't remember him, but I remember the aftermath. Isaac was ten when our father died. Overnight, he'd become the man of the house. He had to take care of a little sister, a baby brother, and a shell of a mother. It changed him, and not necessarily for the better." He grimaced. "We've always been at odds."

"Is it worth it?" she asked. "This war you all are a part of?"

"I believe so." He hesitated. "The Organization will stop at nothing to ensure they will be the ones to control the world. They can't be allowed to do this. No one country, organization, or entity should have total and absolute power." Adam looked her in the eyes, adding, "Can you imagine it?"

Rachel shook her head.

"There would be no free will, no independent decisions, no growth, no change, and no societal movement forward or backward. All progress halted. Nothing good comes from one group controlling everything."

She could see the wisdom of this argument, and she nodded in understanding.

"The Order has fought, and will continue to fight, so everyone else stays free to go about their lives. That has always been our mission," he explained.

"Why don't more people know about this?"

"The stakes are too high, and the world's governments aren't yet ready to deal with the technology we are protecting. Could you imagine a country like North Korea or Iran learning about them? Or even the United States."

"I see what you mean. It would be... bad."

He nodded. "It's better to stay in the shadows than have an all-out war. Such a war would cost hundreds of thousands their lives."

Rachel opened, and then closed her mouth again, her mind whirling. He was right, of course, but it seemed so unbelievable.

"I am ready to die to stop the Organization," he said, "and anyone else who would want to take control of the alien technology for their gains. We all are."

After a moment, the intensity of his expression forced her to look down. "I see," she finally said, even though she didn't. Averting her eyes ended up being a mistake, as they dropped to his bare, nicely defined chest and stomach.

Her heartbeat, which had been slowing, picked up again, and her fingers itched to touch him, to trace the scars crisscrossing his skin—each one proof of the battles he'd fought, and hardships endured—and feel the warmth of his body. _Bad idea_. Now wasn't a good time to get sidetracked by her hormones.

"Every year, the stakes are raised," Adam said after a moment of silence, dragging her from her thoughts.

She lifted her gaze from his chest and back to his face to ask, "What do you mean?"

"For a long time, the Org tried to manipulate the masses through religion. When that stopped working, they turned to other schemes—a lot of this is in the history books already." Adam paused and looked around the room before meeting her eyes again. "In the last twenty years, technological advances have allowed the Org to study any artifacts they come across. We know the Org researchers have managed to decode some of the technology for use against the general population and us. They continuously push to release it through their puppet companies like Luminations."

He heaved a sigh. "We counter this by trying to secure or destroy all that we can find. But sometimes, it feels like a losing battle. Yet we can't give up. The content of those weapon caches is too dangerous. We can't let the bad guys use it."

"But surely, not all that technology is bad? There has to be a way to study it safely and learn from it—"

Adam cut her off. "We have found enough deadly weapons in one cache to kill all of Earth's population. And that's just what we know exists. Our scientists think we've barely scratched the surface of what's in that one cache. And we have several more caches secured around the world. Who knows how many, yet, lie hidden."

Rachel paled as this information sank in.

"Unfortunately," Adam said, continuing his thought, "the Order has been slow in realizing that their findings needed to be studied and understood. For a long time, we believed it was better to leave the technology alone. But this is not a possibility anymore."

She felt a little sick to her stomach.

"Rachel—" Adam's voice pulled her attention back to him once again. He reached forward and ran his hand up her shoulder to her neck. His palm cupped her cheek. "I know this isn't your fight. But this is something the Order believes in strongly. _I_ believe in this strongly."

He had gentle hands, Rachel thought, longing blossomed in her heart. She could feel each hard-won callous against her skin. Rachel closed her eyes as a shiver coursed down her spine. When she reopened them again, Adam's mouth was mere inches from hers.

Groaning, she closed the distance between them, and as their lips met, she had no choice but to let go of the hope she might not be attracted to him anymore. Whatever his profession, or the blood on his hands, he was Adam, and she wanted to be with him, always.

Weaving her fingers through his short hair, Rachel deepened the kiss. Adam's tongue slipped inside her mouth, and for one long, drugged minute, she lost herself in the sensations of him. Then Adam gently pushed her back and held her at arm's length. "Rachel," he rasped. "This isn't a good idea." He visibly struggled with letting her go. "You should... return to your room. Before we do something we'll both regret." He stepped back and ran a hand through his hair.

Rachel blinked to clear her head.

Regret? What?

"I—" She stood, quickly, feeling herself flush. Bad idea or not, she felt hurt and rejected by Adam's words. "That's not why I came here tonight," she muttered, walking backward toward the door leading to the hallway. She fumbled with the door handle. "But you're right. I wouldn't want you to do something you would regret."

"I told you. There are rules against mentors and trainees getting too intimate." He almost sounded apologetic.

Almost.

Rachel laughed humorlessly. "And now you follow the rules?"

He shrugged but said nothing.

"Great. Just great," Rachel choked out.

And before she could do something foolish, she forced herself to leave. Closing the door behind her, Rachel hurried away. Once she was back inside her room on the other side of the complex, she realized she had not told him anything about the health forum and the person she'd contacted.

Well, she wasn't about to go back now.

# Chapter 20

Rachel sat in the plush commons room on the ground floor of the safe house, staring dejectedly at her coffee. She hadn't been able to sleep after fleeing Adam's room. She'd been too hurt and too pissed.

_Why? Why did he choose_ now _to follow the Order's stupid rules?_

It enraged her to remember how casually he'd pushed her back. She remembered their kiss and the passion he'd showed, and her anger dissolved, only to burn brightly again as she recalled his callousness.

Typical. I always go for the assholes.

And with that thought, she gave up the pretense of being in a good mood. It wasn't as if anyone, but Zach or Grace cared, and neither one of them was there with her right now, so what did it matter? Instead, she sat in silence, sipping the worst cup of coffee ever. What wouldn't she do for a good mocha latte? Rachel placed her cup on the low table in front of her.

The sofa cushion next to her depressed and a shoulder bumped hers. "S'up, Rach?" Zach asked grinning.

Rachel glared at him.

"Uh, I mean, Rachel," he amended.

"Nothing."

"Uh-huh. I almost believe you. What gives? You catch Adam yet?"

"Yes," she replied.

"And?" Zach prompted. "Was the contact info helpful?"

"I..." She faltered. "I didn't get a chance to tell him."

"Oh?" Zach's voice lilted up in response. "I gather from that maudlin expression that it wasn't a pleasant exchange."

Maudlin? Exchange?

"Look, Zach, I don't want to talk about it."

"No smexy times, got it."

"Drop it," she snapped.

"So... You givin' up on researching that forum responder, then?" he inquired.

Rachel hesitated and shrugged. "Yeah, you were right, Zach. It's a stupid idea. The only draw is the thought of the good coffee they might sell at that coffee shop. The stuff they serve here shouldn't even be used to water the potted plants."

Rachel plucked her cup from where it sat and studied the remainder. "I get that the British like their tea and all, but how hard is it to throw some grounds into a filter and pour hot water over it?" She swirled the contents of her mug and took a sip. _Gross_. She grimaced as she finished her drink in one swallow.

"I miss good coffee, too. Once the danger has blown over... well, I should say 'once the immediate threat has blown over' since it's always dangerous, then maybe we can convince Adam to grab some real coffee and visit the city. Y'know, sightsee."

"That sounds good, Zach," she agreed.

Setting her mug down, Rachel asked, "Did you find anything else interesting in those old journals of yours you were reading yesterday?"

"Sure," Zach replied. "But, I always find something interesting in the library." Zach stood. "I was going to head there after breakfast, but I could use a break from all that reading. Wanna spar?"

Rachel nodded and rubbed her hands on her thighs. A sparring session sounded excellent.

"Cool. I'll eat light then."

"Yeah," Rachel agreed. "I'm not cleaning up your mess if you work too hard on a full stomach."

Zach chuckled. "You eat already?" he asked, using his thumb to indicate the buffet behind him.

Rachel stood. "No. But I'm not all that hungry."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Rachel replied. Her stomach churned. It was still in knots from earlier.

"Keep me company, then?" Zach asked as he backed away.

She shrugged. "Yeah. Okay. Sure."

While Zach selected his food, Rachel grabbed a chair and sat. Finding a discarded napkin, Rachel plucked at it, her fingers refusing to stay idle. She was tearing off small pieces of it when Zach rejoined her a few minutes later. He lifted an eyebrow but respectfully didn't comment.

"I got clearance from Isaac to go to God's Library—Y'know, the weapon's cache in Turkey?" Zach said, and Rachel nodded. "I can transfer away from Adam as early as after this mission. But..."

She sat forward in her chair, her fingers stilling. "You want to do that? Leave Adam?"

Zach bit into a piece of toast, brows cast downward in thought. "No. Not really. I want to finish my degree and final recruitment training in St. Louis, but going to _that_ library? It's one hella draw." He flicked his gaze to her. "Adam would understand. I think."

Rachel nodded. Adam didn't seem to want any trainees and would probably jump at the chance to get rid of Zach. "What would you do there?"

"Study the scriptures."

"Scriptures?" For a _currently_ non-religious sect, they sure had some Christian-y sounding definitions.

"Yeah. About ten years ago, a team of Order explorers stumbled upon some training"—Zach said, adding air quotes—"manuals or something. They are these thin plastic-like-sheets—Ya know, like those prototype e-Ink sheets?" Not waiting for her reply, Zach continued, "Rolled up and stored like scrolls. A year or so before they recruited me, the Order learned how to turn them on. When the devices loaded with something like glyphs for text, the Order went on a binge recruitment hunt. They searched for cipher crackers, hardware hackers, reverse engineers, and linguists." Zach beamed at her. "You already know where I fall on that scale."

Rachel nodded. She knew. "And you hope to figure out what they say?"

"Yep."

"Cool." Maybe she should join that team. The work sounded exciting, and her prior programming career might come in handy with it.

"Yeah," Zach replied, chewing. "I hope I can learn more about the aliens' civilization, but knowing my luck, I'll be assigned the one _janitorial_ manual instead of anything exciting. How to clean the royal alien toilet, step one—"

"Has the Org found any scrolls?" Rachel asked interrupting.

Zach shrugged and took another bite of his breakfast. "I assume so, but no one has told me anything. My clearance isn't that high yet," he explained. "I only read the classified reports at my clearance level or the ones Adam sneaks me."

"Does he do that often? Share classified docs?"

Zach smiled. "What do you think?"

Rachel assumed by Zach's grin that Adam bucked the rules often for his sake. She scowled, remembering when he wouldn't for her.

Regret.

Regret her ass.

"Hey, cheer up," Zach said, patting her forearm. "In another few days, we'll be done here, and we can get back to normal."

"Normal? Like studying alien tech and dodging rival factions?"

"Nah," Zach chirped, shaking his head. "Getting our asses handed to us by Adam in training. Speaking of," he said as he dusted his hands and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "Ready?"

Rachel laughed and stood. "Yeah. Sure."

Zach tossed his napkin on his plate and grabbed his used dishes. "I'll drop these in the bus bins. Catch you in a few? At the main door to the barracks?"

"Yep," Rachel said with a nod. "I'll go change and meet you there."

"Roger Dodger."

Rachel chuckled as she left Zach. Taking the main stairs two at a time, she hustled to her room to change. She didn't want Zach to have to wait for her for too long. Reaching her door, Rachel pulled it open and stepped inside before coming to an abrupt halt.

Standing at her computer and holding several of her handwritten notes was Grace. She was reading what Rachel had written, and she looked livid.

"Care to explain why you are contacting known Organization members?" Grace questioned.

"I'm not—" Rachel sputtered. _Org_?

"Oh? Why is there an email trail between you and 'Lumin203' requesting a meeting in a known Org establishment?" Grace spat back at her. "It's disguised as innocent questions about the trials. Clever. But not clever enough. How long have you been spying on us? Who's your contact?"

"I don't have a contact. I'm not." Rachel felt the blood drain from her face, and her ears buzzed. Was she talking to an Org member? "I found that guy on a health forum! He said he helped with one of Luminations' medical trials. I only thought to get more information about their human testing. I swear I didn't realize the responder was an Org member."

Several thoughts ran through her mind, all of them dealing with how the Order would treat a traitor in their midst. Rachel drew only one conclusion. Death. She had to convince Grace she was no traitor.

"I talked to Zach about it," Rachel explained. "He made me promise to discuss it with Adam first and not to go. I didn't go. I didn't even answer the invitation! You can check my browser history and my email account; I haven't written him back apart from that first forum post."

Rachel took a shaky breath. She needed to calm down; panicking wouldn't help her prove her innocence. "I even set my alarm for three in the morning this week, to try to catch Adam in between missions. I wanted to tell him about it. I didn't know if the contact would be useful or not. I haven't reset my alarm yet, you can check it."

"Isaac doesn't trust you. How can I believe you when you went behind everyone's back to contact the Org?"

"I didn't! I told you; I had no idea who contacted me, and I never even replied."

Grace kept staring at her with suspicion, and Rachel kept babbling, willing Grace to change her mind. "I only thought I would be helping. Talk to Adam. He'll confirm I was with him last night. I wanted him to know everything, but we got... sidetracked."

When Grace spoke next, her tone was more conciliatory, "You really didn't know you were talking to an Org agent?"

"No, I swear!" Rachel exclaimed. Grace's capitulation made Rachel's limbs shaky with relief. She stepped closer. "How did you know it was Org? I thought I'd been careful to hide my identity, so they wouldn't know it was me."

Grace paused a moment before coming to a decision. "It's not you hiding your identity that's the problem. See, the coffee shop is already in our database as a known Organization business enterprise." She shook her head. "They should have given you access to the files, would have saved you a lot of trouble, but I guess I understand why they didn't."

Rachel nodded, ready to agree to almost anything if it meant Grace believed her.

"Here," Grace said, swiveling Rachel's chair, and sat, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she typed. Rachel tried not to groan. Instant access could only mean one thing. She'd foolishly left the PC open, and herself logged on before going down for breakfast. How could she be so stupid? Rachel walked over to the bed and peered over Grace's shoulder. Grace had closed Rachel's guest account and logged back in as herself. She opened a browser and navigated to a file on the system. "We don't know all of the shell business, but the ones we do know are listed here."

Grace pointed to the coffee shop record. In addition to some business details, it showed the last known Organization agent who owned it. Rachel noted that most of the details came from a public record, such as she'd find in a simple Google search.

"Who is Kepa Moreno?" Rachel queried, pointing to the name of the shop's owner.

"A Spanish agent. It's easier for him to launder money outside his home country."

"Okay."

"He's small fry, though," Grace mumbled while searching for another record. "Here..."

Rachel leaned over to read the entry on Kepa Moreno.

"He's not a Prescott, Ridley, or Kulkarni, that's for sure." Grace chewed on her lower lip as she thought about it some more. "I wonder if this 'Lumin203' guy knows anything useful... I'd love to get in on the action. What if this one guy knows something key? Perhaps he's even one of those who carried out the hits here in Britain." Grace's expression went from thoughtful to cunning. It set off Rachel's mental alarm bells. She'd seen that expression before, in Adam, and it brought her nothing good.

"What are you planning?" She wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer.

"What if we set a trap? Bring him back here to the interrogation room. Find out what he knows?"

Rachel tried not to look too horrified. "I don't know, Grace, that seems stupid. What would we gain?"

"Maybe nothing, maybe everything! I need this, Rachel." Grace paused. "Isaac's taking too long to come up with the proof he needs. Perhaps we can find out who's behind the attacks, get revenge on the bastard who did this at the same time!"

"What if the Org's watching the coffee house? Wouldn't the owner want to know everything going on in there?"

"Rachel, he's in Spain! He doesn't care who comes to his business, as long as it stays profitable. It's just another way for him to fund the Organization."

"But..." Rachel paused. "What if this 'Lumin203' person is Prescott or Ridley?"

"Why would Ridley himself be answering forum inquiries? Or Prescott, for that matter? They have staff for that."

"But Prescott works for Luminations."

"As an R and D director."

"But—"

"This 'Lumin' character," Grace said, continuing her thought, "might be an upstart who hasn't hit our radar yet. We could get the information out of your guy, I'm sure, and then Ella can decide what to do with him."

"He's not 'my guy'," Rachel protested, so far, dealing with the Org had involved lots of high-speed chases and excessive amounts of flying bullets. She didn't like the idea of Grace going off on her own like this. "Grace, I am not sure about this. What would Ella say?"

Grace looked away, seeming to reconsider her course of action. "Ella would certainly punish me if she knew. As well she should, seeing as I'm still her novice..." She hesitated, but then shrugged, and her expression hardened. "But Ella isn't here. She's in Scotland to talk to Greer's family and share her condolences. It's just me right now. And I want to do this."

"I don't—"

"I don't need an untrained civilian—no offense—tagging along," Grace snapped in exasperation. "I'll respond to this guy. If he's still interested in a meeting, I'll plan the trap from there. I can do this."

"Wait, you can't go by yourself." It now seemed hopeless for Rachel to talk her out of her crazy scheme, but if dissuasion didn't work, Grace would need help. Hopefully, Rachel could keep her out of trouble. Two sets of eyes were better than one. "No, this is foolish. You shouldn't go at all, but if you insist at least let me come with you. I can keep watch from a distance. If something happens, I can call for help."

"As a backup," Grace relented. She gave Rachel an appreciative once-over. "I've seen your moves. You could be an asset in a scuffle."

Rachel kept to herself the fact that all the times she'd been fighting against trained Org agents, she had been losing badly. Her only success consisted of that stupid mugger, and that had been an unrelated event.

"Here," Grace said, pushing the laptop toward Rachel. "Type in your credentials. I'm going to email your contact."

# Chapter 21

Mark sat at his desk at Luminations Corp, trying to focus on his paperwork, but his thoughts kept drifting back to his current problem. His _Hashashin_ -shaped problem.

To date, none of the ideas he'd come up with to get his hands on the woman, Rachel, seemed plausible. They all seemed downright foolish. She was locked away in one of the Order's compounds, anywhere in or around London. But which one? It wasn't as if he had the men available for day and night surveillance on each of the known locations. With no way to find her, no way to contact her, and barring sending agents to search for her, he had no way to acquire her. If he didn't manage to come up with a workable plan soon, he'd have to scrap his idea about capturing her altogether. Mark scowled. He didn't like feeling helpless and had to forcibly remind himself of the adage, 'If you have enough time and money, anything was possible.', and Mark had plenty of money. Unfortunately, Mark was running out of time. He needed to have Rachel secured, and Black eradicated to keep his standing in the Org.

A feeling of furiousness and helplessness settled into his gut, twisting, and turning, and making him queasy.

The chirp on his mobile notified him of a new email, and Mark scowled at the device. He'd glimpsed the subject line, which read, "Internet Activity Report" before the screen had gone dark. He huffed in mild irritation and almost dismissed the email altogether, but then he sighed. He should at least do a quick read-through. He opened it and scanned the text.

Most of the time, the activity report listed nothing more than spiderbot hits and other internet indexing programs, but today there was a legitimate page hit for several key web pages Mark monitored. A bot crawled the United States and English patent websites, public tax records, Luminations press releases, and even the known records about his career.

The report now had his complete attention.

A bot wouldn't read up on each of those line items. Only a person would.

Mark kept reading. The information presented turned riveting. The same crawler hit some medical forums where Mark had Org agents monitoring activities. The agents answered questions related to the ads about joining the different Luminations medical trials. The Organization always needed guinea pigs, and open trials were the easiest way to fake legitimacy. People were gullible and eager to believe in miracle cures. They signed up in droves.

For all its implications, the email didn't surprise him. Mark assumed when he resurfaced months ago, that the Order would research his movements, and now that two Order operatives had turned up missing and several others were dead, it made sense for the Order to reopen their investigation. But this was the third time his alarms went off in as many days. Either a recruit was looking into him, or the Order was being careless about covering their tracks. He'd place his money on it being a raw recruit.

The summary blurb at the bottom of the official document brought Mark to a halt. The agent compiling the results included some email correspondences from an individual interested in several listed details, a '007'.

Mark smiled wryly. Someone at the Order was getting cheeky.

He sent a reply: _Good job, Garret. That coffee shop is perfect for an in-person meeting. If the Order checks, it will flag as legitimate. I want you to orchestrate a meeting between yourself and '007'. Additional instructions are forthcoming._

In less than an hour, Mark had an answer from his agent. The responder '007' agreed to a meeting later that day. Scrambling, Mark assembled his usual team of agents for the 'teatime interview'. The current plan was to take out whoever showed up. He didn't need more Order members sniffing around if he could help it.

With that out of the way, all Mark had to do now was sit back and wait for '007' to make the mistake of showing up. Unless it was a trap, he thought with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. It might well be a bait-and-switch, but he discounted the idea almost at once. Black didn't operate that way. Hell, not even the Order worked that way. It was part of the reason why they were lagging in knowledge.

Too many scruples.

In any case, Mark would be far from the action. His men would handle it and report back to him once it was all said and done.

***

Rachel fidgeted while she stood in the empty hallway on the secured side of the complex, waiting for Grace to complete her preparations and hoped someone she knew would wander by, like Zach or even Simon. She needed to warn someone, preferably someone with authority, about Grace's rash plan, and she couldn't believe that no one was around. Not even Isaac.

Five minutes later, Grace ran up to Rachel with a holstered gun in one hand and a small cell phone in the other. "Here," she said, handing Rachel a cell phone. "The Order's emergency number is preprogrammed for you. Arms out," Grace prompted. When Rachel complied, Grace slid the chest holster over Rachel's shoulders and tightened the buckles. "It's unmarked. Use it if you need it."

"But—"

Grace stepped around Rachel and gave her a tight smile. "Ready?"

Rachel took a deep breath. "Uh."

Nodding, Grace said, "Good. Let's go," and lead Rachel away from the front door.

As they approached the back, Rachel asked, "Why are we going this way?"

"More convenient, and I told security Ella approved our outing. They won't be watching this exit," Grace replied.

"But can't they cross-check that?"

Grace shook her head. "They can, but they won't. One, they have no reason to think I'm up to something, and two, Ella is in Scotland. They won't call her over something as mundane as a shopping trip." Grace set her hands against the push bar. Her grin was tight, almost a grimace. "Here we go."

No alarm sounded, and Rachel glanced outside without much enthusiasm as Grace scanned the alley before giving Rachel the all-clear.

They left the Order and walked in silence for several blocks.

"The coffee shop is up there," Grace said, indicating the direction with her chin as she checked her knife sheaths and armor buckles, "around the corner. Wait here. I should only be a moment."

Rachel's fingers tightened around the cellphone Grace had given her. "This isn't close enough; I can't see you from here. What if there's a problem?"

"There won't be."

"But—"

"No, buts!" Grace interrupted. "You have a phone and a weapon. That's all you need to protect yourself. You'll be fine, and I won't be more than a few moments."

"But—"

"Later, Rachel," Grace said, and stalked off.

Great.

While Grace was gone, Rachel paced. Should she leave her post and help, or would staying put be better? She'd just decided she would investigate Grace's whereabouts when she heard the unmistakable bang of a muffled gunshot sounding nearby. Rachel tensed, breath catching in her throat. Her palms grew clammy with sweat.

Was that Grace? Was she okay? Rachel strained to hear footsteps returning to her. When none came, she felt obligated to find out what happened. As she rushed toward the sound, Rachel retrieved her cell phone from her pocket, and as she skidded around the corner, she stumbled to a halt.

There on the pavement was Grace. Her blood poured out of a wound in her chest.

No!

Two men in tailored suits stood over her, talking. "Stupid novice! Thought herself clever," one man said to his companion. "Mark'll be pleased. He didn't expect the Order to let their last one out of the safe-house for months. What did she think she would accomplish coming here?"

"Who knows, who cares," his companion retorted.

Rachel stood rooted to the spot.

Grace was dead. Dead! And it was all her fault! She should have tried harder to stop her.

One of the men turned, spying her. "Well, what do we have here, John? A witness." He paused. "Hey, isn't that the slag we were supposed to secure at the airport?"

Rachel's attention narrowed on the man named John. He did look like one of her attackers.

"I think you're right. I owe the bitch." John took a menacing step forward.

She was in trouble.

Rachel dropped the cellphone, call unmade, and fumbled under her hoodie for the small pistol in the holster she wore, but before she could liberate the gun, John closed the distance and backhanded her, splitting her lip, and knocking her to the ground.

She tried to roll away, regain her footing, and put her training to use, but before she could, John had her by the scruff of the neck. He shook her to keep her off balance and clamped his hand over her lips. He then wrapped the arm which had been holding her by the nape, around her waist, pulling her painfully tight against him. Still, she tried to fight, to throw him off her. She had to get free.

"Sal? I do believe I might get a promotion for this. Hit her up with an inhibitor." Rachel felt something cold, hard, and sticky push against the back of her neck, close to her skull. A jab of pain went through her head and spine. Paralyzed. She collapsed in John's arms, unable to move even a finger.

John held her as the man named Sal studied Grace's crumpled form and kicked her once, before reaching down and yanking the bracer off her arm.

"Should we rough her up a bit?" Sal asked.

"No," John replied, "leave her be. You've got the armor for proof. Let's go before anyone spots us."

Grace was dead. Dead!

Rachel willed her limbs to move, but nothing happened, and instead of breaking free, Rachel could only endure as John carried her to a car at the end of the alleyway.

He paused as Sal opened the door to the backseat. Once open, John gracelessly shoved her inside and then joined her. Fear thundered in her veins, but instead of stripping her, hitting her, or worse, he only blindfolded her and made her lay down. Completely blind now, she listened to the car's engine as Sal drove her away to parts unknown.

***

The clock indicated five PM as Mark put on his coat to leave Luminations for the day. He was almost out the door when his mobile rang.

It was John.

Mark's excitement and impatience got the better of him, and he answered instead of letting the call go to voicemail. "Report."

"That contact. '007'? She was the last of the London novices."

_Bloody hell that is good news_ , Mark thought, a smile twisting his lips. He never expected to catch the young woman. Why had the Order let her out of the compound? He shook his head. It didn't matter why only that they had, and she was finally dead. "What did you do with her?"

"Gunshot to the chest. Stripped the vambrace from her arm and left her body in the alleyway for the police to find. Not too bright, that one." John chuckled.

"Good work," Mark said, preparing to hang up.

"Another thing, sir," John interrupted.

"Yes?"

"The woman you wanted from the airport? She was with the novice. We subdued her with an inhibitor and are en route. Where do you wish us to take her?"

Nearly dancing with glee, Mark replied, "The labs. Take her to the labs."

"Understood."

"Anything else, John?"

"No, sir."

"Excellent," Mark responded and hung up the phone. He stood in the vestibule of his office, running through everything he needed to do to get Rachel ready and into the NOM.

It would take the rest of the evening to calibrate the machine for her, and this had to be done without a hitch; they didn't have much time before the Order came looking for their latest recruit.

Making a quick call to Jorge, Mark ordered, "Put the acquisition in storage. We start the process tomorrow."

Satisfied, he went home for the night.

***

The car slowed, and Rachel feared that this was the end for her, that this was where they would kill her, but after the barest pause, the vehicle moved forward. A few moments later, it rolled to a stop, and Sal turned off the engine while John threw his door open and grabbed her ankles. He dragged her out of the car roughly. Sal swore as he caught her by the wrists. "Damn, she weighs a ton."

John chuckled.

Once she was clear of the car seat, the two men jostled her around until someone hoisted her over his shoulder. He carried her about a hundred feet and paused. Rachel heard a door open in front of them, and they stepped through. The noises of the outdoors faded and finally cut out as the door shut behind them. They then went through several more doors before the air changed around her, and she felt the jarring motions of her captor hustling down some stairs. The movement, coupled with the man's shoulder digging into her stomach, made her queasy.

They stopped at what she assumed was the base of the stairs. After a faint beep and a click of a door unlocking, they were on the move again.

They traversed a few hallways before another lock beeped. "Set her on the cot," John said. Since Rachel felt no vocalization vibration in the shoulder of the man holding her, she concluded Sal had her and not John.

"Should we strap her down?" Sal questioned as he'd dropped her on a hard, narrow mattress.

_No!_ Rachel tried to scream.

"Nah, the inhibitor will keep her nervous system depressed for about fifteen minutes after we remove it. More than enough time to get out and lock her in."

Rachel felt only slight relief; it didn't sound like they would abuse her, this time... One of the men roughly turned her over, stripping her of the gun and holster she wore before yanking the inhibitor device from her neck. A sharp spike of pain, worse than an ice cream headache, wracked her brain, and she whimpered.

One of the men chuckled as they left her lying there, helpless, and unable to move. Her cell door opened and closed again, leaving her alone. At least, now she knew how _Lokhagos_ Hurston was taken prisoner. No matter how well trained he'd been, there would be no way he could combat total paralysis.

While lying there, immobile, she tried to not think about Grace, but being unable to do anything else, her mind kept circling back to the young woman crumpled on the ground in the alleyway, with blood pooling under her chest. Rachel should have tried harder to change Grace's mind, and now she was dead. Dead because Rachel hadn't figured out how to prevent her from leaving the compound on her revenge mission.

When her tears flowed in earnest, she didn't even try to stop them.

Her heartache at losing Grace ebbed after a while, and Rachel realized that she could now move her hands. It took a few tries before she managed to push herself over onto her back. The sensation of pins and needles spread through her whole body. They soon became excruciating.

She wasn't sure how long she lay there before she finally felt strong enough to sit up.

Once seated, she fumbled with her blindfold. Yanking it off, she flung the tear-soaked cloth aside and inspected her new room. _Yup._ She was in some sort of medical facility.

Again.

The walls were cold cinder blocks, painted off-white, and had all the personality of a cardboard box. The room itself wasn't much bigger than the cot itself. The small bed, the room's only piece of furniture, took up the entire length of the room, its headboard in one corner and foot in another. The room had two doors. Rachel went to investigate the one at the foot of her bed.

A bathroom.

The minuscule square room held a toilet, a sink with one little bar of soap sitting next to the faucet, and a roll of toilet paper on the back of the commode. The room didn't even contain a mirror. She tapped the door frame with her hand and eyed the wall opposite the cot. It had a door with a small window. Through it, Rachel could see a hallway.

She left the bathroom and walked over to it. Trying to open the door seemed futile, but Rachel would be remiss not to do so anyway.

As she expected, it was locked, precisely like all the other doors in her life since she learned of the Order. Rachel managed to brake a nail when she struggled with it. Next, she would try the window even though it appeared equally as useless; the thick glass was probably bulletproof and would be impossible to break with her bare hands.

She stood at the door for a minute more, face pressed to the glass as she tried to make out something, anything, in the dark hallway on the other side. But it was empty; all she could see were other doors like hers. No light filtered from any of them. She was probably the only person here right now, she thought with a tinge of despair.

"Hello? Anyone? Let me out! Please?" she called, hoping her assessment was wrong, and that someone would free her. No one answered her call.

Turning her back on the door, she surveyed her cell again, but, just as she'd concluded the first time, there was nothing available to help her get out or even protect herself. She didn't have access to the lock she'd heard, so she couldn't try to brute force the code. She didn't have a phone anymore—she'd dropped that in the alleyway—and yelling at the door wouldn't help. She needed to face the fact that rescue would prove tricky since no one back in London even knew she'd left the safe house.

Panic rose inside her. She walked over to the cot. She needed to calm down and to rest. Falling apart wouldn't help her, and she needed to keep sharp because when the Org came for her, she needed to be ready.

# Chapter 22

Dawn was on the horizon when Adam punched in the lock code at the front door to the safe house. He was tired and hoped to catch a few hours of sleep before reporting to Isaac.

His latest mission—bugging Abhay's office—had been a bit more involved than he had first expected. He ended up having to dodge guards when the information provided by the Order's security specialist wound up being incomplete. The Progress Communications headquarters took the threat of potential thieves and industrial spies quite seriously. In the end, though, he'd succeeded. The Order's intelligence office would now monitor Abhay's workspace from the comfort of their chairs.

Adam pulled the door open and stepped inside. The hall was quiet, but a TV played in the common room, and he could hear some staff banging around in the kitchen.

He debated about stopping for a cup—coffee would keep him going—but surely, he deserved a few hours of rest. Adam walked toward the middle hallway, all thoughts centered on his lumpy bed upstairs, when Zach poked his head around the corner. Adam scowled. The concern on Zach's face confirmed a disaster had taken place in Adam's absence.

Zach launched to his feet. "Adam! Finally, you're back," he yelled, hurrying toward him. "Rachel's missing! She wasn't in her room when I went to check yesterday, and Grace didn't come by for training. I waited for a bit and then tried to find them. But they weren't anywhere. Soon after that, Isaac got a call from the authorities! The police... they found Grace. Someone murdered her, Adam! She's dead."

Adam's stomach dropped. _Grace, dead? Rachel, missing?_ "Slow down, Zach. Take a deep breath and start at the beginning."

Zach took a steadying breath before he explained, "Rachel seemed upset yesterday morning at breakfast, something about her chat with you not going the way she'd planned. Err... she didn't elaborate. Anyway, I thought she was good, and I sent her off to get ready for training. But she never showed up. I looked for her everywhere. She wasn't inside the compound anymore, and then Grace was gone, too." He gulped before he continued, "I tried to call you, but your phone was off. So, I waited and waited."

"And Isaac?" Adam snarled more than asked.

"He'd already been notified by the agent who handled the emergency line. There was a phone near Grace's body, all set to dial that number, and that's the number the police used. I guess they thought it was family or something. Isaac called Ella; she's driving back from Scotland as we speak to take care of things with the police and the coroner. Anyway, I went to talk to Isaac, but... he refused. He's certain Rachel is responsible for Grace's death. But Rachel knew the danger! We talked about it! I'm positive she gave up on that forum contact; she wouldn't have gone running straight into a trap. But Isaac refused to send anyone, and he ordered me to stay here."

"Forum? What forum?"

Zach stuttered, "That's what she went to talk to you about. She'd found some sort of medical forum tied to Luminations. She told me she'd contacted someone there, but it smelled like a trap to me. And she agreed, Adam. She promised she wouldn't do anything without talking to you first. She had no reason to go out. There's no way. She didn't hurt Grace!"

"I see." Adam took a deep, calming breath and nodded. "Thank you, Zach. I'll take it from here."

He stalked up the stairs and into his brother's office without bothering to knock. Isaac ignored him. His attention fixed on the TV screen set in the corner next to the door. On it was a reporter announcing an upcoming police investigation. Adam dismissed the article and addressed Isaac, "Zach told me Rachel is missing."

Isaac didn't react.

Adam gritted his teeth, very close to losing his last shred of calm. "Rachel is gone," he repeated, "and chances are good the Organization has her."

"She isn't a priority," Isaac answered him.

"Don't be a pillock. I'm going after her," Adam retorted.

Isaac finally turned his head to look at him, scowling. "I said she wasn't a priority. You are to stay put and wait for your orders."

Adam's patience evaporated. "For the love of our father, show some compassion, Isaac. Rachel is in danger, and I will rescue her before they manage to hurt her."

Or worse.

Scowling, Isaac snapped, "I won't suffer insubordination at a time like this, agent."

" _Anasini_ Satiym, Isaac!"

"You will stay here, or I will have you put under house arrest until I can deal with you, brother or not."

Insufferable prick!

Adam changed tactics. "She knows the _Polemarchos'_ name, Isaac, or have you forgotten that fact?"

The blood drained from Isaac's face, and it was all the answer Adam needed. "According to Zach," he added, "she's been gone since yesterday afternoon. She has no training in how to resist torture, but there might still be time."

The thought of Rachel, in pain and afraid, it had him seething. Isaac should have sent a team the moment he learned about it. "They have no idea she knows that tidbit," Adam added. "We can get her out of there before your mistake causes the Order even more trouble."

For a long moment, Isaac didn't answer. Eventually, he sighed deeply and massaged the bridge of his nose. When he next looked at Adam, all trace of haughtiness had disappeared from his expression. He looked weary, stressed out, and overworked. Pressing the advantage Adam perceived, he said, "She needs to be found, Isaac. She doesn't deserve to be left to rot until the Org decides they no longer need her. She didn't sign up only to die a week later."

"I cannot extend more resources to find her. I'm overstretched as it is."

Adam refrained from snapping at him in anger. "I don't need agents. I'll find her myself; I only ask for a clean-up crew once all is said and done."

When Isaac hesitated, Adam knew there was something Isaac hadn't told him. "You know where she is," Adam said matter-of-factly. He knew he was right.

Again, Isaac sighed. "No. I don't. You can believe me or not, but I'm not completely heartless. If I knew where she was, I would have sent someone."

"But—"

"But I've received communication from our spy in Ridley's office. It's short, but it confirms Mark's involvement in the St. Louis hit and the one at Heathrow. It also confirmed Hurston's death. The mic in Mark's office recorded a one-sided phone conversation that appeared to discuss Grace's murder."

Adam growled under his breath, "Bastard. And Greer?"

"Unknown at this point."

"So, Mark probably has Rachel and killed Hurston," Adam concluded. "I won't let him kill her. I'll get her back."

"And how do you plan to do that?" Isaac demanded unconvinced. "You have no idea where he's keeping her or even if he is keeping her."

"It's a safe assumption in light of what you told me, and I know where Mark's office is. I'll go have a little chat with him."

"You think that is wise?" Isaac twitched his eyebrows up. "Just waltz right in and demand an interview?"

"Yes. I will go and confront Mark before any harm can come to her."

"How do you propose to get to him," Isaac countered, "and get back out? He'll have bodyguards."

"No," Adam replied. "Luminations Corp. is a legitimate, functioning business; he cannot keep bodyguards with him while inside, it's too conspicuous. It should be simple to gain entry during business hours. And once inside? I already know the layout, Isaac. This is easy, and more along the lines of what I should have been doing in the first place instead of running around like a headless chicken, planting bugs."

Isaac raked him with a critical glare. "You expect entrance dressed as a degenerate?"

Adam retorted through clenched teeth, "Yes, unless you have an alternative."

"I do. That blazer on the coatrack should lend you some _respectability_." Isaac pointed to the item in question.

With nothing left to say, Adam grabbed the dark blue blazer off the rack. Isaac's voice stopped him before he left. "I'll have a backup team ready... Keep me informed."

"Understood." Adam exchanged a long look with Isaac over his shoulder. "Oh, and Isaac?" he said. "This time, I will kill Mark."

Isaac hesitated. "Yes." He paused even longer. "Be prudent." The two words hung between them, with much left unsaid.

Adam nodded and left his brother's office, only to run into Zach standing in the hallway, waiting for him. "What?" Adam barked.

"I'm going with you."

"No, you're not." He scowled at Zach.

"Adam, I don't want to stay behind. Rachel's my friend. I'll stay in the car if I have to, but you can't leave me here. Besides, you may need my help. I can be your backup."

Adam didn't have the time or energy to argue with him. "Fine," he ceded. "I want you ready and at the front door in an hour. If you are not there, I leave without you. I will not wait."

Zach nodded in understanding and ran back toward his room to prepare. A minute later, Adam headed the same way at a more restrained pace, his mind going over the details of the upcoming rescue.

***

Adam stood in the middle of the doors, intentionally blocking the way as the first of the building's employees streamed around him. He made a show of straightening his clothes while he confirmed the cameras' blind spots hadn't changed over the weekend. Satisfied with his cursory scan, he walked up to the two guards staffing the front desk.

"Can I help you, sir?" the younger of the two queried.

Adam positioned himself to keep the camera at his back, before replying, "Yes. I am here for an appointment with Mr. Prescott."

The young guard picked up the phone and dialed a number. "Ms. Werpast? There is a man down here requesting a meeting with Mr. Prescott." The guard paused to listen, before turning back to Adam and inquiring, "Your name, sir?"

"John. John Dielman."

The guard relayed the name to the woman on the phone. After listening to the answer, he told her to have a good morning and hung up the phone. "Ms. Werpast will be down shortly."

Adam nodded in acknowledgment. Several minutes later, a young dark-skinned woman in a trendy, striped skirt and matching blouse exited the lifts and walked toward him, a professional smile firmly plastered on her face. "Mr. Dielman?"

"Yes," Adam answered.

"Please, follow me," she said and walked back toward the lifts. "When did you say you set the appointment? I was unable to find your name in our scheduler."

Adam flashed her his most charming smile. "Oh, I talked to Mr. Prescott yesterday, right as he was leaving for the evening."

"I see," she replied.

"Is he here yet? I'm looking forward to our interview."

"No, Mr. Dielman, he is not."

"Do you know how long I might have to wait?" Adam asked.

Ms. Werpast glanced at him over her shoulder. Her perfectly manicured eyebrow raised in inquiry. Adam, guessing at her question, added, "He assured me it would be no problem to meet today as long as I came by first thing this morning."

The lift doors opened, and Adam followed her in. He waited for her to press the floor request button before he spoke. "What is your name, Ms. Werpast?" Experience taught him a little flirting went a long way toward gaining a woman's trust, or at least her cooperation.

She smiled. "Bianca."

Intuition said Bianca wasn't with the Org—she was too trusting—and he regretted having to involve her in his scheme, knowing she would probably get reprimanded for it later. "What a pretty name. And what do you do for Mr. Prescott, Bianca?"

"I am Mr. Prescott's Personal Assistant," she told him.

When she returned her focus to the doors, waiting for the lift to reach the correct floor, Adam dropped his seductive smile. _Personal assistant?_ That was even better than the simple secretary he'd been expecting. As Mark's assistant, she would certainly know of his whereabouts on any given day or at least be much better informed.

A minute later, the doors opened, and they exited the lift. When they entered Mark's office, Bianca said, "Please have a seat over there." She waved her hand toward some chairs along the wall in the small ante-office they had entered. "Mr. Prescott isn't coming in today, but I will try to reach him on the phone to find out if you can reschedule your meeting for tomorrow."

Adam nodded in agreement and went to sit on one of the white leather chairs Bianca had indicated as she made the call on her desk phone. After several moments of holding the phone to her ear, she sighed and spoke. "Hello, sir, please call me back. I need to know if I should reschedule your appointment with Mr. Dielman. Thank you." She hung up the phone and turned to Adam.

"He must already be in the labs. He would have answered if he was in transit. The clinical trial building has horrible reception. As soon as he comes out of the basement rooms, he should get my message and call me back. Would you care for some coffee or tea while you wait?"

"No. No, thank you," Adam stated with a bright smile. "If I may, where are these labs?"

"Oh, north of London, near Waltham Cross"— _Bingo!_ —"Why do you want to know?" she asked, sounding a trifle wary.

"I was hoping to get a job in the research department and wondered where I'd be working if I succeeded." The lie sprang quickly to his lips. Still, he watched Bianca closely to make sure she believed him. She seemed to relax somewhat, which told him she had.

"That is so odd," she said. "Mr. Prescott never fails to mention applicant interviews, but I guess if you scheduled it as he was leaving, he might have skipped updating the scheduler in favor of getting home. It is unusual, though. He is usually so careful with his schedule when he knows he will be working at the lab. It isn't like him to have forgotten about it. You must have made quite the impact."

Her readiness to discuss small details of Adam's fake interview confirmed Adam's suspicion. She wasn't Org. "When I talked to him yesterday," Adam said. "I got the impression he doesn't work in the clinical trial labs often. Was I mistaken?" Adam probed.

She shook her head, frowning. "No. By the time that location receives an installation, the product is almost ready for mainstream production. Mr. Prescott works at the new research and development labs most of the time. They have much better reception."

The idea of Rachel held for some medical experimentation at Mark, and his goons' hands sat horribly with him. "What kind of equipment are you testing there now?" he inquired, trying to gather all the available details before he left.

Her expression lit up with excitement as she gushed, "Luminations has a truly revolutionary piece of technology coming out soon. It's a little like an MRI machine, but it can also alter brainwaves and even change brain chemistry as needed. We hope that it can manage to cure all sorts of mental ailments. My cousin has schizophrenia, so I can't wait until the machine is available to hospitals. There is a good chance it will succeed in curing him!"

Adam read between the lines of Bianca's spiel. What he understood of it was bone-chilling. There was no doubt in his mind: this 'innovation' came from an unsecured alien artifact the Org had in their possession. Collective understanding of the human brain just wasn't that advanced yet.

What could a machine, one able to reroute a human being's brain synapsis, do to a person's personality and free will? What damages could it cause if used in ways other than medical? Was this how Mark had managed to crack _Lokhagos_ Hurston? The implications of the technology's use on a grander scale made its destruction imperative despite its possible genuine use as a cure for mental illness.

Adam made a show of checking his watch. He didn't have time to wait anymore. "Excuse me, Bianca, but do you think you'll have news from Mr. Prescott anytime soon?" He gave her another charming smile.

"I'm sorry, sir, I couldn't say."

"Bianca, I don't have time to wait for his call back. I have to head to work now; I had to use sick leave for this interview," he admitted with a wink, and whipped out a business card from his blazer pocket—including his false name and contact information—and handed it to her. "I can be reached at this number once the appointment has a rescheduled date and time."

Bianca reached for the card. It didn't escape his notice when she deliberately brushed his fingers with her own as she took it from him.

"You have been a great help to me, Bianca. Don't hesitate to call if you need anything."

Unfortunately for her, if he'd guessed right and she had just revealed to him Rachel's current location, she would soon need all the help she could get. That phone number might well be her only lifeline. He hoped she called before something terrible happened to her. Dropping his charade for a moment, he emphasized, "Anything."

Bianca frowned and glanced at his business card then back to him. Her expression reflected a growing confusion and alarm. With a warm smile, he reached for her hand and closed it over the card. "Everything'll be fine. Don't worry, Bianca. Now, no need to accompany me back downstairs. I know the way."

He left the dumbfounded woman behind and walked briskly back to the lifts. When he realized both were in use, he chose the stairs as a quicker and less crowded alternative. Once he was alone in the dimly lit stairwell, he whipped out his cellphone and dialed HQ while he made his way back down to the building's lobby.

Isaac answered as Adam pushed the outside door open. He lost no time with polite talk and snapped, "I found her probable location. Luminations' labs near Waltham Cross. I'll need the exact coordinates as soon as you have them."

"Understood," came Isaac's clipped voice. Adam heard him move away from the phone and give instructions about finding the lab's address to someone else before speaking into the receiver again. "Done. Now, how did you get the info? I hope you didn't—"

Adam clenched his teeth at the implied criticism of his skills. "I didn't need to use force on anyone. Mark's assistant was happy to inform me of his whereabouts after I probed her a bit."

"Ah, female... I see your style hasn't changed at all."

"Isaac, now isn't the time for this." Adam stopped beside he was using while in England. From the passenger seat, Zach gazed at him. "The woman is a civilian, and I didn't hurt her. Also, I gave her one of the business cards. Hopefully, she'll use the number if she gets in trouble with her boss for this."

After a slight pause, Isaac repeated, "Understood. I'll keep an agent ready."

Adam climbed into the car's driver seat and started the engine while Isaac once again stepped away from the phone to converse with someone. Adam checked his mirror for traffic, at a gap, he joined the flow heading toward the A10. Less than twenty miles separated him from Rachel. Hopefully, the path was free of commuters, or he might well become reckless and draw more attention to his movements than he should.

A minute later, Isaac came back on the line and gave him the directions.

"Where to now, boss?" Zach asked Adam as he hung up.

"Waltham Cross."

# Chapter 23

Rachel awoke to a growling belly, kinked neck, and stiff muscles. The water from the tap tasted horrible, but her hunger abated somewhat after her drink. She spent the rest of the morning—at least she thought it was morning—on her cot, wondering how much longer they wanted to keep her in here. She was tired of waiting, and it seemed like the Org had no intention of moving fast.

Eventually, she heard a noise in the hall outside her door, and barely suppressed her twitch of alarm when a man's face loomed on the other side of the window. She recognized him, and as John opened the door, she scrambled into the corner of the cot with her back to the wall.

He sniggered at her defensive posture and turned to his companion. "Doesn't look like a black belt Aikido practitioner to me. More like the scared lab mouse she is."

She flinched when John raised a hand and threatened her with it. Her split lip smarted from the last time he'd backhanded her, but he just laughed at her reaction instead.

Sal spoke, "We can go easy on you, or you can make it hard. Which is it?"

She licked her lips. "What's the easy way?"

John snickered. "See, Sal," he said. "I told you Mark overestimated her. She's a waste of our time. Use the inhibitor; it will be faster—"

Cutting John off, Sal responded to Rachel's question, "You can walk down the hall to the lab room like a good little girl, or you can be fitted with the inhibitor again."

She gulped, remembering the pain. "I'll walk!"

"That wasn't so hard now, was it?" Sal said, his tone sickening sweet. "Turn around."

She complied with Sal's order and lost her eyesight a moment later when he pressed another blindfold to her eyes. "Walk," he commanded as he grabbed her arm and swung her around.

They marched down several hallways, turning so many corners, and switching back so many times Rachel lost track of her location. Without a mental map, she knew even if she were to break free, she'd never getaway.

Eventually, a door open, and Sal, fingers tight on her bicep, guided her forward. A third man's voice broke the silence. "Good. I feared you would use the inhibitor. We need her lucid and mobile immediately for today."

"Everything we do, we do for you, Georgie, my boy. Do we put her in the chair?"

Georgie replied, " _Capullo_! How many times do I have to tell you—"

"Georgie," Sal interrupted. "I don't think the boss pays you to complain."

Georgie muttered in Spanish. Eventually, he said, "Strap her down. I need her immobile for the testing."

Sal dragged her forward, but pinned to a chair hadn't been a part of the 'being a good girl' Rachel had agreed to. She dug in her heels and tried to pull out of their grasp. Another set of hands snared her free side, and as they dragged her toward the unseen chair, her feet scrambled for purchase without success.

They spun her around and practically tossed her backward. She tried to get her hands under her, but one of the men held her down by the chest while the other held down her legs. A third man—Georgie?—secured her feet and then her wrists.

"She's all yours, Georgie. Have fun," John chuckled. The door snicked closed behind him as he left the room.

***

Rachel tugged at her restraints. The straps held firm and didn't give. She was well and truly trapped.

Footsteps.

They stopped, and the owner removed her blindfold. A tall man, with slightly grey hair, and wearing an expensive charcoal grey suit and a silk tie stood beside her. Rachel guessed him to be in his forties. "Welcome to my lab, Ms. Munro, or should I say, Ms. Flanagan?"

She grunted. Rachel had no real reason to think this man was Adam's nemesis, but she would bet her entire shoe collection that it was him. "You're Mark," she said, trying to focus, and squinting against the light.

"Mark is one of my names, yes."

"Where am I?"

"Luminations' medical laboratories," he said with a grin. "It's where we do all our clinical testing."

"Why? What am I doing here?"

"You requested it."

She shook her head. "No, I didn't." That had been Grace...

Mark sighed. "Well, to be honest, Ms. Flanagan, you are here because I have a—how should one say?—a complication, you will help me solve. This 'problem' has caused you a great many troubles, as well, I'm afraid. I wish I could have helped you before he managed to destroy your life." Mark frowned. "Unfortunately, I could not get to you before they brainwashed you against us."

"Brainwashed me? Your men tried to kill me. More than once! And you killed Grace!"

_Grace._ She struggled to staunch her tears before Mark noticed them.

Mark waved her accusation aside. "She was an inconvenience; no one will miss her. As for you, Ms. Flanagan, I can assure you, we never wanted to harm you. But Black has been a problem for way too long, killing men and women indiscriminately. Two years ago, I almost died myself." Mark paused, rubbing his thigh. "Since then, I have had to work hard to stay off the Order's radar. I even had to hide my child for fear of retaliation."

"You're wrong! Adam would never kill a child. And the Order doesn't work that way."

"Really? And you know all the secrets of the Order of the Guardians for God already, Ms. Flanagan? After, what, three weeks amongst them? I must say I'm impressed." He looked at her. "I've been studying them for years and don't have that level of knowledge."

Mark scowled. "Black needs to die. It will not bring back all the men he has murdered, but at least he will not have the opportunity to kill anymore."

Rachel glared at him, floored by his audacity to pat her shoulder in an avuncular fashion. "I know. He can be charming, can't he? I'm afraid you might have a classic case of Stockholm syndrome, but I can help you."

"I don't need the Org's help. You kidnapped me. And you killed my friend!"

"I'm afraid it was necessary."

Did he genuinely think she believed him? "If you only wanted to 'keep me out of their clutches', then why am I strapped down to this... This... This chair?"

"This 'chair' is an innovative piece of technology, Rachel. I can call you Rachel, can't I? You see, Rachel, what the Order doesn't want you to know about—doesn't want anyone to know about—is the ancient technology repositories they're supposedly protecting could, and should, be used for the betterment of humanity. But of course, _they_ prefer keeping everything to themselves, hidden away and unused. It is our goal in the Organization to make sure they do not have a monopoly on it."

"Take this Neural Optimizer you're sitting in," Mark said, caressing the back of her chair. "It took almost two decades of work to replicate the technology, but we now have the power to manipulate and even transform brain patterns and pathways."

Brain patterns? As in actual thoughts?

"Imagine what will happen when this machine is released to the public. Take your overcrowded American prisons. What is the percentage of inmates who re-offend? What if, instead of long prison sentences, we simply strap them in, like you are now, and reinvent a new life for them? There would be no more psychosis, sociopathy, pedophilia, or antisocial behavior; they would now be perfect paragons of society."

He smiled at her, and she shuddered. He truly believed what he was saying. But the implications of what he described—actual brainwashing—made the blood freeze in her veins. Her palms grew slick with sweat. "And who decides who needs this kind of re-education?" she forced out through clenched teeth.

"Well, since the technology belongs to us," Mark replied with a slight pinch of his lips, "we would, of course, make sure to be part of any panel which studied this question. But don't you see the potential? Used on a grander scale, we could stop wars from ever happening, crime from being committed. Society would be a better place for our children, with less fear and less hatred. A safe world. A stable world."

_And no more free choice_. That sounded a lot like the _Stepford Wives_ , or _Clockwork Orange_ to her.

"I can see you are not convinced," Mark said. "Here is another hypothetical. Your Stockholm syndrome is easily curable with this device." He smiled that same creepy smile, and she blanched. The thought of forgetting about Adam, or worse, of hating him, because a machine had scrambled her brain was a horrifying prospect.

"Since my divorce, my daughter has been without a proper mother. Of course, with my," he paused. "occupation, dating is complicated. Would you like to be the mother of my daughter? I'm sure you would be good at it." He ran his fingers along her arm. "This tool would assure me of it."

She stared at him in horror. He was unhinged!

Mark's smile dropped. "As attractive as this idea is, I do have a better use for the device, and you. But first, I wonder what secrets you have after being so closely aligned with the _Hashashin_."

Rachel shifted uneasily; she didn't know what kind of secrets Mark might find useful. She didn't think she had learned anything important.

"Have you ever had an MRI, Rachel?" Mark paused, waiting for her reply, but when she gaped at him instead, he continued, "I will recline your chair, and then this machine will scan your brain. At least, that's the easiest way to explain the process. All you have to do is relax while it does all the work."

He turned toward the back of the room, drawing Rachel's eye to a second, slightly younger man wearing a lab coat, fiddling with something she couldn't quite see from where she was sitting.

"She's ready, Jorge."

"Yes, sir," the man answered, and Rachel identified his voice as the man John and Sal had called Georgie.

The lab technician, Jorge, turned around and joined Rachel. He held one of those needles used to set up IVs, and she flinched. Even without knowing what they planned for her, she did not want to see it inserted. She struggled against her bonds.

Jorge scowled and barked, "Stay still."

Rachel ignored him, and Jorge backhanded her. The blow landed hard enough to make her ears ring and for her to taste blood. While she sat there, stunned, Jorge pierced the crook of her right elbow. Quickly, with one hand keeping her arm secured, he hooked her up to a bag of clear liquid and adjusted the drip until he was satisfied. Rachel stared down at her arm with dread. This couldn't be good.

Then Jorge returned to the back of the room, where he went to work on an open laptop. After a few seconds, he nodded to Mark. Mark walked behind her and fiddled with the chair. Eventually, he reclined the back and smirked down at her before lowering a clear concave glass dome over her head. The surface streaked with a silvery filament which glowed faintly. Mesmerized, she couldn't look away.

"Don't worry," Mark said. "this won't hurt... Much."

Rachel thrashed in the chair one last time, tugging at the restraints with panic-induced strength, but all she succeeded in doing was cutting her wrists and ankles with the straps. The effort left her light-headed and sick to her stomach.

"You won't spoil the scan by moving."

_Don't listen to him, Rachel. He's lying. MRIs require absolute stillness, and surely this does too!_ As she thought the words, a computerized voice parroted them back. She stopped moving, and the blood drained from her face. _How is that possible?_

Mark responded to Rachel, "No, my dear. I wasn't lying, and it is quite possible. You can toss and turn all you want. Feel free to do so if it makes you happy. Soon, you won't want to anyway."

_All it will do is wear me out. I_ — Rachel thought, but abruptly stopped. _Shit!_

"Language, dear," Mark joked.

_One elephant, two_ elephant _, pink elephant,_ elephant _in a tutu, everything is irrelephant_ , she thought desperately, trying to fill her mind with an inconsequential stream of consciousness.

"They all want to fight it at first, don't they, Jorge?" Turning back to Rachel, Mark added, "There is no going back, though. The drugs in your system will erode your resistance."

Rachel kept up the diversion for several more minutes, but it was getting harder and harder to concentrate. All her mind wanted to do was relax, let go, sleep. She could feel her consciousness slipping until her mental voice stuttered to a stop. A tear slipped from her eye.

"Ah, there we are," Mark said. "Now, let's begin. I will direct your thoughts back a few days."

Rachel's consciousness slipped away completely.

Eventually, she became aware of herself, her aching head, sore wrists, and bruised ankles.

_What happened_?

Rachel couldn't remember, though, she knew it was something horrible. Rachel knew it to the very bottom of her soul. Fresh tears slipped down her cheeks.

"My dear, there is no reason to cry. You were quite helpful," the man in front of her said. It was Mark if she recalled correctly. "Black seems to have quite a fondness for a nice body and pretty eyes, and you've managed to secure his trust already. Excellent." He paused as the lab technician walked toward her to check the medicine flowing through her veins. "So, Rachel?" Mark began. "I want your help in ridding the world of the nefarious Adam Black."

A whimper escaped Rachel's lips.

# Chapter 24

Adam sat on a lone metal bench at the bus stop across the street from the Luminations' labs. The rain, which drizzled cold and wet, landed on his unprotected face and hands. He'd ditched the car, along with Zach, a block away. He hoped the distance would keep the teen safe.

He studied the two-story, tan cement, structure. It looked like a miniature fort set way back from the road with its small slits for windows, barbed wire fence, and moat of lush grass. The only visible access point appeared to be a door with some sort of keypad or card-key lock. He glanced at the building's roof corners and saw bumps in the architecture. They were either ugly decorations or camouflaged surveillance cameras. Adam suspected the latter.

With an internal sigh, he turned his focus to the booth situated by the street entrance. A bored-looking employee sat inside the small kiosk, checking employee badges for every incoming car. Once on the other side of the gate, the vehicles drove for about one-hundred feet before parking in one of two rows of spaces.

It looked like the lot held no more than twenty cars, and vehicles filled nine of the spots. That meant at least nine souls—not including Rachel—were inside. Adam figured Mark wouldn't be alone, so it was safe to assume a minimum of four agents were inside. Not the best of odds. Adam didn't care for the uncertainty.

He glanced down the street, acting the part of a bored commuter while he studied the building some more from his peripheral vision and methodically going through his mental checklist: incapacitate the gate guard, use the guard's badge to gain access, greet the 'welcoming committee' sure to be on the other side of the entryway.

Adam stood, checked for traffic, crossed the street, and headed to the guard station. He kept his face down as he walked, studying a crumpled bus schedule in his fist.

He made sure to stop at the window that appeared broken and taped shut. He knocked on the glass to catch the guard's attention. The man looked up from the car magazine he was perusing and frowned as he spotted him.

"Excuse me, sir?" Adam called. "I've been waiting for a while, when does the next bus arrive?"

The man waved him around to the other side of the booth, but Adam declined. He needed the guard away from any security devices. Adam held up his schedule, pointed to it, and repeated his question, knowing the man would eventually leave his post to help a lost stranger.

The guard shook his head and pointed to the open window on the other side of the shack. Again, Adam waved the map and pretended to misinterpret the guard's signal.

This time the guard stood and stepped outside. Scowling, he joined Adam precisely as Adam had designed.

Smiling amiably, Adam repeated his question. While he spoke, he rotated his ring with the family crest, toward his palm. Once it was in place, he pushed the emblem inward. A small needle sprang free. It contained a sedative strong enough to drop a grown man in a minute—the same one he'd used on Rachel weeks before.

"How long have you been waiting?" the guard asked.

"Half an hour, at least."

The man frowned, tugged at his belt while he thought. "It usually runs every forty-five minutes or so; it should be here any minute now."

Adam clapped him on the arm, making sure that the needle punctured the guard's skin through his uniform. "Thank you, sir." He removed his hand and turned to head toward the bus stop. He walked a step or two but turned back as the guard started to slump. Adam caught him before he fell. Moving the barely conscious man back inside his shack, Adam made sure was comfortable before grabbing the man's employee card. Sliding the door shut, Adam locked him inside.

Making his way toward the main door of the medical lab, Adam slipped his right hand into his coat pocket and palmed a small spring-loaded knife he kept there. It was easier to hide than his usual blade, and he wanted it handy.

Mentally, he prepared for anything that might come his way. He almost wished for trouble, longing for retribution. That wasn't good; a Hashashin couldn't let his emotions get the better of him. Adam took a deep breath and forced himself to regain his usual calm before he made his move.

As he approached the entryway, he opened and rotated the pocket knife so that the blade was up alongside his forearm. The position kept the edge ready but out of sight. After a last quick scan of his surroundings, he swiped the stolen badge against the card key lock. The lock light turned green, and he pulled the door open, revealing a small vestibule.

_Two doors. Desk. Two men_ , Adam noted as he stepped inside. One of the men rose to intercept him.

"May I help you?" he demanded, scowling.

"I have an appointment with Mr. Prescott," Adam answered, sticking to the story he'd given Bianca back at the Luminations' offices. Adam's instincts screamed that these men were Organization, and he stood ready for a fight.

"Mr. Prescott is busy," the standing man replied curtly, and then he smirked and drawled, "Black."

A predatory grin stretched Adam's lips.

_Well, that escalated quickly_.

While he and the Org agent were sizing each other up, the second man stood and added his presence to the psychological showdown. Adam inventoried quickly. The former: six feet tall, weight: two hundred plus, guard uniform but not the posture or physique of an ex-soldier. His companion: civilian attire, over six-foot, too lean, possibly two hundred pounds but probably less. His presence declared him as an ex-soldier.

"You won't make it, Black," the soldier in civilian clothing said. "We will see to it."

Adam hated to admit it, but if it weren't for the tight dimensions of the lobby, the probable non-Org staff on location, and the fact these Org soldiers had not known with one-hundred percent surety he wasn't a client entering the premises, Adam would have already been dead. Lucky for him, neither man could take a shot without risking injury to the other or alerting those within to the new danger.

The man in front of him dropped into a fighting stance. Beside him, the "civilian" removed his suit jacket and edged his way around the desk.

The uniformed non-soldier took two steps toward Adam and threw a punch. Adam stepped to the side, and the man's fist missed his right ear by a hair. He grabbed the agent's wrist with his left hand and twisted his arm down. At the same time, he swept his right hand up and across, using the pocket knife's blade to cut across the man's abdomen, slicing through fabric and skin. The wound wasn't deep, but it caused his attacker to stumble and pause.

Adam let go of his arm and pushed. The wounded agent pitched back against the reception desk. From the corner of his eye, Adam saw the second guard come up on his left side, pulling a gun from a side holster.

Dodging away, Adam unsheathed his main blade. The first man—the non-soldier—rejoined the fight, albeit at a pained stagger. Adam blocked his punch, which had been headed toward his chin and struck with his knife. His blade slid between the injured man's ribs, piercing his heart. The Org agent gurgled, blood bubbling around his lips. Adam let him drop to the floor at his feet, dead. As his blade slid free, an alarm blared.

Irritated, Adam set his sights on the other agent. The man gripped his gun in both hands and aimed it at Adam's chest. Adam dove for the agent's midsection, taking him down in a tackle, but at the same time, the "civilian" pulled the trigger. The bullet caught Adam in his lower calf, right above his Achilles tendon.

Pain blossomed upward and stole Adam's breath. He grunted in pain as the force of his takedown slammed the "civilian" back into the desk, jarring them both. The desk then skidded across the floor, and one corner rammed into the wall, knocking the wind out of Adam as it came to an abrupt stop, but his adversary had fared far worse.

Before either of them regained their strength, Adam stood and thrust his blade through the man's abdomen. He used the pocket knife in his other hand to sever the carotid artery to finish the job quickly. Adam yanked his blades free and glanced at the internal doors to the building.

Not only did Adam not know which door to choose, but he also heard voices coming closer.

Jumping over the misaligned desk, Adam landed on the floor between the wall and the desk's protective footwell. He flattened himself into the narrow space, his hand pressed against his bleeding wound, stifling his hiss of pain, as the door directly across from the front entryway opened, and a woman in a lab coat stepped into the lobby.

He ducked out of sight.

"Stupid alarm!" she complained, clearly unhappy to have been interrupted in her work. "You'd think as adults we wouldn't need practice dri—" Her voice trailed off as she spied the bodies.

She shrieked.

"What's the matter, Julia?" a second woman asked, followed by another scream. Adam listened as more feet shuffled into the room, expressing varying levels of panic.

"Someone call 999!" Julia yelled.

A calm male voice spoke over her. "Already on it." A pause. "John?"

"Ladies, please," a second man responded. _John?_ Adam wondered. "Go outside. You shouldn't see this. We'll take care of it. No reason for you to stay and talk to the emergency personnel. If they ask, we'll let them know you were here. Now, go." The second male voice rang with the authority of a military man used to giving orders, and the other employees settled down at his tone. Adam waited to see what would happen next.

After a few moments of grumbling and tears, the women left, leaving only the two men behind. "You let headquarters know?" the man Adam suspected as John asked his companion.

"Not yet," the companion replied, then said quietly as if to himself, "I don't know why Mr. Prescott insisted on this alarm system. Doesn't do anything besides blare." After a pause, he continued, "I'll do it as soon as I get the bloody alarm turned off. I can't hear myself think, let alone request a cleanup."

"I'll do it and report to Mr. Prescott."

"Thanks, John. I'll follow you in a minute," the companion said. "Need to lock up first. Stay vigilant. The _Hashashin_ might be close by still."

Hidden under the reception desk, Adam heard the man named John chuckle softly. "If the _Hashashin_ were here, he'd have attacked by now. I bet he went upstairs. In any case, he won't be finding the lab."

John's footsteps retreated as he left the small lobby. His companion, meanwhile, made his way toward the outside door.

Peeking above the edge of the desk, Adam confirmed the Org agents' locations, and when John disappeared, and the other faced away, Adam slipped from his hiding place.

Quietly, Adam stalked close enough to slide his blade between the Org man's ribs, piercing the heart. The man died without a sound. Adam set him back on the floor beside the others, and then wiped both his blades on the man's lab coat before putting the pocket knife away.

Adam grabbed his mobile and dialed. "I'm on location," he told Isaac as soon as his brother answered.

"Report," Isaac barked in answer.

"Minimum team of four. Down by three. In pursuit of the fourth. No sign of Rachel or Mark. There are also civilians on the grounds. They didn't see me, but they saw bodies."

"Of course, you left corpses. Is being inconspicuous really so hard, Black?" Adam didn't answer. After a moment, Isaac sighed and said, "Reinforcements are on the way; they will handle the cleanup." The phone call disconnected a second later.

With a muttered curse, Adam slipped his mobile into his back pocket and glanced around the lobby. Time was running out. He grabbed a card key and the gun off the recently deceased Org agent before setting off to find Rachel.

***

Mark leaned back in his chair and watched as Jorge unstrapped an unconscious Rachel from the NOM. The groundwork for her behavioral change was set, and with one more stint in the machine, it would be finalized.

Adam Black wouldn't know what hit him.

Mark sucked in a breath through his teeth. Savoring. Revenge shouldn't taste this sweet, but Mark knew what was sweeter. " _Polemarchos_ Sadik."

His council seat was all but confirmed.

No one in the history of the Organization had ever learned the name of the Order's Supreme Commander; it was such a closely guarded secret. So secret, that Mark hadn't even thought of asking the _Lokhagos_ or that scientist woman about it. In hindsight, he should have, but it didn't matter now; he had the name.

"Sir?"

"Yes?"

"I recommend using an inhibitor with her, sir," Jorge suggested, interrupting Mark's thoughts.

Mark waved his hand in dismissal. "No need. She doesn't know anything else of importance. Let her have the use of her limbs."

Jorge nodded and left Rachel's side to work at one of the lab tables.

Standing, Mark said, "If you need me, call. You know where I'm at."

Over his shoulder, Jorge answered, "Yes, sir."

And with that, Mark turned and left the room.

He made it five steps down the hall when the building's alarm went off. "Bloody hell, what now?" Hustling toward security, Mark ducked into the small surveillance room bunker under the stairs. His gaze fell to the bank of monitors broadcasting the security feed. One screen showed the lobby camera, one flashed images from all the secure lab rooms in the facility, a third scrolled through the empty cells used for test subjects, and the last flickered over all the hallways, but his attention turned to the lobby feed.

"Dammit," Mark growled.

Three of his men were dead.

The door opened behind Mark, and his heart skipped a beat.

"Sir." John saluted when Mark turned to glare at him.

Mark nodded to the screens. "Report."

"Dammit, Sal!" John barked.

"Report!"

John focused on Mark and said, " _Hashashin_ , sir."

"I see that," Mark replied, dryly. "Is the operative still alive?"

John's gaze shifted away from Mark's for a moment before returning. "Yes. Sal was alive when I left him."

Mark glanced at the screens. In one frame, a man walked out of one of the lab rooms upstairs. The next screen picked up where the first had let off, and Mark recognized Black. He pointed to the screen. "Take care of him."

"But, sir, I don't think—"

"The Org isn't employing you to think, John. This is an order. Not a request."

Again, John hesitated— _fearing for his life, most likely_ —but he finally left the room, closing the door behind him. Mark returned to his scrutiny of the different security feeds.

"Bloody hell," he cursed as Adam meandered through each of Mark's labs.

His men were utterly inept.

Mark opened a drawer and retrieved a gun.

He'd have to stop Black himself.

# Chapter 25

Rachel awoke to a fire alarm blaring. Her head pounded. What was going on? Disoriented and numb, she rubbed her face, wincing at the bruise on her cheek, and glanced around at her unfamiliar surroundings. Slowly, her memories returned.

You will be a weapon.

She whimpered. Had Mark succeeded? Had he finished his brainwashing? Rachel didn't feel different. She shook her head. She needed to get free.

Someone grabbed her shoulder, and Rachel yelped. The person squeezed until she gasped in pain and stopped moving.

"Keep still."

_Jorge_.

She turned, keeping a wary eye on him as he pocketed something small before removing her IV. After removing the needle, he helped her to her feet. "Now, you come with me without a fuss." He left the "or else" part unsaid, but his meaning was clear enough to Rachel. He backed away from her slowly and produced a gun, which he pointed directly at her chest. "Get moving!"

When she failed to take a step, Jorge growled, "Move!"

Rachel found that she didn't have to fake her wobbly legs. Fear, prolonged immobilization, and the drugs they'd injected into her had left her weak-kneed and barely able to keep her balance. She gritted her teeth, grabbed the chair back, and held on tight until she could stand without feeling sick.

Once again, Jorge waved his gun. "Now."

Under threat, Rachel released the chair and forced her feet to shuffle back toward the exit. Several steps later, she connected with the closed door. Her back pressed against it. Reaching blindly, she palmed the handle.

"Open it," Jorge ordered.

Rachel paused, gaze drawn to the ceiling. Was that a gunshot? She strained to hear more.

Realizing her mistake, she eyed Jorge. He was staring at the ceiling as well.

Her gaze dropped to Jorge's hand. It trembled.

_Now!_ She thought, lunging.

Jorge's attention snapped back to her, and he tried to sidestep her attack, but momentum carried her forward, and as she careened into him, he lost his balance and fell backward. Landing hard, they grappled on the ground. Rachel desperately tried to pry the gun from his hand, and Jorge attempted to shake her off, but despite her initial element of surprise, it wasn't enough. She ended up sprawled on her back under him, with his knee pressing painfully into her stomach. She gasped for breath. Jorge's reddened face loomed over hers. "Bitch," he hissed, his lips stretching into an ugly grin. "He might want you alive, but he's said nothing about your general condition."

Rachel wiggled her right hand free and punched him in the face. Jorge sputtered and backhanded her with his gun in retaliation. The force of the blow renewed the split in her lip. With her ears ringing and barely able to move, she knew she had to try once more.

She could not fail.

Bucking her hips and legs wildly, she shifted his weight forward, freeing her legs. Swinging them up, she caught him in the chest and yanked hard. He fell back, pinned by her thighs. She rolled to her side, and as she did so, the gun went off.

No pain.

No pain?

She needed the gun!

Desperation provided strength to her movements, and she succeeded in rolling them both over. Once on top, she elbowed Jorge in the face and throat. When his grip loosened on the gun, she grabbed it. Yanking it from his hand, she then scrambled to her knees. Jorge pushed himself up. His hand touched his nose, looking for blood. For a second, their eyes met. The color leached from his face as he spied the gun pointed at his chest.

He cursed.

She pulled the trigger.

The bullet hit Jorge in the throat instead of his chest, where she'd aimed. Blood gushed and splattered everywhere, painting her face and shirt with red.

Her stomach roiled.

Shuffling forward on her knees, she made her way to a small trash can near the counter on her left.

Even after her stomach had emptied, she heaved.

Struggling for air, and still on all fours, she shook for a long moment, eventually forcing herself to move. Rachel had to escape before Mark came back to investigate the gunshot and found her there.

She stood and on shaky legs, stumbled out of the lab, her fingers tight around the gun she had wrestled from Jorge.

On the other side of the door, she spied a dead end to her right. With no other options available, Rachel turned left, and as she left the lab behind, she vowed she'd never return.

***

Adam stood on the other side of the door from the lobby at a T intersection. He didn't know which way to go.

He turned right.

As he strode down the hall, he checked each room he passed. He had traversed half the hallway when he heard a distant pop of what he recognized as a muffled gunshot resonated from somewhere under his feet and slightly behind him.

His heart constricted.

Rachel!

He needed to get to the basement.

Adam hustled down the hall toward the last door. He yanked it open, expecting stairs, but instead, found a generic lab room filled with brushed-steel cabinets and counters: clean, sterile, and non-descript.

Siktir!

Backtracking, he checked the proceeding room. It looked the same as the one at the end but had a door in the back. Adam went to it.

A metal label attached to the steel door with rivets said, 'Storage'. Dismissing it, he left that room and stalked to the next. It revealed to yet another lab room; so were the last two labs on the floor, except for the one at the very end, which also included a storage room.

No basement.

There seemed to be no way to go downstairs—no indication the building even had a subterranean level, but he had heard the Org agent mention one, plus, the gunshot had come from there.

With nothing to lose, Adam chose to inspect a storage room. He tried the handle. The door opened, revealing a closet filled with lab supplies and another door labeled as 'Maintenance'. It had a keypad beside it.

Hmm.

Adam slid the Org agent's card through the key reader. At first, nothing happened. The lock's light stayed red. He cursed and tried again. The locked clicked, and the light switched to green. Slowly he tugged the door open, making sure to keep clear of the gap between the door and the jamb in case someone was on the other side ready to attack. When nothing happened, he pulled the door open enough to squeeze through.

It revealed a landing with a staircase.

He'd found the way to the basement.

Detecting no movement or sound, Adam proceeded downward, keeping his back to the cement wall. When he arrived at the switchback, he leaned forward. Seeing no one between himself and the door at the bottom, Adam continued his slow descent. Upon reaching the base of the stairs, he swiped the card key through the lock, and it turned to green immediately.

He waited with his back pressed against the wall, ready for anything. It would be foolish to assume the way was clear. Not with John and Mark still loose. Eventually, the lock clicked back on. No one had attacked. He hated relying on assumptions; they turned out wrong too often, but without access to the security feeds from the cameras, he had to work on instinct alone, and instinct told him the way was clear.

Swiping the key, he unlocked the door again and inched it open. Adam slid his hand into the opening and pulled it back immediately. If someone was on the other side waiting for him, the door's movement might trigger a response.

Nothing happened.

Adam pulled the door open enough to poke his head in and chanced a scan of the hallway beyond.

He saw no one. No movement. No corpses. Nothing. He stepped into the corridor, closing the door behind him.

Sterile white walls greeted him, and a buzzing fluorescent light flickered. Adam stood in one corner of the underground lab, with a smaller hall straight ahead, and a longer one off to his right. He could see other hallways off the longer one and several doors with windows in the intersecting ones.

"Shit," he swore under his breath. His time was slipping away. The Org didn't like witnesses. Yet, here he was, putzing about in the hallways, lost, while Rachel's life was on the line. Adam hoped he wasn't too late to save her.

Scanning the side-corridors, Adam searching for traces of her presence. An echo of her voice, or even a scream, would at least confirm she lived.

A scuffle, like a dragged sole of a boot, drifted to him in the quiet, and Adam paused. Had he heard footsteps in another hallway? Adam waited, trying to map the other person's movements in his mind. He concluded they used a parallel corridor. He turned to follow, wanting to take care of this new threat before he continued his search.

He was almost to his quarry when he heard gunshots, three of them in quick succession. He spun and headed back the way he came. Rounding a corner, Adam spotted John, the only known surviving team member, kicking in the stairwell door.

A grunt of pain. It sounded like Zach. Adam scowled.

John stepped across the threshold. A thud and a yelled, " _Merde_!" drifted down the hallway.

The curse answered Adam's question. In times of stress, Zach reverted to his native French, and his shout left no doubt about his identity. But why was he here in the lab?

Adam rushed forward and arrived in time to see Zach struggling with his assailant. Two guns lay abandoned on the floor while the two men fought. Unfortunately, Zach was losing fast to his opponent. The Org operative actively displayed his military training during the fight.

John grabbed Zach by the arm near the source of the blood and smashed it against the door frame. Adam heard the characteristic crunch of bones breaking, and Zach screamed. He paled, and his legs gave out.

He fell to the floor.

Adam ignored Zach's pain for the moment. John wasn't paying attention to his surroundings, and now was Adam's chance. In the next instant, Adam had John pinned, and his blade shoved between John's ribs.

Adam pulled the knife free and guided the body to the floor. He stepped over the prone figure and squatted down by Zach, who had, by then, managed to wiggle into a semi-upright position against the wall.

After checking Zach's injuries—a fracture in the humerus, and also in the ulna and radius, each break requiring extensive rehab, and most probably, surgical pins for stabilization, Adam took off his blazer and tossed it to the side. He then yanked off his t-shirt and proceeded to cut the shirt into large strips. "Zach? Look at me," Adam commanded him.

Zach turned toward Adam, eyes glazed from pain and shock.

Adam waited for Zach to focus. When he had Zach's attention, he said, "I have to cut your shirt. It will hurt like hell. Stay with me, okay?" After Zach's nod, Adam used his knife on Zach's shirt to remove enough fabric to study the injury. Zach cried as Adam checked for an exit wound.

Nothing.

"I have good and bad news. What do you want first?" Adam quipped, forcing Zach to focus on him again.

"Bad," Zach moaned, his voice hitching, and tears dripped from his chin.

"You have a souvenir bullet to take home with you."

"And the good?" Zach whispered.

"You only have to apply pressure to the entry wound while I go find Rachel."

Zach answered with the barest of watery chuckles, and Adam handed him the t-shirt strips.

"Keep pressure here," Adam said, guiding Zach's fingers. "I'll be back soon."

"Okay."

Standing, Adam fished out his phone and dialed.

"Status?" Isaac barked.

"Four operatives down. Zach's hurt. Triaged the wound, but he needs medical assistance. Shattered bones and a bullet lodged in the muscle of his arm." Isaac whistled, the tone full of irritation. Adam forged on, "Rachel and Mark are MIA. Search is incomplete."

"Cleanup is on location," Isaac replied. "Finish what you started. I'll be there in thirty."

"Understood," Adam said, hanging up the phone. He glanced at Zach.

"Find Rachel," Zach whispered.

Adam nodded, and after grabbing his blazer from where he tossed it, he entered the underground lab again in search of Rachel.

# Chapter 26

Rachel stumbled down the hall in search of an exit. "They all look alike," she muttered, cringing at how distorted her voice sounded in the sterile lab environment.

"I swear I've been down this hall before," she continued. Talking aloud gave her a measure of reassurance. Unwise—someone might overhear her—but she couldn't help it. At least the alarm had stopped at some point. Rachel didn't know how, or why, and wondered if Mark had dealt with the cause.

She stopped to catch her breath. Luminations Lab had to be one of Dante's Inferno's circles of hell. Rachel groaned. She didn't even know where she was anymore. All the corridors looked the same to her, and her drugged-up mind was unable to make sense of it—it had become an impenetrable maze.

Rachel closed her eyes, leaning against the wall for support. When she felt stable, she let go and trudged unsteadily along the white, sterile corridor. The first door she encountered was locked—so were the second and third. She felt her eyes sting with tears. Why did everybody want to lock her into rooms? Regardless of how it felt, she knew it couldn't be true. Besides, at some point, she knew she would find an unlocked door. The whole place couldn't be locked down.

Maybe she could shoot a door open? They did that in movies, and it worked every time.

She shook her head, negating her thought. Even if it did work, and she doubted it would, the sound would advertise her position, and she was in no condition to fight anyone. Almost on cue, three gunshots shattered the silence. She twitched and nearly dropped her gun. Fear widened her eyes, and she searched for the source.

It was the terror of being found which propelled her forward, but finding a "T" intersection stymied her progress.

Left, or right?

She recognized this hallway; it led back to the lab where she'd been a prisoner.

She did not want to go there.

Jorge's dead body was there.

Rachel turned around and retraced her steps and came to a halt at a second intersection. Stretching perpendicular to her position was another long corridor, as empty and sterile as the first. She had no idea which way to go. She slid to the floor, trembling, and lowered her head to her knees. Her whole body felt like lead; she wanted nothing more than to crawl into a corner and forget about the whole ordeal.

_Get your shit together_ , Rachel thought a tad desperately. She needed a way out or at least someplace to hide until she came up with an escape plan.

Using the wall, she forced herself back to her feet. Her vision darkened for a moment, and nausea threatened to overtake her. Rachel gritted her teeth, eyelids shut tight, breathing shallowly, and swallowing convulsively.

She wasn't about to vomit!

Once was enough, thank you very much.

" _Rachel?"_

She thought she heard her name called. Her eyes opened slowly, and she blinked. Was that Mark coming back? Had he found Jorge's body and realized she'd made a run for it? She couldn't let him find her.

Heart beating madly, Rachel lurched forward in a half-run. She'd crossed yet another perpendicular corridor when she heard footsteps behind her.

Rachel whipped around, gun up. Her hands shook. "Don't come any closer or I'll shoot!" she yelled.

The figure stopped and slowly raised both hands in the air. "Rachel, lower the gun. It's me."

That voice. She recognized that voice. Rachel blinked several times, trying to focus on the speaker.

"Rachel," he repeated, advancing toward her, "it's over; You're safe. I'm here." He reached her and put a hand over hers, gently forcing her to lower the gun pointed at him.

It was then that her brain finally processed who she was seeing. "Adam?"

The gun slipped from her nerveless fingers as he gently pulled it from her grasp. Rachel's lips trembled, and her knees gave out. Before she collapsed, Adam wrapped his arms around her and crushed her to his chest.

She couldn't believe it. Adam had come for her.

Was she only imagining the slight shake of his body?

"H... hi," she whispered into his chest after a long moment of simply listening to his heartbeat a calming refrain close to her ear. "Fancy meeting you here," she added, voice cracking.

Adam released her, allowing her to step back. He cradled her face in his hands and frowned. She knew she looked like hell. Her split lip stung, and she had the start of a nice bruise on her left cheekbone, where John and then Jorge had struck her. Not to mention her chin hurt from when she clocked herself while trying to wrestle the gun away from Jorge.

She gave him a wan smile. "I'm fine... I am! Really. I'm fine."

His frown deepened, and he used his thumbs to stretch her lower eyelids and scrutinized her eyes. Annoyed, she tried to pull back, but he didn't let her until he finished with his examination.

"They gave you something," he said, sounding angry.

Rachel could only nod, a lump forming in her throat. Again, he pulled her into his arms, more gently this time. "Tell me," he ordered.

At first, she found it difficult to speak. The whole thing made her feel so ashamed; she shouldn't have left the safe-house. She should have done more to stop Grace. She should have told someone—anyone—what their plans were. "I... thought I was helping you out," she began, and once the words had begun to flow, there was no stopping them.

She paused, remembering her capture. "The same men who'd killed Grace, they used something to immobilize me. I couldn't even move a finger! They dumped me in their car and drove me here."

"Did they drug you? Is that how they immobilized you?"

She shook her head. "No. They used... something... some weird device. My eyesight wasn't affected, and I felt everything, but I just couldn't move."

She heard him curse and mutter, "They're farther along than we thought." Not letting her go, he pressed on, his voice urgent. "They brought you here—"

Rachel nodded.

"Then what?"

She continued in her recantation.

"I spent the night in one of these rooms." Rachel waved her hand in a vague indication of the hallway behind her. The truth was, she had no clear idea where her cell was situated. "Then today, Mark said he wanted to test some sort of machine. Neural... Neural something. That's when they strapped me into the chair and injected me with a drug of some sort."

"Mark performed the test?" he questioned her, his tone harsh.

She nodded.

"I see. Go on."

"I..." She shivered as she tried to remember what happened next. Her skin prickled with oversensitivity, and sweat trickled down her ribs. "I don't remember. They strapped me into that chair, and I... I think he asked me questions about you and the Order." She frowned. Her memories were a blur. They wouldn't solidify. "I don't know how long, but I... I answered... I'm so sorry! I answered everything he asked. I didn't mean too!"

This realization shocked and horrified her, and she expected Adam to be furious at her for spilling the Order's secrets, but he simply held her tighter, not saying a word.

"After I woke up, he told me... he told me he would use the machine to brainwash me into... into hurting you," she whispered.

Adam tensed at her words but didn't move. She needed to reassure him, to reassure herself. "When I awoke, Mark was gone. Then the alarm went off and Jorge—"

"Jorge?"

"Mark's lab technician. He's..." she trailed off.

"Where is the technician now, Rachel?" Adam prompted.

A single gunshot. Jorge's dying gurgle. Blood. So much blood.

Tongue-tied, and not yet ready to put into words what she'd done even though she knew Adam wouldn't condemn her for it, Rachel simply shook her head and mumbled, "He's dead."

Maybe because he'd already taken stock of the splatters of blood on her clothes and face, but Adam seemed to understand, and he nodded. Instead, he asked, "Are you up to one more task before we leave?"

She glanced at him, a question in her eyes.

"Although it will only set them back for a short while," Adam explained. "I need to destroy the machine you described. We simply can't let the Org continue with the testing." He growled under his breath. "I'd rather get you to safety first, but if Mark is still inside the building, we need to act fast. And I need you to lead me to this device."

This time, she was the one to step away. Rachel took a deep, shaky breath and grabbed Adam's hand. He squeezed it and smiled in encouragement.

"Can you?" he asked.

Rachel nodded. She knew firsthand the dangers of that technology. "Yes."

"Lead me to it, Rachel," he said in encouragement.

More confident in her sense of direction, Rachel pulled him toward the other side of the basement. At the last intersection, she hesitated. She'd been confused while she wandered the corridors earlier, and it took her a few moments to ascertain the correct direction. "This way," she murmured before taking him down the next crossway.

She turned the corner and stopped in front of the lab room she'd escaped not too long ago. She swallowed hard, remembering Jorge's body sprawled on the floor on the other side. Rachel's confidence wavered. The sight of Jorge's blood seeping under the closed metal door, dark red and viscous, made her gag. She caught sight of Adam staring back at her, his expression unreadable. She wondered what he was thinking.

"Is that how you acquired a gun?" he asked, indicating the blood.

She sighed softly. "Yes. We fought over it, and I killed him," she said, feeling bile rise in her throat. She swallowed hard, struggling to keep the revulsion off her face and her stomach in line.

"Are you going to be all right?"

Rachel answered him with a slight nod. As he reached for the door, she grabbed his arm. She bit her lip. Pulling from her last reserve of energy—the same one which would let her enter the room—she said, "Just so you know, I... uh..."

"Threw up?"

How had he known? "Yeah. In the trashcan."

He shrugged. "It happens."

Adam turned his attention to the door and swiped a card key through the electronic lock. Stepping through the doorway, Adam held up his hand and asked for her to wait a moment. She did. An indeterminant time later, Adam returned and gestured for her to join him in the room. As she did so, she avoided the trash bin, and Jorge's body pulled to the side.

Pointing, "That's the machine," she said.

He walked over to it.

It really didn't look like much, she noted, almost like a dentist's chair with a moveable metal arm holding a glass dome which lowered over the headrest like the old dryers in hair salons.

Adam glanced at her and then back at the machine, before giving the arm an exploratory tug. The metal groaned and flexed where it was secured. He yanked a bit harder, and she heard something snap somewhere deep within the contraption. After a few more pulls and a couple of hard kicks, the piece broke free and clattered to the floor. The glass dome shattered on impact. Adam then used the arm of the machine to smash the computer controls by the head of the chair. Finally, he threw the metal arm to the side in disgust.

"Did they use anything else?" he asked her.

She shook her head.

"Feel up to searching?"

"What for?"

"Documentation? Notes about his research? Anything of interest."

Rachel nodded and went to the cabinets on the other side of the room as far away from Jorge as she could get. She placed the handgun on the counter and rifled through drawers. Inside the last one was a USB flash drive. Since it was the only non-medically related object she'd found in the room, she grabbed it and shoved it into her pocket, before turning toward Adam.

A few seconds later, he finished his search, straightened, and said, "Let's go. Isaac should be here at any moment to assess the situation and take over. We don't want to be caught in the basement once they start tearing this place apart. Besides, Zach's hurt and needs the infirmary."

She nodded and made for the door, stopping abruptly when Mark materialized in front of her. He had a gun pointed straight at her chest. Mark's hand trembled slightly; her eyes widened when his finger tensed on the trigger.

Her mind went blank, and at the same moment, her world tilted sideways. The linoleum floor rushed to meet her nose. At the last second, and with zero effort on her part, she barrel-rolled and landed on a firm yet squishy surface. A shot fired, and she tumbled to the cold floor as the soft surface, rolled out from under her.

A second, third, then a fourth shot, echoed in the room, and Rachel curled into a fetal position with her hands over her head.

Her whole body shook.

No more shots rang in the air.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Black, hold still so I can kill you, you bloody _Hashashin_."

"No," came Adam's reply to the barked demand.

Disoriented, Rachel pushed to her hands and knees, muscles tense and ready to dive for cover should someone begin shooting again.

"Mark," Adam growled. Rachel had an excellent view of Adam's jean-clad calves. There was blood down the back of his jeans, and two perfectly circular holes punched through the fabric. When had Adam been shot, and was he wounded? she wondered. She didn't remember seeing him limping. Maybe it had just happened.

"Black."

"This ends here. Now," Adam said.

"I couldn't agree more, but I wanted to let you know, even if you succeed in killing me today—which, let's face it, is practically assured, you are the better fighter, after all—you are not safe. You will never be safe. Someone, sometime, will trigger my new weapon, and then you will be dead."

"New weapon?"

"She'll make sure of it."

Frowning, Rachel peeked from behind Adam only to see Mark nodding her way and grinning. She transferred her attention from Mark to Adam. Denial gripped her heart. "I swear, I'm not a weapon. Adam, please..."

Without looking at her, he splayed his fingers at his side, giving her a stop signal.

Rachel fell silent. What if her memory was wrong and Mark told the truth? The idea she could one day hurt Adam, that she could become a weapon for the Organization, left her feeling ill. She shook her head and gained her feet. Adam took a step forward, crouching into an attack position, and Rachel's throat went dry; no one, not even Adam, could dodge bullets. She wished she had her gun now. Her gaze drifted toward where she'd left it on the other side of the room.

Before she'd completed the action, something triggered the overhead sprinklers. She glanced at them with a frown.

Fire?

That distraction was all it took, though. In an instant, the stare-down between the two men ended.

A gunshot shattered the silence of the room, deafening her. She clasped her hands over her ears. Her gaze snapped back toward the scene, and she gasped, shocked.

Adam, no!

Her eyes traveled down Adam's back, but there was no sign of injury. She didn't understand. Had Mark missed? She peeked around Adam's back. Mark touched the blood blossoming on his shirt before he crumpled to the floor.

Adam turned to her. His expression was grim. In his hand, he held a gun. Her heart did a flip inside her chest. Knowing Adam's code of honor, it was startling to see him with it, even though he had told her he trained with them.

She heard him curse, and he walked over to Mark's body.

What was he going to do?

"Adam, let's go," she pleaded.

She eyed the scene. Water from the sprinklers had seeped through her clothes, making her shiver, and it had washed the blood pooling under Mark's prone form, smearing it into a disturbingly surreal pattern of red and clear on the floor.

Adam unsheathed his knife.

"No!" she yelled.

It was too much. Everything was too much; Rachel couldn't watch him slit someone's throat in front of her. Not again. Not today. Lurching forward, she grabbed his left arm, "Please, Adam... Please? Let's just go. I need to go. I've had enough. I just can't do this and watch—" She gulped down the bile in her throat and tried again, "Please, let's get out of here."

Adam hesitated but finally nodded as he sheathed his blade. "All right. Come on." He gave Mark a dark look. "I'll have Isaac's men take care of him."

"Yes! Thank you!"

He grabbed her hand and pulled her from the room. He led her down the hall. They hurried along the corridors until they reached a stairwell. Opening the door caused several heads to turn, and one agent adopted an aggressive fight stance.

Rachel recognized him.

"Stand down, Simon. There's no one left alive," Adam snapped.

Adam stepped away from Rachel, revealing Zach on the floor. Adam knelt next to a man wearing a burgundy jacked Rachel recognized as an Order agent's medic uniform, "I'm taking Rachel upstairs; she's dealt with enough. Do you need anything for Zach?"

The physician shook his head, and Adam stood, retaking her hand.

"Zach—" she began, worried by the teen's pained expression and by the amount of blood showing on his torn t-shirt.

"He'll be fine," he replied. "He's in good hands."

Adam brought her upstairs and pulled her through a propped open door and into what appeared to be a storage closet. The sprinklers were also running on the first floor, and Rachel caught the faint but distinct smell of smoke. Something was burning in the building. Voices up ahead made her stop. Her heart thundered in her chest.

"Who else is here? More of Mark's men?"

"No, it's the Order," Adam replied. "Don't you recognize that pompous voice?"

Rachel lifted her eyebrow.

Adam smirked humorlessly. "Isaac."

# Chapter 27

Adam and Rachel left the labs, nodding to Order operatives carrying boxes as they passed. It made a certain amount of sense. If the Order had control of the research, then the Org couldn't use it. It didn't matter. Rachel didn't care about any of it at that moment. All she needed was to be away from the labs.

The fresh evening air hit her senses as soon as she stepped outside. Rain drizzled onto her cheeks, and the weak light through the clouds failed to warm her.

In the parking lot, three nondescript cars, and one van waited, their engines running, and their headlights trained toward the building's entrance.

She swayed on her feet and wrapped her arms around her chest, shivering uncontrollably. Adam stopped one of his coworkers, speaking softly. The agent nodded and left in a hurry, only to return a moment later carrying a thick woolen blanket.

He brought it to her and threw it over her shoulders, before drawing her into his arms. That was when she noticed Adam was shirtless under his dark blue blazer.

Odd. When did he take it off?

Between the blanket, his warm bare chest pressed against her ear, and his sturdy arms holding her close, Rachel finally calmed. She had been through so much in the last few hours—captured, drugged, brainwashed, forced to kill a man. She longed to go back to where she'd felt safe from the Org.

"Rachel?" Adam inquired.

She smiled wanly, though he couldn't see it. "I'm all right."

Isaac's curt voice sounded behind her. "I want to talk to you, Black. Immediately."

Adam released her and peered down at her with concern. "I better go and see what he wants. I'll be back as soon as possible."

Rachel nodded. He brushed his fingers along her cheek before pulling her to him once more. He crushed his lips to hers in a fierce, almost brutal kiss. "And don't you ever go out on your own without telling me again. You gave me gray hair today."

She nodded in agreement. Reluctantly Adam let go of her and left her standing beside the Order's van. Rachel held the blanket tighter around her shoulders, savoring the last traces of their kiss and his warmth. She frowned slightly at the sight of Isaac pacing the parking lot, his expression livid.

"Ms. Munro?"

Rachel jerked and readjusted her blanket in the hopes of disguising her reaction. She hadn't noticed the agent's arrival. "Yes?"

"While we're finishing here, I've been asked to escort you back to the compound."

"Oh." She paused. "Isn't Adam coming, too?"

"No, Ms. Munro, he has business to finish here. I'm to make sure you are comfortable."

"Okay." With a longing glance in Adam's direction, Rachel turned to follow the agent to a car that would take her back to the compound.

***

Relief, sharp like the tang of caffeine in the Kona coffee he used to drink at his studio in St. Louis, coursed through Adam's veins.

Rachel would be fine.

Sure, she'd have nightmares for a while, maybe for life, and probably need some PTSD counseling, but overall, Adam couldn't believe how well she handled her ordeal. When it came down to it, she hadn't hesitated.

That was huge.

Hell, he'd known plenty novice who had a lost look and queasy stomach after their first life or death situation. Even Zach had been a bit green, and he'd gone through almost two years of training already. The fact she'd kept her calm and managed to escape despite the circumstances was a miracle, but the fact she'd also brought him back to the lab, willingly, and had helped him search it while a body cooled in a corner, was even more astounding.

And all of it after they'd drugged and interrogated her.

Rachel had balls.

Well, not that he wanted her to have balls. His thoughts trailed off, and Adam sighed. Tenacity. Strength. Fortitude. That's what she had. Not balls.

Thankfully, it was all over.

Mark was dead.

The machine was inoperable.

Now, Adam would stop wasting time on games. As soon as possible, he'd call Darius and request a mentor transfer for Rachel. Once it was official and she settled in with her new mentor, Adam would file a formal petition with _Antipolemarchos_ Valis requesting the right to enter a courtship with her.

"Bollocks, Adam, what the bloody hell happened in there?"

Adam stopped abruptly and glanced at Isaac in surprise. He'd taken care of Rachel's rescue and eliminated Mark with minimal fuss. What had Isaac expected? It wasn't as if they hadn't discussed the mission only a few hours before. The question felt distorted and out of place, bordering on personal.

Isaac draggedd a hand through his hair and took a calming breath. "Report," he restated.

Adam spent the next few minutes briefing Isaac on the events before his confrontation with Mark. "We searched the lab, but other than this,"— he told Isaac as he handed him the tiny sticker like contraption he had confiscated from Jorge's body—"we didn't find anything worthy of note."

"And the machine?" Isaac asked.

"I destroyed it. It won't keep the Org from building a new one, but hopefully, it'll set them back some."

"Rachel?"

Adam understood the implied question from his earlier brainwashing remark in his verbal debriefing. "I do not believe they succeeded. She's in control of her thoughts. More so than I'd expect, considering the drugs they'd pumped into her, and then, Mark seemed too desperate for me to believe him."

"Hmm," Isaac murmured.

Feeling the interview's tension slide, Adam joked, "Your sprinklers were perfectly timed, by the way. I thought I was a goner there for a few moments."

"She will need to stay in isolation," Isaac stated as if Adam hadn't spoken "until we can be certain of an uncompromised state. I don't trust her, and I sure don't trust the Org. We require absolute surety. There are too many Order lives in jeopardy."

"She's fine," Adam argued. Isolation was just that, isolation, and she didn't need the added trauma. If he were lucky, he'd be able to meet with her a few times under strict supervision by either her psychiatrist and an Order investigator. Adam changed his mind about immediately petitioning for a mentor change. The only way a stint in isolation would be bearable for Rachel is if nothing else in her life changed.

"I'm assigning Simon as her new mentor," Isaac announced. "For the moment, she is classified as a danger to you. And then, you did not prove yourself capable of having more than one trainee under your care. I have already granted Zach permission to transfer to Istanbul whenever he wishes."

Adam glared at Isaac. What the bloody hell was Isaac blathering on about this time? Removing Rachel and clearing Zach for transfer without even talking to Adam first? What was he trying to prove? Never mind the fact that mere moments ago, Adam had planned on transferring Rachel to a new mentor, having Isaac assign her, to Simon of all people, felt like a retaliation.

Punishment.

"You can't do that; he'll make her life miserable. Besides, you don't have the authority."

"I do when I identify a threat to the Order," Isaac said, quoting law 6-40a section B84.

Adam gritted his teeth at the reminder.

"The _Stratigos_ of the affected region has the authority to isolate and contain the threat, especially if it is within his ranks. Because of the nature of your temporary assignation to me, Rachel qualifies." Isaac palmed his nape and sighed in irritation. "You might not see it, but I'm doing this to protect you, you pillock."

"Let me at least explain to her—"

"No need. She is already en route to the compound for safekeeping. She will be placed in isolation until we can ascertain the threat level she now represents."

Adam did a double-take at Isaac. Glancing over his shoulder, Adam growled, "You asshole", for, sure enough, Rachel was already gone.

# Epilogue

"Isaac, let me talk to her," Adam asked again. "Seeing a friendly face would go a long way in keeping her cooperative."

A stony expression was Isaac's only reply.

"Siciym _Ya_ , Isaac, even the doctors say she isn't a danger to herself or others. She's been in there for a week. Let her out. She is no threat to me," Adam continued, exasperated and angry.

"I did not request this meeting to rehash an old argument. Rachel is not your concern. I will not discuss it with you again," Isaac stated coldly.

"I will keep bringing it up until you change your mind and let her out." Adam sighed in frustration. "At a minimum, reassign her to a different mentor. Simon treats her like a pariah. He won't talk to her or help her alleviate her boredom. He doesn't even take her out to train! All she has is that tiny room, the interrogation chamber, and the damn doctor's office! Hell, even you'd go stir crazy in that mess."

He needed to see her. Comfort her. The pain of their separation had been unexpected. He'd tossed quite a few rules out the window since he met Rachel, and not having access to her after helping her win her freedom was almost more than he could stand. He didn't even have access to the closed-circuit surveillance feed from the cameras in her room, where he would be able to look in on her from a distance.

"Let her have her PC back," Adam pleaded. "Let her use it as a distraction. Deny her internet if you must, but at least let her type her thoughts into a journal or play solitaire. She will go mad without it. Even the doctors say so."

Adam watched a flicker of emotion cross Isaac's face. Maybe this time, his request had not fallen on deaf ears. Adam dropped the subject after this minor victory.

Isaac continued, "As it stands, we have a bigger problem than Rachel's mental state."

The iciness in Isaac's statement brought Adam up short.

"Today, I received the official report from the crew at the medical labs. The lead operative documented the fallen Organization agents before finishing the building clean-up and calling the local fire department. They logged three bodies in the lobby, one at the stairs in the basement and one in the lab. There was a trail of blood from the lab to a storage room where someone wounded sat for some time before the trail eventually ascended the stairs and out the door." Isaac paused. "We are short one body, Black," he said and handed Adam the final report tucked into its manila envelope.

"Mark survived."

Adam stared at Isaac in stunned silence.

THE END

Note from the author: Hi, this is M Findley with an author request. If you enjoyed my story, please consider leaving a review with your favorite retailers. And, since all my novels are a _Pay What You Think It's Worth_ , please consider buying me a coffee at Ko-Fi/mfindley.

Thank you!

# Acknowledgments

We would like to thank Kelly, Joanne, Anna, Duff, Jeanette, Sarah, Lucinda, Monica, Cordell, and Pat for all their assistance with this book. We couldn't have done it without you.

A special thank you goes to our line editors, Pat, Cordell, and Sarah—especially Sarah, who welded her red pen like a sword, aiding as an ellipsis killer and comma butcher. We left in way more than you wanted, we're sure. Your humor and advice went a long way in making this the best book we could produce. Thank you!

All our ideas for this series are our own, but we wanted to acknowledge and pay homage to Ubisoft and their Assassin's Creed game series. Here's to fellow assassins from some great video games!

We also have an important shout-out to Lindsay Buroker and her impressive The Emperor's Edge series. (Her first book in that series is free, go check it out. Now! We'll wait.) Without her and her books, we would never have met. And, had we not met, this novel would not have been written. Thank you, Lindsay!

If you enjoyed _Innocence_ , please leave a review.

# About the Authors

Mana likes hopping rocks on the Black River and playing with her imaginary cats. She lives in the US and keeps herself busy with family and friends, all of whom have been supportive while making this dream come true.

Catherine likes to surf the web and talk to friends in between chasing her—not imaginary—cats away from her keyboard. She lives in the middle of nowhere, Quebec, and builds muscles shoveling snow six months out of the year.

The authors met through the fan forum dedicated to Lindsay Buroker's The Emperor's Edge series. Soon afterward, they started collaborating on several short stories. It was during one of these that the idea for a novel first bloomed. And, as they say, the rest is history.

# Contact Us

If you enjoyed _Innocence_ , please leave a review or buy me a coffee at Ko-Fi/mfindley.

Thank you, and I'd love to hear from you.

Email: mana.findley@gmail.com

Facebook: http://on.fb.me/15IArWp

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/mfindley

# Other works

M. Findley also writes as Samantha Nolan or Gabriella Webster.

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