Nathan Harrow surveyed Boston's skyline from the rooftop helipad of Aegis Defense Solutions headquarters, scowling at the January wind that bit through his tactical jacket. After fifteen years in combat zones where temperatures regularly hit triple digits, a New England winter felt like personal betrayal.

  Below him, morning commuters crawled through traffic like ants marching toward their eventual death by exhaustion. Regular people with regular problems who'd never know how many times their lives had been saved by people they'd never meet. People like the tech billionaire whose security detail Nathan had just completed after three mind-numbing months of watching a man take two-hour lunches and yell at his assistant.

  The door to the stairwell access opened behind him. Nathan didn't turn—the cadence of footsteps told him it was Lucy Kim, former Army intelligence officer and founder of Aegis. She had a distinctive walk, the confidence of someone who'd seen enough combat to know she could handle whatever came next.

  "Taking in the view, or plotting escape routes?" Lucy asked, joining him at the edge.

  "When you've been shot at in forty-three countries, they become the same thing," Nathan replied.

  Lucy handed him a steaming cup of coffee. "Your report on the Zhao detail was impressive. Though I notice you left out the part where you disarmed three assassins with a cocktail stirrer in Shanghai."

  Nathan shrugged and took a sip. Black, no sugar. She remembered.

  "Wasn't worth mentioning. They brought knives to what turned out to be a cocktail stirrer fight." He paused. "Amateurs."

  Lucy's lips quirked upward. "That's why you're the best we have." She studied his face. "But you're burning out, Nathan. Three back-to-back solo details with no downtime? Even SEAL Team Six operators need to sleep occasionally."

  "I work better alone."

  "No one works better alone," Lucy said. "Not even misanthropic former operators with more confirmed kills than friends." She turned toward the stairwell door. "Come on. There's someone I want you to meet."

  Nathan followed reluctantly, leaving the cold sanctuary of the rooftop. Lucy had that tone—the one that meant she'd already made a decision that would make his life significantly more complicated.

  The briefing room was warm, perhaps deliberately so after the rooftop chill. A woman sat at the far end of the conference table, studying something on a tablet. She didn't look up as they entered, which was Nathan's first clue that she wasn't what she appeared to be. Civilians always looked up.

  She was younger than Nathan expected, maybe late twenties, with dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail. She wore standard-issue Aegis tactical pants and a quarter-zip fleece with the company logo, but something about her posture said military. Not grunt, though. Intelligence.

  "Nathan Harrow, meet Rebecca Donovan," Lucy said. "Becca joined us three weeks ago from Army Intelligence. 66th Brigade."

  The woman looked up then, with sharp eyes that reminded Nathan of a hawk spotting a field mouse from two thousand feet. She stood and extended her hand. Her grip was firm, practiced.

  "Chief Harrow," she said. "Your reputation precedes you."

  "It's just Nathan now," he replied, studying her. "66th? Eastern Europe deployment?"

  A flicker of surprise crossed her face, quickly controlled. "Three tours. How did you know?"

  "The watch," Nathan nodded toward her wrist. "Suunto with Cyrillic additions to the bezel. Popular mod among intelligence operators in that theater."

  "Also," he continued, "your boots are standard issue but the lacing pattern is distinctive to the 66th, and you have a scar on your left hand consistent with the type of tactical knife they issue for close-quarter defense."

  Becca's surprise transformed into an amused smile. "And Lucy said you were observant. She clearly undersold it." She cocked her head. "I can play too. You favor your right side slightly—old injury, probably Yemen, 2019. You haven't slept more than four hours in the past forty-eight, and—" she sniffed once, "—that coffee is your third of the morning."

  Lucy took a seat at the head of the table, not bothering to hide her smile. "Now that we've established you're both terrifying, let's talk about why you're here."

  Nathan folded his arms. "I assume it's not because you missed my charming personality."

  "Strangely enough, no," Lucy replied dryly. She activated the display screen on the wall, bringing up a photograph of a thin man in his fifties wearing an expensive suit and the expression of someone who believed their time was worth more than your entire existence.

  "Charles Westfield," Lucy said. "CEO of Nexus Technologies. They're about to launch a revolutionary AI security platform next week that's already valued at billions. Westfield has received multiple credible death threats."

  Nathan studied the image. "And this concerns Aegis because?"

  "Because Nexus Technologies is a major defense contractor, and their new platform has significant national security implications," Lucy replied. "Also, because they've specifically requested our best team, and that's you two."

  "I don't have a team," Nathan said flatly.

  "You do now," Lucy countered. "Becca's analytical skills complement your field experience perfectly. This isn't a negotiation, Nathan. The client meeting is in two hours."

  Nathan looked at Becca, who met his gaze steadily. There was something in her eyes—a quiet determination, and perhaps a hint of the same wariness he felt whenever someone used the word "team."

  "Fine," he said finally. "But I drive."

  Becca smiled, and this time it reached her eyes. "That's adorable. You think I'd let someone who hasn't slept in two days drive?"

  "This is ridiculous," Nathan grumbled as Becca navigated the morning traffic with the kind of casual confidence that suggested she'd either spent time as a getaway driver or grew up in Boston. "I've driven tanks through active minefields."

  "And that's supposed to make me feel better about letting you drive in Boston traffic?" Becca asked, smoothly sliding into a gap between two taxis that had appeared to be a single molecule wide. "Besides, this isn't just any SUV."

  She wasn't wrong. The sleek black Aegis vehicle was a heavily modified Chevrolet Suburban—armored body panels, bulletproof glass, run-flat tires, and enough defensive systems to make the Pentagon jealous.

  "Three threats in the past week," Becca noted, somehow managing to drive aggressively while simultaneously scrolling through her tablet. "All received through Westfield's personal email, all using similar language. Whoever sent them has a thing for dramatic flair."

  Nathan studied her profile. "You're one of those people who can read in moving vehicles without getting sick, aren't you? I've interrogated terrorists who disturbed me less."

  "Motion sickness is for amateurs," she replied without looking up. "But look at the dates and times these were sent."

  Nathan glanced at the display. "What am I looking for?"

  "Each threat arrived within thirty minutes of Westfield meeting with representatives from Kavos Investments." Becca tapped the screen, highlighting a pattern. "A Cyprus-based firm that showed up out of nowhere six months ago and has been aggressively pursuing partnerships with U.S. tech companies specializing in AI and machine learning."

  Nathan's interest sharpened. "Front company?"

  "Almost certainly. Their digital footprint is too perfect—like it was created all at once." Becca tilted her head. "How much do you know about Project Oracle?"

  "Nexus Technologies' new AI platform. Supposed to revolutionize threat detection and response for corporate security."

  "That's the public version," Becca said. "But there's more. Before I left the Army, there were whispers about a joint public-private initiative with capabilities well beyond corporate security. The kind of thing that makes privacy advocates break out in hives."

  Nathan processed this new information. "You think that's what Kavos is after?"

  "I think it's worth looking into. Also, I think we're about to hit traffic that would make the fall of Saigon look orderly."

  A notification flashed on the dashboard display. Nathan tapped it, revealing a traffic alert indicating heavy congestion on their planned route to Nexus headquarters.

  "We need to be at that meeting in forty minutes," he said. "Time to take the express route."

  Becca looked puzzled. "Through that traffic?"

  The corner of Nathan's mouth curved upward—the closest he came to a smile most days. "Not exactly." He pressed a button on the dashboard, activating the secure communication system. "Aegis Transport, this is Sentinel. Requesting Underway Protocol at checkpoint four."

  "Copy that, Sentinel," came the immediate response. "Package in position. ETA three minutes."

  Becca raised an eyebrow as Nathan directed her to take a sharp turn toward the industrial district. "Underway Protocol? Sounds like something that should involve submarines."

  "One of our more creative transportation solutions," Nathan explained as they accelerated down a less-traveled road. "Sometimes the best way to move without being noticed is to become part of something else entirely."

  They approached what appeared to be an ordinary shipping facility. As they neared, a massive semi-truck pulled out from the loading bay, its rear doors open. Without slowing, Becca drove straight toward it.

  "You might want to hold on," Nathan advised casually. "And try not to scratch the paint."

  "Please," Becca scoffed. "If you think this is challenging, you should try parallel parking in DC during a motorcade."

  The SUV sped up the truck's loading ramp and into its darkened interior with inches to spare on either side. The truck's doors closed behind them, sealing them inside the custom-designed transport container.

  Interior lights activated, revealing a secure compartment built specifically for this purpose. Becca brought the SUV to a stop as magnetic locks engaged on the wheels, securing the vehicle during transport.

  "Welcome to the Aegis mobile command center," Nathan said, unbuckling his seatbelt. "We'll be at Nexus headquarters in twenty minutes, bypassing all the traffic."

  Becca let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "That was... actually impressive." She studied the reinforced container around them. "Custom rig?"

  "Complete with signal jammers, thermal masking, and a separate driver compartment. The driver doesn't even know we're here." Nathan activated the SUV's onboard systems. "Time to gear up. If there's a credible threat to Westfield, we need to be prepared for anything."

  "Including his ego?" Becca asked, checking her sidearm. "I've read his profile. Man makes tech bros look humble."

  "Especially his ego," Nathan replied seriously. "In my experience, the biggest threat to a client's safety is usually the client."

  The Nexus Technologies headquarters dominated Boston's Innovation District, a gleaming monument to the egos of men who believed technology could solve everything—even problems it had created in the first place. The truck delivered them to an underground service entrance, the interior of the trailer illuminating green to signal the all-clear. Becca drove the SUV down the ramp and into the private parking area reserved for executive vehicles.

  As they exited the vehicle, she adjusted her blazer over her concealed sidearm. Despite the business attire—a concession to the corporate environment—both she and Nathan were prepared for trouble. Their clothing was tailored to hide body armor and tactical gear while maintaining a professional appearance that wouldn't frighten the civilians.

  "Remember," Nathan said quietly as they approached the executive elevator, "we're not here to make friends. We assess threats, establish security protocols, and keep our principal alive. Preferably without having to explain to him why his terrible ideas might get him killed."

  "This isn't my first protection detail," Becca replied evenly. "But it is my first with someone who looks like they'd rather be defusing bombs underwater."

  "I would," Nathan muttered. "At least bombs are honest about their intentions to kill you."

  The elevator required biometric authentication, which Lucy had arranged in advance. As they ascended to the executive floor, Becca studied their reflection in the polished doors.

  "You don't think I'm ready for this," she observed.

  Nathan met her gaze in the reflection. "I think untested partnerships are a liability in high-risk situations."

  "Then I guess I'll have to change your mind," Becca replied with a confidence that suggested she'd heard similar doubts before and enjoyed proving them wrong.

  The elevator doors opened before Nathan could respond, revealing a minimalist reception area staffed by a perfectly groomed assistant. Beyond, floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of Boston Harbor that probably cost Nexus Technologies an extra million in rent annually.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "Mr. Harrow and Ms. Donovan?" The assistant stood, her smile as practiced as her posture. "Mr. Westfield is expecting you. This way, please."

  They were led to a corner office where Charles Westfield was engaged in a heated phone conversation. He held up one finger as they entered, not bothering to look up from the complex holographic display floating above his desk.

  "I don't care what the board thinks," Westfield was saying, his voice sharp with irritation. "Oracle launches next week as scheduled. The security concerns are overblown." A pause. "Well, that's why I've hired protection. Yes, they're here now. I'll call you back."

  He ended the call with a dismissive gesture and finally acknowledged their presence. Westfield was slim, with carefully maintained silver hair and the tanned complexion of someone who spent their winters in warmer climates. His suit probably cost more than most people's monthly salary.

  "So you're the famous Aegis team," he said, looking them over with clear skepticism. "I was expecting something more... impressive."

  "Sorry to disappoint," Nathan replied flatly. "We left our superhero capes at the dry cleaner."

  Becca smoothly interjected, "Mr. Westfield, I'm Rebecca Donovan, and this is Nathan Harrow. We're here to establish your security protocols ahead of the Oracle launch."

  "Right, right." Westfield waved his hand impatiently. "Lucy assured me you're the best, despite appearances. The threats, as I've told everyone, are nothing to worry about. Standard corporate espionage tactics."

  "We'll be the judge of that, sir," Becca replied with a smile that was merely professional. "Could you tell us about your recent meetings with Kavos Investments?"

  Westfield's expression sharpened with interest. "You've done your homework, Ms. Donovan. Yes, Kavos has been pursuing a partnership. Nothing unusual there—everyone wants a piece of Oracle."

  "And have you granted them access to any systems or facilities?" Nathan asked, his tone suggesting he already knew the answer.

  "Limited demonstrations only," Westfield replied, his defensiveness confirming Nathan's suspicion. "Their technical team observed a controlled test last week." He paused. "Why? Do you think they're behind the threats?"

  "We're exploring all possibilities," Becca said diplomatically. "We'll need your complete schedule for the next ten days, including any planned deviations, plus access to your security systems and personnel files."

  Westfield frowned. "Some of that information is highly sensitive."

  "So is keeping you alive," Nathan countered. "Though I'm increasingly questioning why we're bothering."

  A tense moment passed before Westfield sighed. "Fine. I'll have my assistant provide whatever you need. But I won't have my schedule disrupted. I have a charity gala tonight that I absolutely must attend."

  "We'll establish a security perimeter," Nathan said. "Ms. Donovan and I will accompany you personally."

  "Wonderful," Westfield's tone made it clear he found it anything but. "Try to be discreet. These are potential investors, not terrorists."

  "Sometimes they're both," Becca replied with another forced but pleasant smile. "You'd be surprised how often those categories overlap."

  Westfield studied her for a moment, then let out a short laugh. "I see why Lucy assigned you. Ok, then—demonstrate your value tonight, and we'll proceed from there."

  After receiving preliminary access credentials, Nathan and Becca conducted an initial sweep of Westfield's office and the executive floor. When they were alone in the stairwell, conducting a patrol of potential access points, Nathan finally spoke.

  "That was good work with Westfield. Most principals don't respond well to directness."

  "I figured he respects assertiveness," Becca replied. "Men like him usually do. Also, I noticed you were about five seconds away from throwing him out his fancy window."

  "Three seconds," Nathan corrected. "But Lucy wouldn't approve of defenestrating a client on our first day working together."

  Becca laughed. Nathan ignored it and continued. "The Kavos angle—that wasn't in the briefing."

  "No. That was from my own analysis." She hesitated. "In my final deployment, we tracked several front companies attempting to access sensitive AI research. Their methods matched what I'm seeing here."

  "You think this is state-sponsored?"

  "I think someone is very interested in Oracle, and they're not above using threats to create openings in security." Becca checked her tactical watch. "We have six hours before the gala. I'd like to review the venue's layout and guest list."

  Nathan studied her with new appreciation. "Agreed. But first, we need to secure Westfield's penthouse." He gestured toward the upper floors. "Standard sweep protocol?"

  "Actually," Becca said, with a gleam in her eye that Nathan recognized from years of working with people who enjoyed defying physics, "I have something faster in mind, if you're open to unconventional methods."

  For the first time, Nathan's stoic expression gave way to genuine curiosity. "Show me."

  The Westfield penthouse occupied the top two floors of an exclusive residential building with views that made Boston look like a model train set. As a matter of security principle, Nathan had insisted on arriving ahead of their principal to secure the location before Westfield returned from the office.

  Standard procedure called for a methodical room-by-room inspection, which would take nearly an hour. But time was tight before the evening's charity gala, and Becca had promised a more efficient approach.

  "Service entrance to the roof should be through here," she said, leading them to a maintenance door. Using the security credentials provided by Westfield's assistant, they accessed a utility stairwell that led to the building's roof.

  The January wind was brutal at this height. Nathan watched with professional interest as Becca removed her blazer, revealing the fitted tactical gear beneath. She secured a small equipment bag to her back and approached the edge of the roof.

  "Westfield's private terrace is on the south face," she said, peering over. "Forty-foot drop, minimal handholds, but the architectural features create a viable descent path."

  Nathan raised an eyebrow. "You're going to free-climb down the side of a thirty-story building? In this wind?"

  Becca's lips quirked in a half-smile. "Scared?"

  "Of watching someone with less than a month at Aegis become a sidewalk pancake on our first assignment together? Terrified."

  She laughed—a genuine sound that seemed to surprise them both—and secured a nearly invisible safety line to a roof anchor point. "I'll check for external monitoring devices and entry vulnerabilities, then access the penthouse from the terrace. You take the main entrance and we'll converge inside."

  "And what exactly do I tell Lucy if you fall?"

  "That I died doing what I love—making you uncomfortable." Before Nathan could respond, she was over the edge, moving with the fluid grace of someone intimately familiar with vertical navigation. Her descent was controlled and precise, each movement efficiently using the building's exterior features as anchor points.

  Nathan shook his head slightly. "Show-off," he muttered, but there was reluctant admiration in his voice as he made his way back to the interior stairs.

  By the time he reached Westfield's front door and verified the electronic security measures, Becca's voice came through his earpiece.

  "South terrace clear. No surveillance devices detected. Accessing interior now."

  The penthouse door unlocked as Becca granted him remote access from inside. Nathan entered to find her already conducting a systematic sweep of the main living area, her movements methodical and thorough.

  "East wing clear," she reported. "Check for yourself, but I found no signs of tampering with any entry points. Though I did find evidence that Westfield has terrible taste in art. Who puts a stuffed peacock in their living room?"

  Nathan conducted his own verification, impressed despite himself with her efficiency. What would have taken a team of two nearly an hour had been accomplished in twenty minutes.

  "Where did you learn to climb like that?" he asked as they completed the security assessment.

  "Grew up in Colorado," she replied, checking the penthouse's panic room systems. "Started rock climbing at twelve. The Army taught me to apply it tactically." She glanced at him. "Not all training happens in official channels."

  Nathan nodded in acknowledgment. "You mentioned your final deployment earlier. Want to tell me what really happened?"

  Becca's movements paused fractionally—so briefly most people wouldn't have noticed. But Nathan wasn't most people.

  "Mission intelligence was compromised," she said finally, her voice carefully neutral. "Two team members were stranded in hostile territory. I abandoned my post to extract them." She met his gaze directly. "Official report says I exceeded my authority. Unofficial result was a commendation and a suggestion that my talents might be better utilized elsewhere."

  "So you left."

  "So I left," she confirmed. "Found out later that someone high up had deliberately altered intelligence to serve their own agenda." Her jaw tightened slightly. "People died because of it."

  Nathan absorbed this information, understanding more about her now. "That's why you're so interested in Kavos. You think it's connected."

  "I think patterns repeat," she replied. "And I don't like coincidences. They make me itchy."

  Their conversation was interrupted by a security alert on their comms. Westfield had left his office and was en route to the penthouse.

  "We should finish the sweep and establish defensive positions," Nathan said, expertly changing the subject. "Gala starts in three hours."

  Becca nodded, clearly grateful for the return to professional focus. "I'll take high ground at the venue. You stay close to Westfield."

  "Actually," Nathan said, making a rapid decision, "I think we'll work better as a coordinated unit tonight. I'll handle crowd surveillance, you stay with Westfield."

  Surprise flickered across Becca's face. "That's not what the protocol recommended."

  "Sometimes protocols need adjustment based on personnel strengths," Nathan replied. "Your background in behavioral analysis makes you better at close protection in social settings. My combat experience is better utilized securing the perimeter." He paused. "Also, I might shoot him if I have to listen to him talk about himself all night."

  It was a small gesture of trust, but Becca clearly recognized it for what it was. She nodded once, accepting the modified assignment.

  "Fair enough," she said. "But if he starts mansplaining blockchain to me, I'm switching places with you."

  The Heritage Foundation charity gala was Boston high society at its most extravagant—a collection of people who'd never missed a meal in their lives raising money for people who'd never had enough of them. Held in the historic Fairmont Copley Plaza ballroom, the event attracted the city's wealthiest and most influential figures—all potential investors for Nexus Technologies' upcoming launch.

  Nathan positioned himself on the mezzanine overlooking the main floor, maintaining visual contact with both Becca and Westfield below. Through their encrypted comms, they maintained a steady stream of situation updates.

  "Principal is speaking with the gray-haired woman in blue, northwest corner," Becca murmured, standing a respectful distance from Westfield while maintaining protective proximity. "Anne Wong, venture capitalist from Singapore. Judging by his body language, he's trying to impress her, but she's checking her watch when he's not looking."

  "Copy that," Nathan replied, scanning the perimeter for the third time in fifteen minutes. "Security staff at all exits is confirmed Nexus personnel. No anomalies detected in their rotation pattern. Though the bartender on the west side is definitely watering down the expensive scotch."

  "Can you focus on potential threats instead of beverage fraud?" Becca asked, but he could hear the amusement in her voice.

  "I can multitask," Nathan replied dryly. "It's why they pay me the medium bucks."

  The event was proceeding without incident, but Nathan couldn't shake a growing sense of unease. Years in combat had taught him to trust his instincts, and something felt wrong about the evening's security.

  "Run a verification on the catering staff," he instructed, focusing his attention on the uniformed servers circulating through the crowd.

  "Already did," Becca responded. "All cleared through the venue's security protocols."

  Nathan observed a waiter serving champagne near Westfield's position. The man's movements were fluid and natural, his demeanor professional—yet something about him caught Nathan's attention.

  "There's a server approaching Westfield from your nine o'clock," Nathan said quietly. "White jacket, early thirties, carrying a champagne tray."

  Through his earpiece, he heard Becca's soft inhale. "I see him. Wait—his service pattern doesn't match the others. He's making a direct line through the crowd."

  Nathan was already moving toward the stairs, his hand brushing against his concealed sidearm. "Intercept now. I'm thirty seconds out."

  Below, he saw Becca smoothly intervene, positioning herself between Westfield and the approaching server. As Nathan descended the grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time, he spotted a second anomaly—a woman in catering uniform accessing a restricted service corridor.

  "Possible second threat, service corridor east of your position," he reported.

  "Can't leave Westfield," Becca replied tersely. "The server is trying to maneuver around me, and he's not taking 'back off' hints."

  Nathan changed course, heading for the service corridor. As he approached, he heard Becca's voice again, this time with greater urgency.

  "Westfield just received a text. He's insisting on leaving immediately through the kitchen. Said something about 'they're here.'"

  "Who's 'they'?" Nathan demanded, pushing past a group of socialites who gave him dirty looks.

  "No idea, but he's moving toward the kitchen," Becca replied. "And our champagne waiter friend is following."

  Before Nathan could respond, the lights throughout the ballroom flickered once, twice—then plunged into darkness. Emergency illumination activated moments later, casting the elegant space in an eerie blue glow.

  Through the sudden screams and confusion, Nathan heard three sharp sounds that years of combat experience identified immediately: suppressed gunshots.

  "Shots fired!" he barked into his comm. "Becca, status!"

  The response came as a grunt of exertion, followed by, "Engaging hostile! Westfield is—"

  Her transmission cut off abruptly as an explosion rocked the east wing of the building. The concussive force sent guests screaming toward the exits in panic. Security personnel struggled to maintain order as smoke began filling the ballroom.

  Nathan fought against the tide of fleeing attendees, drawing his weapon now that the situation had escalated to active threat. He reached the last position where he'd seen Becca and Westfield, but found only overturned furniture and discarded champagne glasses.

  "Becca, do you copy?" he demanded, scanning the chaos for any sign of his partner or their principal.

  Through static and interference, her voice finally came through: "—separated—Westfield—kitchen—pursuing—"

  The fragmented transmission was enough. Nathan moved with tactical precision toward the kitchen, where emergency lights revealed signs of a struggle—upended carts and scattered utensils. A service door at the rear stood ajar, cold night air rushing in.

  As Nathan approached the exit, weapon ready, the overhead sprinkler system suddenly activated, drenching everyone still inside. Through the cascading water and continuing chaos, he caught a glimpse of movement in the alley beyond—multiple figures rushing toward a waiting vehicle.

  He moved to pursue, but the building's emergency lockdown protocol activated, the heavy security door beginning to close automatically. Nathan wedged himself through the narrowing gap, emerging into the alley just in time to see a black van accelerating away.

  In the opposite direction, he spotted Becca engaged in hand-to-hand combat with two assailants while a third attempted to force a struggling Westfield into a separate vehicle.

  Nathan took aim at the nearest threat, but before he could fire, another explosion erupted from inside the building, the concussive force knocking him forward. As he regained his footing, the scene before him had transformed.

  Becca stood alone in the alley, blood trickling from a cut above her eye, her tactical gear torn in places. Her hair had come loose from its ponytail, and there was a dangerous gleam in her eye that suggested she'd enjoyed the fight more than she should have. Of Westfield and his captors, there was no sign.

  "They have him," she said grimly as Nathan approached. "Professional extraction team. They knew exactly when and where to hit us."

  Nathan surveyed the scene, already calculating pursuit options. "Did you see which way they went?"

  "North on Berkeley," Becca replied, checking her weapon. "Late model Suburban, black, no plates. Very original."

  Nathan activated his emergency transponder, which would alert Aegis headquarters to their situation. "How did they know about the kitchen exit? That wasn't in any publicly available blueprint."

  "They didn't just know the exit," Becca said, wiping blood from her face. "They knew our protocols, our comm frequencies. This wasn't opportunistic—we were compromised before we ever arrived."

  The implications were disturbing. If their security measures had been breached so thoroughly, the threat extended far beyond a simple kidnapping.

  The wail of approaching sirens filled the night air as first responders raced toward the ongoing chaos at the Fairmont. Nathan knew they had minutes at most before the area was swarming with police and emergency personnel.

  "We need to move," he said, already leading the way toward their extraction point where the SUV would be waiting. "And we need to find out who just took our principal."

  Becca fell into step beside him, her expression hardening with determination. "Whoever they are, they just made a serious mistake."

  "What's that?"

  "They left witnesses," she said, eyes glinting in the emergency lights. "And they completely ruined my favorite blazer."

  As they raced through back alleys toward their vehicle, the night sky behind them glowed orange with firelight from the ballroom explosion. Whatever game was being played, the stakes had just become deadly.

  Nathan glanced at his new partner. "Think we work better as a team?"

  "Let's just say," Becca replied, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth despite the circumstances, "I'm warming up to the idea."