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tiger whipped around at the sudden noise, dropping into a hissing crouch. Kowalski dove for the only refuge at hand. He flung himself headlong through the open door of the cage and yanked the gate shut behind him.
    The tiger pounced after its prey, slamming into the front of the cage.
    Kowalski kept his hands clamped to the bars, holding the door closed.
    The tiger rolled to its feet, stalking a bit back and forth, ruffling its fur as if shaking off water. Large brown eyes stared at Kowalski, while hot breath panted through the bars.
    “That’s a good kitty, Anton,” Kowalski said softly, hoping it was true.
    A large huff escaped the beast’s throat, as if it recognized its name. The tiger stalked back and forth twice more, then settled to the floor, slumping against the bars. After several tense moments, a low rumbling purr flowed from its bulk.
    Kowalski swallowed hard—then, knowing he would never have a better chance, he risked reaching through the bars and running his fingers through the warm ruff of the great beast. The purring deepened, proving Sara was right.
    You are a pussycat .
    As if Anton sensed this thought, the timbre of his purr rattled into a deep, warning grumble. Kowalski retracted his hand.
    Okay, maybe not .
    T HREE HOURS LATER, Kowalski was back in the motor pool. Painter had debriefed him, and medical had cleared him. Though his rib cage still ached with every breath, he hadn’t even broken a rib.
    With a smoldering cigar clamped between his molars, Kowalski stared down at the bent length of steel, dimpled in the center from the 9mm round. He had wanted to dismiss his survival as dumb luck, like something out of a movie, but he knew a part of him had slipped the nameplate inside his jacket on purpose.
    Placing it over my heart .
    The only luck here was that the Chinese assassin had been such a crack shot.
    If he had struck a few inches in any other direction . . .
    He ran his fingers over the silver letters, knowing in this moment that their love had saved him this night.
    Thanks, Elizabeth  . . .
    He contemplated repairing the plate, returning it to its pristine condition. Maybe even sending it to her in Egypt with some note, some last attempt at reconciliation. Instead, he exhaled a stream of smoke, recognizing the futility of such an act and accepting the reality of the situation—maybe truly for the first time.
    And that was okay.
    With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the nameplate into a trash bin, knowing that was where it belonged.
    He turned and crossed over to the Jeep. He ran his palm along the front quarter panel, feeling the dimpling of bullet rounds here, too.
    He smiled around his cigar.
    You, my beautiful girl . . . you I can fix .
    P AINTER C ROWE STOOD inside the communication nest of Sigma command, while Jason Carter once again worked at one of the stations. It had been a long night, with still more meetings scheduled at daybreak. There remained countless unanswered questions, mysteries that would need further investigation in the days ahead.
    While Sigma had recovered the drive abandoned by the pair of Chinese spies at the lab—thus safeguarding most of Dr. Sara Gutierrez’s research—Jason’s forensic analysis of the cyber attack offered no concrete answers as to who was actually behind all of this. The Chinese government had already gone into full plausible-deniability mode, and Painter doubted any attempt to identify the three bodies recovered from the Mall’s excavation site would trace back to Beijing. The other assailants, along with the two spies at the zoo, had vanished into the wind.
    But even more disconcerting was the fact that the goal behind all of this remained a complete enigma.
    Jason spoke up from his station. “I give up. I can’t find any significance to this symbol. Maybe Captain Bryant will be able to use her contacts in the intelligence agencies to offer some further insight once she gets here.”
    Painter joined Jason, staring at the set of