Tangle of Need

Flipping the page, he continued. “Even Psy can be tracked by scent.”


“True,” Silver said, “but changelings can’t evade a telepathic sweep.”

Kaleb glanced up. “A weakness only if the Psy in question is aware he or she is being stalked. Many of our race ignore any skill or ability beyond their own.”

A longer pause, and he could almost hear her mind working methodically through his words. It was what made her such a good aide. He didn’t trust her—he didn’t trust anyone, and Silver’s first loyalty was to the powerful Mercant family, but he knew she wouldn’t betray him so long as he had her respect.

For the majority of the time since he’d become aware of them, he’d believed the Mercants were swayed solely by power and wealth—of which Kaleb had amassed a great deal. However, after monitoring them for years, he’d seen multiple Mercant family members remain with failing companies until there was no chance of salvage. He’d also seen them betray wealthier employers if the price was right. It had led him to revise his earlier conclusions.

Power and money might purchase a Mercant’s skills, but earn their cold-eyed respect and they would not only become mute when it came to your secrets, they would also stand fast in the face of trouble. In the past year, Kaleb knew he’d moved onto the very exclusive list of people the Mercants would not sell out.

Their connections and abilities, added to that of the Arrows, brought him another step closer to taking total control of the Net. Of course, there had always been a second option when it came to the Net, one he hadn’t yet discarded. It all depended on the outcome of his search.

“You are correct, Councilor,” Silver said at last, her voice cool, clear, flawless. “Do you need me to collate data on the individual you’re tracking?”

“No.” He had long ago discovered and memorized every shred of available data on the one person he searched for with remorseless persistence.

Scanning the penultimate page of the contract, he indicated for Silver to wait. Thirty seconds later, he was done. Picking up a pen, he signed the document in triplicate and passed it across the desk. “Tell BlackEdge I have no need of their services at present.” The wolves would serve their purpose after he’d located his target—because that target was highly likely to refuse his hospitality. And in this case, a psychic leash was not a viable option.

Of course, Selenka Durev, the BlackEdge alpha, wouldn’t agree to hunt just anyone, but after years of meticulous research, Kaleb understood the finest details of how the pack functioned. If and when the time came, he’d get what he wanted. No one would be permitted to stand in his way.

“Sir,” Silver said after double-checking he’d signed and initialed all the required places in the contract, “about Henry Scott.”

He’d asked her to keep her ears open for any information on the Councilor who hadn’t been seen since Sienna Lauren’s X-fire decimated the Pure Psy army. “Is he alive?”

“Only according to unsubstantiated rumors—those could be a strategic attempt by Pure Psy to bolster their membership. Without Henry’s backing, the group has negligible power.”

Hmm … “There’s a man named Andrea Vasquez. Thirty years of age.” It was the DarkMind that had brought him the name of Henry’s general. “What do you have on him?” he asked, though he’d already done his own research. However, the Mercants had a way of knowing things no one else did.

“If you’ll excuse me a moment.”

He gave a curt nod. Having finished finalizing a memo in the interim, he put it aside for Silver to deal with, and turned in his chair. The crystal clear floor-to-ceiling wall looked out over the busy square below, black-garbed commuters scurrying to work, their heads downbent, breaths frosting the morning air.

His mind catalogued the visual intake, but it was an automatic act, his concentration on the psychic search he’d been running continuously in the back of his mind for years. Except now, he utilized every spare minute to run it in the foreground—because he was close. Very, very close. Enough that he might make a mistake if he didn’t move with utmost stealth.

Alerted by the psychic reminder, he paused, reworked his search algorithm to halt at the first sign of a trip wire or sensor. By the time Silver walked back into his office, he was facing his desk once more, even as his mind hummed with a task that would’ve taken the full attention of most normal cardinals.

Kaleb had never been normal. Not in any way.

“Vasquez,” Silver began, after taking a seat opposite his desk, “is a Gradient 8.3 telepath who was placed into Arrow training as a child. However, he was deemed unfit for the squad at age fourteen and reassigned to a regular black ops unit where he served with distinction until his apparent death.”