Furious, he shoved Michael off her, only to find it wasn’t Peri. Gagging, the African-American woman shouted, “Get out! Get out now!” into her radio before she was yanked back to a kneel with the rest of her team.

“You didn’t take her radio?” Bill seethed, looking at the mess they were going to leave.

“It wasn’t going to matter in five seconds,” Michael said shortly as he snatched up the discarded radio and thumbed the channel open. “Peri. I’m going to kill your team. Then I’m coming for you.”

“You are so damn melodramatic,” Bill said impatiently, then jerked when Michael pulled his Glock, aiming it at the first man in line and pulling the trigger. The woman gasped as blood and hair made a fantastic pattern on the wall. Jerking, the man fell.

“Three left,” Michael said into the radio, then threw it from him when he realized the connection was broken. Thin lips pressed together, Michael shifted his aim and twitched his finger. His Glock fired, and a second man died. This time the woman jumped, her lip bleeding where she bit it. Bill frowned, well aware the Glock would turn on him if he didn’t give Michael enough freedom to feel in control. But every shot ate away at his bottom line, and it was frustrating.

“Has Peri been accelerated?” Michael said as he moved to the last man.

“You are making a bloody hell of a mess,” Bill protested, seeing the sale of the carbon scrubber turn to nothing, but he was curious himself.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the CIA agent said. Arm extended, Michael coolly shot the back of his head.

Bill’s breath slipped from him even as his heart pounded. The pop of the handgun sounded ridiculously soft, and the man’s brains hitting the floor made an ugly, sudden splat.

Stifling a cry of anger, the woman glared at them, her hands behind her head going white-knuckled. Damn it, Bill thought, frowning at the tissue and fluid staining the carpet. There was no way they could clean this up sufficiently fast enough; the information they’d come for was useless. Peri could always get information without the threat of death. She was an artist.

“Lies are temporary,” Michael said as he checked his chamber. Blood speckled him, hardly seeming enough for the four men dead before him. “I always see through them, and it’s vexing. You’re not going to lie, are you?” he asked the woman kneeling before him.

The woman was pissed, even as she shook in shock. Michael shoved the man guarding her away, leaning over her so his face was inches from hers, the gun barrel just under her eye. “Is Peri Reed accelerated?” he asked again. “Tell me!” Michael shouted, and she jumped, jaw tight and eyes closed.

But Michael dropped back, brushing her hair from her eyes and studying her. “Loyalty,” he said softly, but there was no gentleness in his expression. “It’s misplaced. Harmony.”

Her eyes flicked open, surprised, and Michael almost preened in the attention.

“Kill her or don’t,” Bill said grimly. “We’re done here.” He turned to go, but the woman gasped, and he hesitated; he’d just about had it with Michael’s uncouth ham-handedness.

“I know your name, yes,” Michael said, his thin lips inches from her ear, the Glock keeping her unmoving. “Your loyalty is misplaced. Your gut tells you not to trust her. You should listen to it. Peri has done ugly things. The White Plague, the first wave of Asian population decimation, the assassination of troublesome senators.” He wiped a spot of blood from her with the muzzle of the Glock, and Harmony stiffened, pulling back from the warm metal. “She is not a nice woman. You don’t like her. I can see it in your face. Is she accelerated? Is she waiting for her boyfriend to duplicate the Evocane first? How close is he?”

Bill hesitated, torn.

“Bring back my team, and maybe we’ll talk,” she said, voice cracking.

Michael smiled and inclined his head. “Too late. Even the best drafter can only manage ninety seconds.”

“Good to know. But you can go to hell.”

“Ladies first.”

Bill saw the woman’s death in Michael’s eyes before the trigger moved. He heard the hammer click. He saw the puff of smoke as if in slow motion . . . and then the smoke shifted blue as time halted.

For an instant, sparkles cascaded over him as time reset, and then the world shifted.

Bill jumped as the gun fired, and he watched the last man die again.

They were in a draft, and Bill turned, finding himself again standing beside Michael instead of in the hall. Before them, the woman shook in shock and anger, unaware that they were reliving her nightmare.

“I didn’t draft,” Michael said, and Bill stiffened. Peri was on-site, and something had pushed her into drafting. Damn it, I told them no live ammunition on her.

“Time to die, soldier girl,” Michael muttered, then ran out of the room, leaving the last CIA agent alive. The two men Bill had set to watch him followed.

“Michael, you stupid shit,” Bill whispered, looking at the five dead men and the kneeling, empty-faced woman. “I don’t suppose you’d stay if I asked,” he said, then cold-cocked her.

The woman collapsed without a sound.

His hand hardly feeling it, Bill bolted into the hallway. He had to get there before Michael ruined everything.

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

Her vision shifted blue. The pain in her chest vanished. Beside her, Allen groaned in relief. She exhaled sparkles, and they sucked up the blue until her vision was again crystal clear.

They were back behind the oven, and she stood, squeezing off a single shot at the approaching man without pity. He fell back, dead before he hit the floor. She turned to the next, finger twitching an instant before recoil. Sometimes forgetting was a blessing.

Grunts and pained cries sandwiched themselves between the rhythmic pops. Eyes wide open, she took the sting of gunpowder into her nose. She didn’t use darts. She used slugs. Every one of them found their mark, witnessed and remembered from the previous timeline until the two timelines meshed and she forgot.

And then there was silence. The kitchen was empty. For the moment.

Bill is coming.

“We gotta go,” she whispered, turning her weapon upward to fire a rapid circle into the ceiling tiles. Cool air spilled over them behind the chunks of ceiling falling on them.