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Frodo. Which she did, she just didn’t expect an answer from the furry mutt. “List country and date of birth of the deceased according to date of death. First to last.”
    “Please wait,” the automated voice responded as it crunched through the complicated program. Top notch, and highly illegal—not that Aria was worried about getting caught, she was off the grid. Even if one of the agencies she plugged into noticed a breach, it would lead them somewhere else entirely. Hacking was her specialty.
    After a long while—too long in her opinion, she’d have to do some tweaking to the program—the computer began to spit out data in its lyrical voice.
    “Abd Al Aziz born 07/30/2072 Iran, died on 07/02/2102; Antonio Diaz born 10/03/2073 Mexican Confederation, died on 10/02/2103; Joel Lepravue born 02/24/2074 United Euro Nations, died on 02/23/2104; soldier 03022074 no name given, born 03/02/2074 China, died on 02/28/2104; Noah Gordon born 07/30/2074 United States, died on 07/29/2104.”
    Aria sat back, tapping the arm of her ergonomic chair. All five governments had lost Viadal soldiers. Until two days ago, she’d thought the US had ordered the hits—her theory being they’d finally gotten tired of the live-and-let-live attitude that had been their MO for the last decade and decided to exterminate the threat to their soldiers once and for all. But then Noah Gordon was killed and all her carefully repressed suspicions and paranoia had come to a head.
    Reaching out, she touched the screen, the Braille lettering raised under her fingertips as she ran them over the words and dates.
    Shit . She sat up straighter, fingering all five birthdates again. “See a pattern, Frodo?”
    Frodo whimpered in response.
    “Computer, list dates of birth and country for all living Viadal soldiers.”
    “Listing all living Viadal soldiers date of birth and country: 08/12/74 America; 08/14/74 America; 08/22/74 America; 09/01/74 America; 09/03/74 America; 11/09/74 America; 12/10/74 China; 05/22/75 United Euro Nations; 05/28/76 Iran; 05/30/76 Iran.”
    “Son of a bitch.” She cringed and threw up an apology to her mother for the crude words. Thirty . None of them were thirty. And none of them would make it to thirty either.
    The soft rhythmic sound of air being pulled in and out of someone’s lungs drew her attention away from the screen. Only Willis could sneak up on her when she was working. She was too familiar with his scent to note the slight increase of his classic Old Spice, and when she was absorbed in her work, even her exceptional hearing could miss his soft footfalls.
    “Spying on me again, Willis?”
    “Hardly.” His tone said insulted. “I was, however, coming to see if you were taking care of yourself.”
    His loafers shuffled slightly on the wood floor as he drew closer. Beneath her hand, Frodo quivered in anticipation of the head rub he was about to receive. Another hand, larger, worn, rubbed the ear behind her own hand. “You take better care of Frodo than you do yourself. When did you last eat? Unless you got some food for yourself, I know it wasn’t in the last twelve hours. And for that matter, when did you last sleep?”
    She waved that off. “I’ll sleep when I get back. Can you bring the car around, Willis?”
    “And where might we be going?”
    Aria could almost imagine the look on his face, his brow cocked, eyes frowning, and lips hard and thin in displeasure. She would give almost anything to see that face again. But that would be mourning for something that couldn’t be changed, and she didn’t waste her time on such things. “I need to visit someone on the south end of the city.”
    “Might I suggest waiting a couple hours,” he said in a way that meant it wasn’t a suggestion.
    She spun her chair, tilting her head up in his general direction. “Why? What time is it?”
    There was a barely audible sigh, most likely tethering his exasperation. “Four thirty… a.m.”
    “Huh.” She curled her