Page 6 of Concerto of Crows and Cowards

His feet touched on the tiny lip that jutted from the edge of the roof, and he lowered himself down until his hands had a good grasp on the ledge. His muscles bunched and strained and sweat dripped from his temples from the relentless summer heat. He lowered himself inches at a time and then dropped the rest of the way to the balcony. He landed silently and then took the tools from the zippered pocket of his pants.

“Forty-five seconds,” Eden said. “I’ve deactivated the alarms for the top two floors.”

“I’ve got a visual on the senator,” Nathan Locke said. “He’s dancing with a woman who has a face like a hatchet and a diamond the size of a quail egg on her finger.”

Max and Nathan went back to their military days together, and then they’d been recruited in the same class by CIA Director Robert Lockwood. That’s where they’d been assigned to Atticus Cameron’s black ops team and learned skills normal people couldn’t imagine in their wildest dreams. They’d been known by different names back then—Atticus had been known as Reaper, Nate as Warlock, and Max as Zeus. Along with Calvin Cruz and Gabe Brennan—Cypher and Ghost respectively.

What no one knew except for Atticus Cameron, was that Max had been placed as a commander and director of operations at the DEA, all while on assignment from the CIA to infiltrate the United States Department of Justice and dig up the moles who were selling secrets to the cartels. He’d lived a double and triple life for so long he sometimes didn’t remember who he worked for, and after Alexander Ramos had shot him and left him for dead, he’d had a serious change of heart about his career choice.

The timing had worked out perfectly because Lockwood had retired from the CIA about the same time their tight-knit unit had started to become disillusioned by some of the assignments their government was sending them on. Gabe Brennan had retired and split off, creating the ISF—International Special Forces—out of London. And Atticus Cameron had created his own private contracting firm—Dynamis Security based out of Dallas, Texas.

Max’s only plan after his undercover job with the DEA was finished and he’d left the CIA was to move back home to Texas, buy himself a ranch, and work himself into oblivion while occasionally enjoying a wild Texas sunset. He’d bought the ranch and the house that had come with it, and he’d enjoyed a quiet life. For a while. Until Atticus had shown up on his doorstep after his wife and daughter had been gunned down in cold blood. His daughter had survived—barely—but she was in a coma and he’d had to bury his wife without her knowing her mother was dead.

He hadn’t taken any convincing to join Dynamis Security. Their bond ran deep and true, and Atticus had saved his life. He owed him.

And it was just a bonus he was able to work with his old team. He and Nate had slipped back into their old routine as if they’d never been separated. The only difference was that Nate was now a married man. His wife, Eden, had been Israeli Mossad and she was a good match for his friend.

“The hatchet face would be Martha Sandusky,” Max said, taking a slim tool and using it to unlatch the window. “She’s the wife of one of Senator Henry’s biggest donors.” The latch gave and Max slid the window up and slipped inside. “I’m in.”

“Just in time,” Eden said, her voice soft.

He looked around the small guest bedroom and noticed a few items of clothing and a jewelry case open on the dresser. One of the guests from the party must be staying overnight.

Max stripped off his gloves, pants, and shirt, revealing his tuxedo below, and then he peeled off the thick rubber soles on the bottom of his dress shoes. He carried everything into the bathroom and dumped them in the clothes hamper, knowing a maid would think they belonged to whoever was staying in the room and take them to be laundered. He remembered the ski mask and tossed it in as well.

He checked himself in the mirror, making sure the putty he’d used to disguise himself was still in place. His nose was a little longer and his jaw softer. Dark brown contacts covered his normal blue. He straightened his tie and smoothed back the dark wig. He’d let his own hair grow out since the accident, so it was just long enough to pull into a tail at the nape of his neck, and it covered the ridge of scar tissue in the side of his head quite nicely. But for now it was all tucked under the protective cap. Not even his own family would recognize him.

“The senator is moving to the game room,” Nate said. “Looks like he’s settling in for a round of poker. Cypher is going to be mad he missed this one. There are almost as many celebrities here as politicians. You know how he likes to stay on top of current events.”

“I like to think of it as him being nosy,” Eden said. “Besides, he’s on his honeymoon. He’s not giving work a single thought.”

Max grunted and opened the bedroom door, looking out into the hallway. Music and the muted sounds of laughter could be heard from the first floor, and he quickly left the bedroom and headed toward the back stairway that was reserved for family.

The halls were deserted and he walked boldly through the second floor family wing toward the senator’s office. He tested the doorknob and found it locked, so he used the lockpick tools he’d placed in the inside pockets of his jacket.

“Man, I’m good,” he said as the lock snicked and the doorknob turned beneath his hand.

“That’s not what I’ve heard.” Nate said. “There was a lovely story about you in the Enquirer last week. Something about billionaire Lincoln Devlin and his son, Max, who is known as much for his disenchantment with the government as he is for his patriotism. Now he spends most of his time drinking and partying to hide his PTSD and to forget how the government screwed him over in the end. But my favorite part was the women they interviewed. Agent Danger is how Max is known in certain female circles.”

“I will kill you, Nate,” Max said.

“To think you’ve wasted that photographic memory on tabloids,” Atticus said.

“I’ve got plenty of room for things besides tabloids,” Nate said. “That’s just an added bonus.”

“And all at my expense,” Max said. “I heard you’re building shelves for the baby’s room. How are those coming along? Have them finished yet?”

“I told you I’d get them done,” Nate said.

Eden laughed softly. “I didn’t say a word. You’re the one who was bragging about your new nail gun.”

“So I take it there are no shelves?” Max asked Eden, just to rub salt in the wound.

“Nope,” she said, and he could hear the laughter in her voice. “I’m just hoping he gets them built before she gets here. He’s still got a few months to deliver.”

“That’s low, Max,” Nate said. “Real low. I was just letting you know how well your cover story was working since you left the agency. You think you know a guy and then he turns on you.”

As far as the public knew, Max had involuntarily left a life of service to his country after his almost-fatal injury. To believe the tabloids, the government had screwed him over in more ways than one, so he’d gone back to his wealthy roots like the prodigal son. Though his family had been less than happy to welcome him back into the fold. He’d always been somewhat of a black sheep, and it panged them terribly that his grandfather had left his fortune and stock in the company to Max, on top of his already substantial trust fund.

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