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Storm.” He touched the brim of his baseball cap.
    “Special Agent Storm,” Dylan said. “Thanks for being here.” Storm had the chiseled features and distinct coloring of a Native American.
    The second man stepped up. He was taller and bulkier than Storm with the kind of pretty-boy face that had probably gotten him in a lot of trouble in high school.
    “This is Special Agent Daniel Gambrini,” Storm said.
    “Dr. Stryker,” Gambrini acknowledged him.
    Dylan nodded. “Thanks.”
    Storm stepped to one side and motioned to Natasha.
    Dylan watched them while Alfred described the damage to the fence. Thank God it was minimal.
    “Hey, Nat, you doing okay?” Storm said.
    Natasha nodded and said something Dylan didn’t catch. Then Storm motioned Gambrini over and introduced him to Natasha.
    As the agents headed back toward Alfred, Dylan turned his back on the fence. “Another damned reporter,” he said to Campbell, who had hung back out of the way. “Get back to the house. You need to get some sleep.”
    Campbell nodded eagerly and headed toward the house.
    “Natasha, you can grab another couple of hours, too.”
    She didn’t move or comment.
    He walked past her. “You want to walk with me?”
    She glanced at Alfred, who’d just been handed a camera by one of the security guards, then at her fellow agents. She still held her Glock in both hands and stood perfectly balanced, ready for anything. She obviously took every aspect of her job very seriously.
    Dylan realized that made her extremely attractive to him.
    Dawn was breaking, and the world had turned that colorless gray that made it hard to distinguish light from shadow. Yet her hair still blazed pale gold.
    “You didn’t know the second agent?”
    She shook her head. “He just transferred in. Took the place of an agent who recently resigned to work in a detective agency with his wife.”
    “But you know Agent Storm?”
    She sent him a sidelong glance. “Storm? Best undercover man in the Bureau. You can depend on him.” She glanced over her shoulder. “What’s going to happen to that reporter?”
    “Alfred will threaten him with prosecution and he’ll back off. Like I said, this happens occasionally.”
    She put her weapon away and looked across the lawn toward the house. “A whole lot of money went into designing this place to be totally hidden. How often is occasionally?”
    “Every few months or so. It’s impossible to remain totally hidden. This time of the year it’s worse. Next week is the third anniversary of my wife’s death.” The words still felt raw in his throat.
    “And your son’s, as far as the media knows. Right?”
    Dylan heard the edge in her voice. She sounded like Alfred. He frowned. “It was the only way I could keep him safe.” Not willing to listen to any recriminations, he headed back toward the house. Natasha fell into step beside him.

    “Why not let NSA set you up in a secure facility?”
    Dylan rounded on her. “What do you know about the NSA’s idea of a secure facility?”
    “A little, but—”
    “They were kind enough to give me a tour of one that’s based—well, nearby. Its first level is fifty feet underground.”
    Natasha’s eyes widened.
    “My lab would have been on the third level down. The day-care center and the living quarters were on the fourth level. NSA offered me two choices. Ben could stay there with me, or he could be placed with strangers under a fake name until I finished their damn project.” The idea still sent nausea clawing up from his gut.
    “I can’t bear to let him out of my sight. He wouldn’t understand. He’d think I’d abandoned him.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “And I couldn’t bury him under fifty feet of rock and dirt, either.”
    “No—of course not.” Her voice sounded strangled. “So you offered them a third choice.” She cut her eyes at him then back to the ground in front of them.
    What was the matter with her? Dylan’s defenses rose immediately.