Max called Lucas the instant they landed. “She’s safe?”

“We’re both fine—you the reason Nikita knew?”

“Sophie managed to pass on a message through the PsyNet.”

“Clay and Dorian have some intel out at our HQ that you should see—probably shouldn’t come over the comm lines.” A long, indrawn breath. “And, Cop—thanks.”

Hanging up, Max nodded to Sophie. “She’s fine. And we might have a lead.” He waited only until they were inside the car before reaching over to close his hand over her thigh, his palm separated from her skin by nothing but the material of her skirt. He understood exactly how feral the DarkRiver alpha was feeling at that moment. If Faith hadn’t warned them about the bomb . . . “I want to strip you to the skin and drive into you until we both scream.”

“Max.”

It took him three minutes of teeth-gritting control before he could begin driving. Neither of them said another word until they walked into the DarkRiver building. Clay met them in the lobby and led them upstairs to a meeting room, where Dorian was waiting.

The sentinel with his blue-eyed, blond good looks raised a hand. “Here’s the lowdown—the assassin I found ate some kind of a fucking suicide tablet. I haven’t seen anything like it outside of historical dramas.”

“I worked a case where a small cult committed suicide en masse,” Max said, his mind cascading with bleak images of small bodies curled up beside larger ones that should’ve protected, not harmed. “They used a wine laced with poison.”

“It speaks of fanatical devotion,” his J said, “rather than professionalism.”

“But he was a professional, too.” Dorian showed them some images on the comm screen. “His gear, the way he’d been waiting there long enough to have left DNA behind, if you know what I mean—the man knew what he was doing.”

“Where’s the body?”

Clay was the one who responded. “Enforcement morgue.”

“And the other one?” Max asked.

The sentinel looked disgusted. “He figured out we were on to him and rabbited. I had to bring him down in a public area—Enforcement was there within a minute. He’s sitting in a cell not talking right now. No doubt he’s Psy.”

“There’s something else.” Dorian picked up what looked like a business card off the table. “This was left behind in the room where the second sniper was hiding.”

“That’s evidence.” Max scowled. “You’ve fucking contaminated the hell out of it.”

“Trust me,” Dorian said, “you don’t want that in the system. And we processed it.”

Max glanced down to see that the card carried a single line of text—what looked like a comm code. Turning it over, he read the handwritten note: Sascha, DR HQ

“I recognize that code,” Sophia said in a quiet voice. “It’s Councilor Duncan’s private line.”

“Very well guarded,” Dorian said. “And available only to a select few.”

Max shook his head. “Nikita isn’t behind this. And the handwriting—the time’s missing.”

Sophia took it from his hand. “They were going to insert that once they’d hit Sascha, make it seem as if Nikita had given them the location and time.” She placed the card back on the table. “But the fact that they have this number further implicates someone in Nikita’s inner circle.”

“Another Councilor would also have it—or be able to get it,” Max said, eyes narrowed. “No question that Nikita has a mole inside her organization, but there’s a much larger power behind this.”

“I’ve already got our informants on alert for anything that might be related.” Clay said with a tightly held fury. “You need us, we’re there.”

Max tapped the card. “What did you find?”

Dorian’s scowl did nothing to lessen the sheer beauty of his face. “Only usable print was—surprise, surprise—Nikita’s.”

“They really thought you were going to fall for that?” Max had seen the way the cats operated—they were highly intelligent predators.

Dorian’s mouth went grim. “If they’d succeeded in hurting Sascha, we wouldn’t have been thinking too straight. The leopard would’ve gone for blood.”

And, Sophia realized with a chill in her heart, the ensuing carnage would have begun a war.

CHAPTER 30

Nikita thought long and hard about her next move, considered, too, what it might betray. Nothing. If she was careful.

Picking up her cell phone, she input a code.

Anthony Kyriakus answered after a few seconds. “Nikita, this is unexpected.”

Yes, Nikita thought, it was. Though they occupied the same basic area of the state, their paths rarely collided. The NightStar empire was built around the foreseeing abilities so prevalent in their genetic line, while Nikita’s own company had a much more prosaic base in housing and design. But—“We do have certain commonalities.”

A pause. “Is this a Council matter?”

“No.” That left them with only one common thread, a thread they’d never before discussed. “Sascha was targeted by my enemies today. You may wish to ensure Faith’s safety.”

“I don’t think you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart.”

Nikita had no heart. What she had were brains and a survival instinct that saw nothing wrong with killing, manipulation, and betrayal. But she wasn’t fickle. That was bad for business. “It strikes me,” she said, “that our aims have coincided more often than not in Council matters of late.”

“You’re allied to Krychek.”

“So are you.” It was, she knew, less of an alliance than she had with Kaleb, but it existed. “They are attempting to take our territory, Anthony.”

“That’s their mistake.” And, for the first time, she heard the pure steel that had made Anthony Kyriakus a threat long before he became Council.

CHAPTER 31

To my Cop—I never imagined you could exist, that you would exist, for someone like me. I never imagined that you’d look at me the way you do. I never imagined how hard it would be to say good-bye.

—Sophia Russo in an encrypted and time-coded letter to

be sent to Max Shannon after her death

The main Enforcement station in San Francisco was a sprawling complex full to the brim with humanity—and at present, a Psy assassin.

Sophia took a deep breath as they were led down through the bull pen and to the short-term holding facilities at the back of the station. So many voices, so many people, so many memories and dreams—it was a ceaseless buzz in her head, her shields already strained after the time spent in the enclosed space of the airjet.

Though she kept her arms tight to her body, her face turned away, people still bumped into her. She’d managed to avoid skin-to-skin contact so far—mostly because Max had been using his own body to shield hers in the most subtle of ways, but it was impossible to do anything but grit her teeth against the onslaught of psychic noise.

Hopes and wishes. Hates and loves. Joys and sorrows.

Even though she couldn’t read any specific thoughts, she could feel the colossal weight of those thoughts battering at her. The pressure against her shields was immense—she was terrified it would create a break, crushing her under an avalanche of other people’s nightmares.

“Here you go.” The cop who’d escorted them stopped in front of a cell. “He hasn’t said a word.”

“Thanks.” Max held out his hand. “I appreciate the cooperation.”

The cop shook it, but his eyes were flat. “You have Psy backing. Call me when you’re done.”

White lines bracketed Max’s mouth as the other man walked away. She wanted to comfort him, but what could she say? She was Psy, part of the very race whose history of arrogance meant Max was being seen as a traitor to his own people.

His gaze met hers at that moment and something in him seemed to ease. Walking up to the old-fashioned steel bars of the temporary holding cell, he said, “Keeping your mouth shut isn’t going to achieve anything, not while you’re in Nikita’s territory.”

The man sitting on a bunk on one side of the room didn’t so much as turn his head. Max tried again. With the same result. Shifting to glance at her, Max raised an eyebrow. She took a step closer to the bars. “Fanaticism,” she said, keeping her tone clear, Silent, pure, “is a breach of Silence.”

No response, but she knew he was listening.

“The fact that your colleague committed suicide when he was of sound mind and body speaks to that fanaticism.”

The man lifted his head. “It could as well have been a tactical decision to deprive the enemy of an individual to interrogate.”

“But you didn’t follow that path,” she pointed out. “You didn’t agree with his actions.”

“I have nothing to hide.” Cool words. “It’s no crime to be in an apartment in San Francisco. Even one with a view of the DarkRiver building.”

Sophia wondered if the male had truly thought through the consequences of his actions. Legalese wouldn’t save him, not when he’d proven himself part of the conspiracy against Nikita. Stepping back, she lowered her voice so that it would carry only to Max.

“Nikita doesn’t know yet.” That much was apparent because if she had, this man’s mind would’ve been torn apart like so much paper before they’d ever had a chance to talk to him.

Max set his jaw. “I don’t care who the fuck she is—she does that, I’m done with this case. They can blow her up for all I care.”

Nikita would bide her time, Sophia thought. Because right now, she needed Max. “Do you want to attempt further questioning while I—”

The scream was sharp, high pitched. Even as the medical alarms began blaring, the Psy male fell forward and to the floor, his body flopping about in the throes of a seizure that had his head thumping over and over against the plascrete floor.