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together… peaceably.”
    His gut churned. “You nuked any chance of that four years ago.” Sal turned and left the quiet hum of the Command building.
    God had seen fit to torment him. It wasn’t enough for Vida to pay for his sins. Now he had to live and breathe the same air as the woman responsible for killing her.
    Boris

26 March—1335 Hours
    Seriously. Do they think this will work? I mean, I’m here. They’re here. But there’s no point in this. I have no information to surrender. And—yes, I know they’re not easily dissuaded. This dude has some serious determination lurking in his big, dark eyes.
    But that, that is
nothing
compared to what this minion has going on. I mean, I swear Jason Bourne’s creator takes cues from this guy. It’s terrifying.
    “I mean it. I don’t know anything. It was all kept sterile.” The pain throbbing through my fingers is horrific. I just want it to stop. I need it to stop. Can’t think. The whole thing with these spy games is to figure out what your opponent wants most. And give it to them.
    Not literally, of course. Because then what power do you have? None. You’re at the bottom of the dung heap, with them tromping over your rotting corpse. You’re dead. No, you keep that information close to your heart and your weakness closer. If they find your weakness, they find the information.
    He’s moving toward me again, all calm and stoic. Like some stone-coldhearted piece of work.
    And he is. Trust me.
    “I ain’t got nothing man. Plucking out my nails”—a whimper trickles through my words. I’d like to say it’s on purpose but I’m not that good—“won’t produce what I don’t know.”
    That’s what I have to make them believe. Because if I give up the goods, then it’s over. I’m over. And we all know, I can’t let that happen.
    Imagine if I can endure this. Get free—there’s always hope because we all know that everyone has a price—then get back to Mr. Big Money himself and
cha-ching
! I’m in and richer than ever.
    And my name is written in the stars of the cyberverse. I’ll be notorious.
    Mr. Big Whig enters now. “What has he told you?”
    “Lies.”
    “No—no, they’re not. It’s true. I don’t know anything. They didn’t tell me.”
    The man at the utensil tray smirks. “See? He thinks we will believe him.”
    The man in the slick olive suit and turban stares at me with what can only be described as an icy glare. “Change his mind.”
     

EAMON
    H e had better things to worry about, but the blue eyes of a certain lieutenant nagged to the point of distraction. Eamon submitted his report from the attack then headed down the hall. Burnett’s death had shaken her up, but she’d warriored on as only Brie could. He could relate. It’d been the same for him when his mother had died. She’d looked after him while his father politicked and made his billions.
    He wouldn’t make the same mistake. Wouldn’t abandon a family to make money. Something gone in a flash.
    Voices slowed him. As the senior administrator for the generals, Brie probably had a lot of work, and no doubt had to coordinate with Ramsey and Ames. Eamon checked around the corner.
    Brie hunched over her desk, arms folded on paperwork she was looking at. But leaning over from behind her and pointing at one of the documents—Riordan. They were… close. Cozy. The SEAL, Eamon hated to admit, was handsome and gregarious. That latter trait was one Eamon lacked. He’d had to protect too much for most of his life to be outgoing and boisterous.
    Brie laughed at something the commander said.
    A strange feeling bumped Eamon’s confidence out of line. Had he read her wrong? He’d thought she liked him. She let Riordan a lot closer than she’d let him. He lowered his hand, which had been poised to rap on the door. He glanced at her once more then pivoted. His boot squeaked as he stepped away, much like the pinch in his chest.
    “Titanis?”
    He stopped. Hesitated then stepped