The rain stopped, although the wind persisted, rising almost to a howl so that she had to crouch low, taking shelter beside one of the series of pagodas that housed the heat exhaust vents. She remained very still while she studied every detail of the roof, trying to orient herself to the earlier layout and what detail might have changed.

There was a small dark spot up near the top of the casing housing the wide cooling coils. The roof was as artfully done as the building itself, which gave Dahlia room to move between the pagodas and stay out of the camera’s vision. The camera itself was set on a sweep of the roof. She timed it twice to make certain she had enough time to fully disappear down the vent before it would pick up her entry.

She waited until the camera swept past the pagoda and immediately sank down into the shaft. It was easy enough to slip down, using her hands and feet to guide her until she reached the turn. It was a closer squeeze, but her small body fit nicely. She had memorized the layout of the building and followed the narrow vent that took her to the elevator shaft. She had used it before and was familiar with the way the vent opened into the shaft. She had to be careful with the screen, holding it even as she pushed so that it wouldn’t fly down the shaft to the basement level. She maneuvered it carefully aside and peeked into the shaft.

The shaft was the fastest way to get to the hub of the building where the enormous vault room was. The elevator bypassed the floor unless one of the elevator’s occupants had a special key and the correct access codes. Dahlia didn’t bother with elevators; she simply climbed down the shaft, using safety grips when possible, or cracks for fingers and toeholds when there was nothing else. The vent she needed was in an awkward position above her. She hooked a line to a safety grip, metal sliding against metal. The grating noise was overly loud and seemed to reverberate up the shaft.

Dahlia waited a moment or two until she was certain it was safe to proceed. She swung like a pendulum, back and forth, pushing off with her feet until she was able to swing high enough to hook her heel over the edge and hold her body there while she tied off the rope for a fast getaway. It was a simple enough matter to pull her body into the tube, but she did it in slow motion, inch by cautious inch, fully aware of the motion detectors scattered through the vent. It took a tremendous amount of concentration to keep them still as she crawled carefully through the narrow tube.

A strange buzzing began to grow louder and louder in her head. It was annoying, developing into a pressure, making her temples throb. Keeping her mind centered on the motion detectors was difficult with the buzzing interference. Her stomach began to churn. Dahlia stopped moving and lay completely still, recognizing a psychic attack. It had never happened to her before, but she knew it was an outside source. Tiny beads of sweat broke out on her forehead. She forced air through her lungs as the pressure in her head increased until it felt as if a vise gripped her skull.

She tried to be small and far away, thinking of the bayou and the sound of the frogs and alligators, the continual lapping of the water, anything to take her mind off the increasing pressure. She pictured it in her head, the island that had been her home with the myriad of flowers and bushes and trees scattered everywhere and the wildlife she spent a great deal of time watching from the roof of her house.

Slowly, she felt the pressure ease. Whatever was coming after her, hadn’t succeeded, but she felt sick and dizzy so she lay still waiting for her mind to clear before she proceeded. Was Roman Howard capable of such an attack? He hadn’t undergone the psychic experiment. Martin had. Martin had been taught such attacks.

Dahlia kept her head down, resting on her hands as she tried to piece it all together. She didn’t dare move until she was controlling the motion sensors, and adrenaline was still racing through her body. Everyone who had undergone the experiment had some psychic ability prior to allowing Whitney to enhance what was already there.

Dahlia, you’re scaring the hell out of me. Did he hurt you? Just his voice calmed her. She felt the air move through her lungs and her nerves steadied.

Did you feel that? she asked.

All of us did.

Can he hear you? Can he feel the surge around him when we communicate like this? She didn’t want another attack until she was out of the narrow confines of the tube.

No, I’ve worked at sending only to one person. Martin Howard is concealed just outside the building entrance. It looks as if he followed his brother here and is waiting for him.

Was it Martin who attacked me?

It was impossible to tell who generated the attack or if it was specifically meant for one person. Our best guess is, whoever initiated the attack did so because he feels our presence and is uneasy. He was trying to draw us out.

Dahlia frowned. It made sense, but if he knew she was in the building and was hunting her, it made it all the more dangerous, especially if he were feeling strong emotions and he got close to her.

Are you going to abort?

Nicolas kept his voice neutral this time, and she was grateful to him. She had to think it through before she made a mistake. She took another breath, let it out slowly. I’m so close, if I leave now, I’ll have to do this again. I’m going to see if I can get in and out without trouble before I turn away on this one.

She felt more than heard the echo of Nicolas’s disappointment, the sheer frustration of not being able to command her the way he could his men. Was she being stubborn? It was one of her worst traits, but she didn’t think so. It wasn’t stubbornness, it was fear. She didn’t want to be responsible for the research falling into the wrong hands and she never wanted to come back to the Lombard building.

When this is over, I want to see where you live, Nicolas.

I promise, Dahlia. Just don’t let anything happen to you.

She took another breath and concentrated on the sensors. When she was certain she controlled them, she scooted forward until she was against the screen in the tunnel leading to the vault room. There were six access tunnels, all with the same camera setup and heavy doors. The security was tight, requiring retinal scans and codes. And that was after coming off the secure elevator that required the proper set of keys and a different access code.

She pulled her tool kit out of the sealed flap of her cargo pants and made short work of the screws on the vent screen. She had to control the cameras next, keeping them from seeing her as she slid from the tube and landed in a crouch on the floor. Cameras were easy to manage, but also easy to forget. If she let her mind drift, even when she was concentrating on other, more difficult tasks, she would be in trouble.

Dahlia stayed close to the wall and blurred her image just in case she slipped up. The most important thing was the access code. She knew it was changed on a daily basis. This was her favorite thing to do, cracking the access code and opening the vault. Her mind was already humming, feeling how to move the tumblers into place. Even though the vault had an electronic access code keypad, she didn’t need to type in the numbers to figure out the right ones. In fact, she didn’t dare attempt it since entering more than a couple of tries triggered the alarm. Dahlia simply bypassed the electronic part altogether, and worked directly with the mechanical spring-loaded tumblers.

She stayed very close to the wall, at the best angle to avoid the panning camera, just in case during this phase she forgot in her excitement. The retinal scan was easy enough to bypass, but the code was all-important, and it was her mind against the machine’s.

She sat with her back against the wall as she began the hunt for the correct tumbler positions. It was bound to take a little time and with Roman Howard wandering around, she wanted to be in and out as quickly as possible. She had half the positions when the second attack came. A sharp thrust to her brain, piercing jabs scattering through her mind, jarring her out of her concentration. She clapped both hands over her head, pressing hard to relieve the terrible viselike grip. Her stomach lurched.

Dahlia held her mind’s grip on the camera. She had to let go of the vault, but the camera was more important to control. She could always start over if she dropped the tumbler positions. The attack was hard and deadly, but because the sender didn’t know whom he was attacking, it was unfocused. She received the brunt of it only because she was closer than the GhostWalkers, but they must have felt it as well.

Breathe deeply until it passes. Nicolas sounded gentle, calm. Normal for him. Just his voice seemed to help ease the pain. We can’t retaliate or he’ll know for certain someone is here. Right now he’s probing. He isn’t sure.

She wanted to answer him, reassure him she was all right, but the pressure in her head combined with controlling the camera was enough work. She hunkered down and went into meditative breathing, waiting for the assault to pass.

It lessened gradually, the pressure easing until she could think again. Immediately she focused on the vault. Roman Howard had absolutely no idea she was in the building, and he certainly didn’t know she was opening the vault. He was psychic enough to be uneasy, but he couldn’t find an enemy. Still, she needed to get out fast. If his uneasiness continued, he would check the vault.

She worked faster, staying alert as the tumblers dropped into place. She repressed the urge to laugh when she found the last, satisfying position and they lined up perfectly for her. Dahlia worked out the numbers that corresponded to those tumbler positions, and entered them into the digital keypad. Now she could feel the tumblers staying in place without her having to hold them there. She turned her attention to the retinal scan, finding the image of the last scan in the memory of the computer and repeating it. There was a moment of silence. Of expectation. The heavy vault door swung open.

Dahlia moved fast, running toward the row of what looked almost like safety-deposit boxes. Each was large and deep, able to hold most anything a research team needed to leave in safety. She bent to open one nearest the floor. In amongst the stacks of paper and zip drives, she found the precious disks holding the data on stealth torpedoes. There were no identifying marks, but she recognized the strange red circle the professor at Rutgers liked to use on his correspondence.

Dahlia tucked the disks into a Ziploc bag and shoved it inside her tightly woven jumper where she had a hidden pocket. Once it was safe, she arranged everything to look exactly as it had been, closed the vault, and took to the vent. She was going out toward the side entrance where the bushes were close instead of back up toward the roof. It was easier to get through the vents. She simply had to remember to be cautious of the motion sensors.

She had to take a few minutes to orient herself in the maze of vent tunnels before choosing the one she needed that would take her directly to the side entrance facing the narrow street. There was a yard to the back, and dogs were often left loose to guard it at night. The side entrance had less light and only two cameras. Dahlia unscrewed the screen and slipped out of the vent into the office. She could hear the guard talking to someone in the distance. Grateful that she just missed the guard and his dog, she hastily deactivated the alarms at the window and opened it. It was a fair distance to the ground, but she jumped, landing in a crouch close to the wall. She took one step toward the bushes when she heard the door hinges squeak. Men’s voice intruded into the night.

Dahlia shrank back against the wall, stilled, and closed her eyes as two men emerged through the side door. Obviously in the middle of an argument, they remained close together, halting just a foot from her. She recognized Trevor Billings, one of the researchers reputed to be a boy genius. The man Jesse Calhoun had been investigating. He glared at Roman Howard. “I told you not to come here anymore.”

Roman shoved Trevor so hard, the smaller man had to grab his glasses to keep them from flying off his nose, and at the same time, he flung out a hand to grab the wall to steady himself. Dahlia could see his fingers only a scant few inches from her shoulder. She stared at them with a kind of sick horror. It seemed impossible that they wouldn’t see her, but she concentrated on keeping her image as blurred as possible.