Page 2 of A Rhapsody of Ravens and Revenge

At fourteen he’d been too cocky for his own good and interfered in a military operation that could have cost the lives of a lot of soldiers. He’d been lucky it had been Robert Lockwood who’d showed up on his doorstep one afternoon and not the FBI ready to drag him away in cuffs and lock him away forever on any number of charges.

Lockwood had been Assistant Deputy Director of the CIA at that point and he’d given Cypher two choices—go to prison and never touch a computer again, or come work for the CIA.

It hadn’t been as easy a choice as one might think. He’d thought of running. He had money and skills most people only dreamed of. Not to mention he didn’t particularly want to be on the right side of the law. He was too good at being bad. And it paid a whole lot more.

But there’d been something about Robert Lockwood that had made him rethink his choices. He was a man who commanded respect, and he said exactly what he thought and always meant what he said.

So he’d reluctantly shaken hands with his new mentor, packed his bags, and left the life of a teenage boy behind for something bigger. But boy did he miss that punch of adrenaline at knowing he could slip in and out of any system in the world and take whatever he wanted. He tempered those needs by breaking as many rules as he could get away with and generally being a pain in everyone’s behind.

The name Cypher was legendary, even twelve years after the day Robert Lockwood had found him. And still, no one had ever managed to pull off the feats he’d accomplished when he’d walked on the wrong side of the law. But the Black Lily had come close.

The disturbing thing about the Black Lily was she’d appeared out of nowhere. Which meant she was either very, very young when she’d started or she’d been lying low, biding her time in the underground community and studying her prey.

He’d been searching for her identity for the last four years—where she’d come from, what she looked like. But that information was as elusive as the woman herself. He’d set traps for her and watched time after time as she’d slipped through his fingers like grains of sand. It had become his personal mission to bring her down.

And then the opportunity had practically fallen into his lap. Sometimes luck was better for solving cases than anything else. Michel Yukov had been high priority on the CIA’s watch list for almost a decade—international terrorist, broker, arms dealer, assassination attempts—pretty much any crime that could be thought of if the price was high enough from the buyer.

“Gotcha,” Cypher grinned. “You’re all mine, baby.”

“Good job, Cyph,” Gabe said. “We’re about three blocks away. Don’t take your eyes off our targets. Once the meet between Yukov and Kraus takes place those launch codes will be in the wind. You’ve got to intercept those codes.”

“I’m on it,” Cypher said, the salt of sweat stinging his eyes. “It’s showing she’s on the third floor, VIP lounge, northwest corner.”

“Umm, I hate to break it to you, Cyph,” Atticus said, “but I’m staring straight at the northwest corner of the VIP lounge and the only person sitting there is Kraus.”

“Look harder.” Frustration compounded the headache brewing behind his eyes and he built more traps, trying to see where she’d slipped by him. But the report came back the same. “She’s there, Reaper. Keep looking. She’ll be young. Very young. Late teens to early twenties.”

“I’ve got the profile memorized,” Atticus said. “And I’m telling you she’s not here.”

“Hell,” he said, slamming his fist down on top of the elevator.

“One block out and closing,” Gabe said through his earpiece.

“Uh, oh,” Warlock said. “We’ve got agency interference that just walked through the front door like she owns the place. All one hundred and ten pounds of fiery redhead.”

They all listened as Gabe swore under his breath. “What is she doing here? That woman drives me crazy.”

“That’s exactly the reason she’s here,” Atticus said dryly. “You guys need to learn how to date like normal people.”

“I’m going to blister her for this.”

All of a sudden there was a new voice speaking through the earpiece.

“You boys are a man short for a job like this,” a sultry voice said. “Kill Shot reporting for duty.”

“On whose orders?” Gabe demanded. “This isn’t your op. You’re barely out of training. When I get my hands on you?—”

“Slow down, hot stuff. Take a breath. Last time I checked Lockwood’s orders outranked yours. He said to get my skinny tail here, so here I am. I caught up on the intel on the plane.

“Fine, and we’ll talk about whatever it is you’re not wearing later.”

Cypher winced and shook his head. He could practically hear the steam shooting from Gabe’s ears, but Gabe would bury the anger and move on. One day all that repressed emotion was going to blow like a bomb.

“Enough,” Gabe said. “Cypher got a lock on her and says she’s in the building, but she’s playing with us. Keep your eyes and ears open.”

The elevator doors opened again and a man and woman stepped inside. Cypher could see them through the flimsy metal ceiling panels he’d been trying to avoid since he’d climbed through them several hours before to start the prep work. The man was tattooed on every available inch of visible skin and a barbell ran through his nose and both eyebrows.

Cypher could appreciate the artistry of tattoos—his shoulders and arms were covered in them—but he had to draw the line at so many piercings in the face and writing the word DIE across the forehead. Even he knew that couldn’t be good for job prospects.

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