Page 87 of The Wild Charge

But Raven…Raven set his teeth on edge.

He stepped fully into the room, barely resisting the urge to lay a protective hand on Reese. He settled for standing beside him as they arrived at the far end of the island.

Emmie said, “Do you guys drink wine? Or we’ve got a full bar in the living room.” She rolled her eyes. “Things that happen when you buy a rich man’s house, huh?”

Cassandra dragged her hands inside her sweatshirt sleeves and pressed them both up under her chin, cheeks tinged pink. “Hi, Reese.”

Tenny wanted togrowlat her. Snap his teeth like a feral dog. Wanted to shove Reese behind him and back out the way they’d come.

Reese said a belated, flat, “Hi,” in return.

Emmie’s smile slipped. Perceptive after a lifetime of working with animals, she’d noticed something was off.

Raven’s glass landed on the counter with a quiet click. “So.” Her mouth was smiling, but that was the only part of her face engaged in the activity. “Am I allowed to ask about whatever secret mission you boys have been on tonight, or is it” – she lifted her hands to make air quotes – “club business?”

Tenny narrowed his eyes at her.

She gestured to her own face. “You missed a spot, darling.”

He reached to touch his own cheek, and his fingers came away green-black with grease paint.

He’d wiped down Reese’s face, consumed with concern for him, but forgotten about his own.

Slipping, a voice that sounded a lot like his own handler’s tutted in the back of his head.You’re slipping, boy.

They both were, he guessed.

~*~

Eden stared at the screen of the TV mounted on the wall in Walsh’s office. It was a nice office, just the way the old owner had left it in some ways, with its bookshelves, and dark wood paneling; its massive desk and blotter and green glass lamps. Walsh had touched it in his own ways: the framed photos on the wall, the chambray shirt thrown over a tufted chair, the smell of cigarette smoke and the row of cheap vodka bottles on the sideboard.

Even with the volume down low, the TV filled the cozy space with the wail of sirens, the sounds of screams, the macabre montage of footage the local news station was splashing up before it cut to somber live coverage on the sidewalk out in front of Smokey’s.

Eden had gone very pale, knuckles of one hand pressed to her mouth.

“Are you going to be sick?” Fox asked.

“Possibly. But that’s just the baby, not this.” No, she’d seen far worse in her time working for MI6. She turned toward him. “What happened?” No judgement…yet. No smack on the arm andwhat the fuck, Charlie.

It loosened the knot in his chest a little.

“My best guess.” He sat back on the edge of the desk. “Is that this whole thing was a setup to make the Dogs look bad in Knoxville.”

“You think this guy – wow, he’s really Reese’s old handler?”

“You should have seen the kid’s face. Forget seeing a ghost – he looked like the ghost himself.”

“Damn.” She frowned. “Is he even associated with Abacus? Or is this some other contact? Luis researched the Dogs. In Amarillo, he knew way too much about all of you.”

“I know.” The knot tightened again. “He had access to fed records through his old man.”

“But you don’t have a record.”

“Doesn’t matter. This guy still knew my face – and we don’t even know his name. Either we just put a massive target on our backs with Abacus – and, shit, maybe it was already there – or Luis tricked us, the little wanker.”

She grimaced. “Luis tricking you…has an awful ring to it, doesn’t it?”

He raked a hand through his hair, belatedly remembering the glass as it tinkled down onto the desk behind him.

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