“We didn’t create him,” Noah ground out. “That’s not on us.”
“Maybe not,” Zade replied. “But we owe my brother.”
“I know,” Noah said. “But we have no proof that Mark’s responsible.”
“No?” Zade gestured at the monitor. “What do you call this?”
“I call it a mystery to be unraveled,” Noah said. “Carefully. Discreetly.”
He and Zade glared at each other. Like always, it fell to him to be the hardass.
Zade looked away, shaking his head. “The girl could be useful, if you play her right.” Zade tossed a glossy brochure on his desk. “That’s from Bounce, in case you give a shit. I’m outta here.”
“Zade,” Noah said. “Stay away from her.”
Zade stopped at the door. “Is that an order?”
“We need to be on the same page for this to work,” Noah said.
“Not possible, man, if you’re going to be the only one who gets to write on it.” Zade reached out as he went through the door and slapped on the lights, all at once.
“Fuck you! Jesus, that hurts!”
“Blinded by the light? Deal with it.”
Noah turned the lights back off as he heard Zade walk away, whistling.
It drove him nuts, that Zade assumed that he needed to force Noah to save his brother Luke. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Noah was fucking tired of him and the others. Their brains buzzed at uncontrollable frequencies. Outside the box didn’t even describe it. More like outside the fucking building.
But they were his best buds, all of them. Until they turned into raging, paranoid maniacs. Who still wanted to be tucked into bed after hearing a reassuring story from Noah.
Fuck them ten times over.
He realized that his sight was returning. No thanks to Zade, who was long gone.
A tentative knock sounded on the door. “Mr. Gallagher?”
“Go away,” he said harshly. “Everyone. Stay the hell away. All of you.”
It was only Harriet Aronsen, his office manager. He shouldn’t use that tone with her, but currently had no fucks to give. Everyone should stay away.
He’d keep his own distance if he could. Just abandon his own rage, lock it up in a reinforced steel box, bury it and forget where he’d left it.
But he couldn’t.
The brochure Zade left caught his eye. He picked it up.
Bounce. Your one-stop shopping for party entertainers. Exclamation point. Noah squinted. Make that three exclamation points. He unfolded it. The window signs he’d seen on the monitor didn’t remotely cover everything on offer. DJ’s, karaoke, clowns, children’s parties, fire breathers, sword swallowers, strip-o-grams, Dickens carolers, celebrity lookalikes, giant inflatable rats and snakes, and last but not least, nearly naked representatives of every gender bursting out of cardboard cakes. Plus, hmm, costume design and rental for parties, school, community and professional theater productions. Noah studied a glossy photo of a guy in spangles, exhaling fire and jumping through hoops. He could identify.
There were no photos of Caroline Bishop.
Freeze-framed, she gazed seductively over her shoulder from the video monitor, looking at him through long lashes. So maybe she was Mark’s spy sent to infiltrate them. Or else Mark’s victim, framed for a vicious murder he committed.
The second option was almost as bad as the first, come to think of it. The Midlanders had a crap-ton of issues. They did not need police scrutiny of any kind.
Convincing though their fake identities might be, they were best left unquestioned. And unobserved.
His losses on rebellion day had taught him the price of boldness. All that was left now was a relentless will to keep his freaky tribe alive and thriving. They wouldn’t beat Obsidian by acting like victims.
Nope. No grand gestures for him. Slow, steady and secretive would win the race.
But Zade was right, much as he hated to admit it. They needed to know what Bishop knew. How how she fit in to this. Why she was hiding.
He’d never run an AVP scan on a woman who affected him this strongly. It might not even be safe for her.
He might not be.
He wanted a long, private, leisurely, unfiltered look in dim light. AVP running free. No spectators. No distractions. Naked eyes. Raw, unfiltered data. Yeah.
He reached for the smartphone, glancing at the video monitor. The seductive flash of her green eyes.
Hah. He could rationalize his ass off, but he knew why he was making that call.
There was no arguing with a stiff dick. It always had the last word.
Chapter 5
“Open the vault, General,” Mark Olund said. “You don’t want to make me angry.”
General Colin Kitteridge’s lungs hitched, constricted by the hot air of the high, remote desert and the microscopic dust that drifted endlessly through Obsidian’s vast research complex. He struggled against the duct tape that bound him, his eyes bugging out, straining to see his tormenter.