The dog barked a warning, but stopped abruptly when one of the shadows turned back and stared at it. The dog retreated slowly, the hair settling on its back as it once again lay down on the porch, eyes brightly watching the intruders moving around the house into position.

The light from the streetlamp didn’t quite reach to the house itself, set back as it was from the road. Trees darkened the surrounding yard even more. Shadows flitted around the yard, and swarmed up the sides of the house in complete silence like dark wraiths.

Nicolas went up the side of the house, a spider crawling up to the second story. He studied the window for some time before proceeding to the roof. Crouching on the slope he spoke into his radio. “We’ve got ourselves a real operator,” he whispered. “I found a string across the window. Use extreme caution.”

“One on the front door,” Kaden confirmed.

“And back,” Sam intoned.

“So they’re either expecting trouble or want to know if someone is nosing around. How many good citizens go to that much trouble?” Kaden asked.

“Soft probe,” Nicolas reminded. “We’re going in soft, information hunt only. We want to get in and out without being detected. If they have silent alarms on the outside, I’d say we’re going to have a little trouble inside. Be ready.”

“We’re always ready,” Gator’s soft drawling voice replied.

Nicolas silently lowered his body to the edge of the windowsill. The smartest and easiest of all alarms was a tiny bell hooked in place to tinkle a warning. If the NCIS agents had been Special Forces, they wouldn’t look to easily bypassed security systems for protection. Already, Ian was circumventing the system. It wasn’t hard with their particular psychic skills.

The house was used when three of the agents were in town. The intelligence Lily had given them was that the three agents, Neil Campbell, Martin Howard, and Todd Aikens, were all out of town. The house should be empty, but if not, and they awakened at an inconvenient time, well, Nicolas was remembering Dahlia’s sobs in her sleep, and he wasn’t feeling particularly generous or gentle.

“Two cars in the garage.” Ian’s voice was a soft whisper in his ear. “Security system is down. There was a backup, but it didn’t last long.”

The team had decided to use radios instead of telepathic communication just in case anyone in the house was like Logan Maxwell or Jesse Calhoun. They might feel the subtle flow of power or even hear what was said. The team was used to working mind to mind, but their first training had been the miniscule radios so they were accustomed to them.

“We’ve got at least one, possibly two or three inside,” Nicolas reported to the others. “Proceed with extreme caution.” Lily always supplied them with state-of-the-art equipment and the latest was an air-cooled, sealed CO2 mini laser glass cutter. It had a circular suction cup pivot and cut completely silently. The laser cutter was microcomputer controlled, with the computer built into the case of the laser assembly. A computer was necessary to prevent the laser from cutting completely through the glass and passing into the room and burning things in its path. It cut almost through, leaving the suction cup with its levered handle to pull the glass out. Lily would be happy to get the report that it worked silently and efficiently, allowing him to remove the glass without triggering the alarm set on the inside sill. He set the glass aside carefully in preparation to enter the room.

“Strobe, damn it, strobe,” Gator reported.

Nicolas bit back a particularly ugly curse. Gator shouldn’t have made such a mistake. A tiny strobe light was often used. If the switch were tripped at the window, the light would flash brightly. The light was tiny, but the strobe would awaken anyone trained to sleep lightly.

“Fall back,” Nicolas ordered. His gut was churning. He was taking his men into the line of fire armed only with nonlethal ammunition. They didn’t want to take a chance on harming a civilian, and being GhostWalkers, they were certain they could get in and out of the house unseen. But the house wasn’t empty, and the men inside were combat trained.

“Negative, sir, the room’s empty.”

“Fall the hell back now, soldier,” Nicolas hissed, his voice implacable. “He’s in there waiting for you. Secure that position and let’s contain him.”

“Yes sir,” Gator responded. “Securing position.” Nicolas felt carefully along the inside of the windowsill for the trip wire to a bell or the switch for a strobe he was certain would be there. The others would be more alert now that they knew there were alarms inside.

“In,” Kaden announced. “Downstairs, dining room. Don’t like the feel, Nico. There’s power here, and someone’s using it. Shotgun strapped to the tabletop. Ninja stars in the silverware drawer. Dining room’s clear.”

“Intercept,” Nicolas ordered immediately. Kaden was a strong telepath. He could hunt down another without breaking a sweat.

Nicolas held the bell still with his mind while he made his entry. “In. Left bedroom. I feel a surge here as well. They’ve been warned. Be ready.”

He felt the first assault to his brain, a jab, much like a punch coming at him, but mental rather than physical. He blocked it before it could incapacitate him. The GhostWalkers had practiced such attacks as well as fending them off, but they had never used them or had to defend against them, and Nicolas found he was slower at it than he would have liked. “Game seven. They’re using our game seven to attack,” he announced. Each of the mental attacks had been choreographed much like a chess game. Whitney had done the choreographing. He sent his own move crashing back before they could follow up, a blaring punch much like shards of glass jabbed into the skull. He wanted them to know they weren’t the only GhostWalkers in town.

He felt the instant withdrawal. The shock. Much like the shock Jesse Calhoun had exhibited when they’d first touched mental paths.

“In,” Ian’s whisper was in his ear. “Through garage into kitchen. Two booby traps, one fairly lethal. Found interesting food in the freezer. A Beretta. Isn’t that your weapon of choice? Kitchen’s clear.”

“Their communication path is shut down,” Kaden said with evident satisfaction.

“In office, ground floor,” Ian said. “Checking for IDs and any incriminating evidence. Keep them the hell off my back.”

“Kaden, stay on Ian,” Nicolas ordered.

“Naughty, naughty, handgun taped under desk,” Ian added.

Nicolas stayed to the shadows of the room, checking the ceiling, the closet, and the corners for an occupant. There was no sound. No breathing. But someone was close. He could feel him. Smell him. Knew him by his finely honed instincts. He waited in silence—a heartbeat, a second. Survival instincts took over, and he upended the bed, rapid firing his weapon, the rubber bullets spraying in a tight arc across the floor where the bed had been. In the small confines of the room, the shots were thunderous, hurting his ears. He saw the flash of fire as the agent snapped off live rounds simultaneously. Upending the bed knocked the aim off and the bullets thunked into the wall somewhere behind him. Nicolas heard the impact as the rubber bullets struck flesh. Something metal clattered to the floor. He rushed forward, kicked the gun away from the downed agent and hastily checked him, knowing the agent felt as if he’d been hit in the chest with a sledgehammer.

He was alive, but he was fighting mad, yet unable to move from the powerful kick of the rubber bullets knocking him against the wall. Nicolas searched him for weapons, found two knives and a clip. He taped the man’s hands, feet, and mouth and left him to search for the second agent.

“They have live rounds,” he reminded his men.

“I’ve got one trapped in the bedroom, right side, corner,” Gator said. “He’s armed.”

“Stay out of the line of fire, but keep him contained,” Nicolas ordered. “Tucker, you in?”

“I’m tearing apart the bedroom. Lots of weapons in the closet. C-4 and plastic. A couple of detonator caps. I think my boy likes to play with bombs. Bedroom clear on ground floor.”

“Anything fancy? We’re not looking at money here,” Nicolas said.

“Nothing down here,” Ian said. “Looks clean, damn it.”

“Dart board with a nice set of throwing knives,” Nicolas reported as he reentered the bedroom where the downed agent was tied up. “My friend looks a little pissed, but I can’t say as I blame him.” He tossed the room hastily, searching quickly for anything that might identify a traitor. Too much money. Too many luxuries. A book of matches or a pen with the name of the company Dahlia had been sent in to recover the data from. Even a university sweater or jacket from the campus where the three professors had been murdered. He went to the man, crouched down beside him. “You okay?”

The man watched him through wary, ice-cold eyes. He nodded his head.

“I’m looking for a traitor. Someone who would sell your friend Jesse Calhoun down the river. You have any ideas?”

The agent frowned, shook his head. Nicolas felt the push at his brain, but his barriers were strong and impenetrable. Just to stay in practice, he pushed back until the agent glared at him and subsided. Nicolas reached out and ripped the tape from the man’s mouth. The agent swore like a sailor.

“You have something to say worth hearing?”

“I don’t know anything about a traitor,” the agent said, “but if you know something about Jesse, I want to hear it. You owe me that much.”

“You shot at me.”

“You broke into my house.”

“You’ve got some illegal weapons here,” Nicolas pointed out mildly.

“Is he alive? What the hell’s going on? Jesse Calhoun is a friend of mine. No one will tell us anything other than he’s in a hospital, somewhere we’re not allowed to know about.”

“And so you protected yourselves here, didn’t you?” Nicolas said thoughtfully. “You decided whoever went after your friend, could very well come after you.”

“It’s logical.”

“What’s your name?”

“Neil Campbell.”

“Tell the agent in the other room to walk out with his hands in the air and no weapons on him. We’ll talk,” Nicolas offered. He knew the others were hastily going through the house, but his gut told him the two agents they’d cornered were innocents.

Neil hesitated and then shook his head. “I can’t get through to him.”

“I’ll tell my man to allow you to speak to him. You don’t want him dead, and we’ve got him boxed in. I don’t want any of my men dead.” Kaden, monitor them if you can.

I’m on it. As always Kaden was relaxed. He’s telling his buddy to come out without a weapon. That we’re GhostWalkers looking for a traitor in the NCIS. He says he believes us.

“There are three of you who use this house. Where’s the third?”

“You have intel on us.”

“That would be affirmative. I can tell you every bone you’ve ever broken in your body. I even know about your training with Whitney.”

Neil’s face shut down immediately. He stared blankly at Nicolas. Before he could protest, Nicolas shook his head. “Don’t bother. I’ve already gotten the ‘I’m not at liberty to discuss that’ speech. I don’t need confirmation. You, Maxwell, Calhoun, your buddy,” he jerked a thumb toward the other bedroom.

“Norton, Jack Norton,” Gator said into his radio. “He’s very cooperative.” The molasses in his voice was dripping, which meant his prisoner was combative.

Nicolas froze for a moment when he heard the name. It was legendary in the world of snipers. Kaden, did you get that? Tell the men to spread out, look for another sniper hidden somewhere. High ground, he’ll go up. Jack has a twin.

In spite of his tension, Nicolas kept his expression tranquil and continued with his conversation as if he hadn’t recognized the name. “And your buddy Norton all volunteered for a classified experiment Dr. Peter Whitney talked you into. He enhanced your psychic abilities and you were trained as a unit to work missions using your new talents. Unfortunately, there are severe repercussions to using them. All of you suffer continual headaches and other much more debilitating effects. When you’ve all had enough and want to learn how to function in the world without having to have the protection of your anchors at all times, put out the call to Lily Whitney, the doctor’s daughter, and she’ll help you.”

Ian’s voice whispered in Nicolas’s ear. “Lot’s of security on the computer. Far more than normal.”

“Bringing him in,” Gator reported.

Nicolas stepped to the side of the door and waited for Jack Norton to be brought into the room. He was a stocky man with beefy arms and chest, the defined muscles of a man who worked out daily and kept in shape. He looked a fighter, and his eyes were flat and cold and immediately jumped to Neil and then back at Nicolas with the promise of retaliation.

“Kneel down, Norton,” Nicolas ordered. “Keep your fingers locked behind your neck. You search him, Gator?”

“Knife the size of a sword on him,” Gator commented. “And just to be special, he had several throwing knives on him too.” He winked at Nicolas. “Thought I might miss those while I was staring in awe at that he-man knife.”

Norton flicked him a look, cold as ice. Gator smiled at him.

“You okay, Neil?” Norton asked.

“I’m okay. My chest hurts like hell.”

“I know you,” Nicolas said. “We crossed paths a couple of times in a couple of countries. What else do you have on you?”

“Couple of small knives and a couple of guns.”

“That’s not possible.” The smile vanished from Gator’s face.

“This is Jack Norton, and you should have recognized the name,” Nicolas told the Cajun, then turned his attention back to the agent. “The house is one big booby trap. My men are finding weapons all over the place. You think someone’s after you?”

“We heard someone took out Jesse Calhoun,” Norton answered easily. “Mind if I put my hands down?”

“Yes I mind. We’re all safer this way. Take it as a compliment. You have a certain well-deserved reputation. Where’s your brother?”

“Probably looking down a scope at you right this minute,” Norton said complacently.

“He’s carrying live rounds, Jack,” Nicolas said. “Tell him to stand down. I don’t want any of my men getting hurt and this turning into a useless bloodbath. We’re on an information hunt.”

“Ken will just hang back, making sure no one does anything stupid,” Norton replied. “You’re not going to find the traitor in this house.”

“He has information on Jesse,” Neil said.

“He’s in bad shape,” Nicolas told them. “We’ve got him stashed in the best hospital and he’s guarded around the clock by a couple of ours. Henderson went to see him. They’re not letting anyone else close.”

“You bring him out?” Jack asked.

Nicolas nodded.

“Then I owe you.”

“Just keep that brother of yours from shooting any of my men. I’d hate to have to kill someone I like.” Nicolas spoke into his radio. “We aren’t going to find anything here. Break off and let me know when you’re clear.”

“Is our computer intact?” Neil asked.

“You won’t know he touched it,” Nicolas answered. “Make sure you get a doc to take a look at your chest. You’re going to carry a few bruises. Later gentlemen.” He kept his gun steady, dead center on Norton’s chest as he backed toward the window. “I’ll just go out this way and keep an eye on the two of you while my men get clear.” He spoke conversationally, even nonchalantly, but his skin crawled with the idea of the legendary Jack Norton and his twin brother Ken, lying in wait for him. There were few men as good as him in the jungle, but Jack Norton was one of them. And he was just as good at the end of a rifle, maybe better.

No one had mentioned the Norton twins in the intel he had on the house, or even on the NCIS. He couldn’t imagine Lily missing something like that, which meant Norton had either come in on his own because he’d heard about Jesse Calhoun and Calhoun was a friend, or he’d been brought in by the director to investigate his office because the admiral had come to the same conclusion as Dahlia. Someone in the department was a traitor.

He kept his gun trained on Norton until each of his men gave him the all clear. He did a small salute and vanished, sliding into the night as quickly as he could, feeling the itch between his shoulder blades as if he were being tracked with a bullet.

Once away, he breathed a sigh of relief. The Norton twins. Who would have ever guessed they’d come out unscathed in a confrontation with them? He was very lucky to get his men out unharmed. He knew Jack Norton was thinking the same about tangling with him. He let his breath out slowly wishing they were finished for the night. But they weren’t.

“I’m picking up Dahlia. Will meet you all at the target.”

Nicolas was thankful to be alone in the car for a few minutes. The responsibility of protecting his men was no small thing. He took it seriously, and he’d known it might all go to hell. They had one day to search the house, and that wasn’t nearly enough time to canvass the place and find a time to break in when no one was at home. They’d been lucky coming out unscathed when the notorious Norton twins had been in residence. He couldn’t blame Gator. No one alive that he knew could handle Jack Norton and come out on top. The only reason Gator wasn’t dead was because Jack was a patient, steady man and didn’t make mistakes. He was sizing up the situation, feeling his way before making a kill. They’d been lucky. Very lucky.

Dahlia ran lightly across the lawn, dressed in a black jumpsuit, her hair pulled tightly into a thick, intricate braid. She tossed the small bag filled with the new clothes into the backseat and slid into the car beside him. “How’d it go?”

“They’re clean,” he answered.

She took a long look at him. “Is everyone okay?”

“Yes, but we don’t have a lot of time with this, Dahlia, we want you out of there before it gets too light, or before anyone has a chance to figure out where we’re hitting next. You’ll have to get in and out quickly. We want Maxwell to fly us out of here before anyone has a chance to come looking for us.”

“Is he at the airfield?”

“Kaden’s making peace with him, bringing him food and filling him in so he’ll be cooperative. The plane will be ready when we get there. The others are setting up to protect you if necessary.”

“It won’t be.”

“This isn’t the same as a recovery, Dahlia. You’re interrogating her while we search the house. We don’t want her to know we’re there. She could panic and try to phone the police.”

“She won’t.” There was confidence in Dahlia’s voice.

Nicolas felt the tension ease out of his muscles at her tone. He hadn’t realized how worried he’d been about her. She’d been so broken earlier, but she looked rested and relaxed and completely poised.

Dahlia studied his face. “You look tired, Nicolas. You haven’t had any sleep.”

“I’ll sleep on the plane. Our intel wasn’t all it could have been. It was a little dicey, but we got out of there intact. Have you ever heard Calhoun talk about a man named Jack Norton?”

His voice as always was easygoing, soft, almost sensual, but she knew him now on a much deeper level and she felt a sudden chill down her spine. “Jesse mentioned someone named Jack packed him out of a firefight once when he was wounded. He never mentioned a last name.”

“Did he mention a twin?”

She nodded. “A brother, yes. I don’t remember his name.”

“Ken. Ken Norton.”

“Why? Who are they?”

“Hopefully not the enemy. Jack’s the kind of man you never want after you. He never stops. He just keeps coming. He was there, in the house.”

Dahlia frowned. “This is getting so messy. All because a group of professors had an idea.”

“An idea that could change the balance of firepower on the sea,” he reminded.

“It’s an idea. An unproven idea,” she said. “Money is just so ugly.”

“It makes people ugly,” he qualified.

“Would this Jack sell out for money?”

“Not in a million years. If he’s looking for the same person or persons we’re looking for, I’d have to say, they may as well shoot themselves now because they’re already dead. He didn’t know what happened to Jesse. Neither did Neil. No one’s talking yet, so that’s a good thing. We know he’s safe enough while we’re figuring this all out.” He parked the car in front of a modest home in a nice neighborhood. The porch and swing looked inviting. The car was a midsized Toyota Camry. “Nothing extravagant.”

Dahlia started to open the car door, but he caught her hand, preventing movement. “You’re wired, right? Did you test it already?”

She rolled her eyes. “We tested it twice. Ian is recording everything and you’ll be able to hear.”

“Be careful.” He didn’t know if it was the near fight with Jack Norton, but he was reluctant to let her out of his sight.

Dahlia leaned into him, pressed her lips against the corner of his mouth. “I do this all the time, Nicolas. Stop worrying.”

She slipped from the car and ran across the lawn. He saw her get out of the car, knew the direction she was running, knew what she was wearing, but she seemed to fade into the landscape. It was the strangest thing. It wasn’t as if she could blur her clothing. Nicolas rubbed his eyes and looked again. He heard her soft laughter in his ear. “Put your glasses on.”

“You’re doing more than blurring your face.” He loved the sound of her laughter. His insides performed a strange melting that left him unreasonably happy.

“Well, a girl should be somewhat mysterious. Wouldn’t want your life to be boring.”

He strained to catch a glimpse of her. Brush moved along the far flower bed. He saw her spring from a low fence onto the steeply slanted roof and run along the edge as if she had some kind of suction cups on her feet. His heart in his throat, he directed his men to surround the house and follow her in while she engaged the occupant in conversation.

“Stop worrying,” Dahlia whispered. She could feel his energy no matter how much he tried to spare her. Nicolas wasn’t the type of man to happily send his woman off on a mission he considered dangerous. And that was just one more thing separating them. She needed the stimulation and the continual physical and mental activity her job provided for her. She had no idea how she’d cope without the outlet.

She ran lightly along the roof, her slight weight allowing her to be very silent as she approached the entry point she’d chosen. A window was slightly open, raised a couple of inches invitingly. The screen was of little consequence. Hanging upside down, she extracted it easily and placed it carefully on the roof where it couldn’t slide off.

“No real security system other than the alarm Ian interrupted,” she murmured softly, feeling a little foolish talking to the team. She wasn’t a team player, and she felt a bit self-conscious knowing they were all watching and monitoring everything she said and did.

She lowered her body until she could reach the edge of the window and tugged to bring it up. As she did so, she whispered softly. She wasn’t a strong telepath, she couldn’t read others that easily, but she could mesmerize with her voice, especially if the person was sleepy, drunk, or very susceptible. She kept her voice beguiling as she slid down the wall and rolled through the window, landing silently in a crouch, her gaze scanning the room as she continued to give the order to sleep. She was in the bedroom of Director Henderson’s secretary, Louise Charter, who lay sleeping peacefully. One hand was flung out just touching the end table where her alarm clock sat.

“I’m in,” she announced softly. “She’s alone, but I haven’t checked the house.” It was usually the first thing she did to insure her safety, but Nicolas had been adamant that she only deal with the secretary. She moved through the room first, searching it carefully, going through the drawers and the closet. She noted each item of interest. “She’s definitely seeing someone.”

Next to the phone was a framed photograph of Louise Charter and a young man of undetermined age, perhaps thirty or forty. He had his arm around her and was smiling down at her upturned face.

Dahlia sat at the end of the bed. “Louise.” She said the name softly, gently. Put persuasion in her voice.

Louise opened her eyes and gasped, half-sat, and pushed at the fall of tumbling blond hair threaded with gray. “Dahlia. I recognize your voice. What are you doing here? Are you in trouble?” She sat up all the way and reached for her robe in a no-nonsense fashion. “I can call the director and have help here immediately for you. He’s been out of the office and unavailable, but I can reach him in an emergency.”

Dahlia smiled at her, amazed that Louise would be so complacent to find her sitting on the bed. She was certain Louise was sixty, although she certainly looked younger. “Thank you, I’m fine. I just need information, and I didn’t want to use the phone. I was afraid it might be dangerous.”

Louise nodded her understanding. “I think the director has been afraid of that as well. He’s very secretive at the moment, even with me, and I’ve been his private secretary for twenty years.”

“So you don’t know where he is?”

Louise shook her head. “Not at the moment, but he’s always in touch. Have you spoken with him since all this happened?”

“Briefly,” Dahlia lied. “He’s gone to see Jesse.”

At once Louise looked distressed. “How would you know where the director is?” The thought was clearly upsetting.

“He told me when I asked him about Jesse.”

Louise nodded, still frowning. “Please don’t repeat that to anyone, Dahlia. You shouldn’t have even told me.” She sighed. “Poor Jesse. I’m told he’ll never walk again.”

Something inside Dahlia went very still. Her heart began to pound. She felt the swarm of energy. Louise’s distress, her own rising anger. With an effort, Dahlia pushed down her temper. “Who told you he would never walk again?”

Louise frowned. “I’m sorry, Dahlia. I didn’t mean to upset you. I should have thought before I spoke. Jesse’s condition is very serious. His legs are damaged beyond repair. It’s no secret. I thought you knew.”

“Have you seen him?” Dahlia’s fingernails bit deeply into her palm. She wanted to reach out and shake the woman. The energy poured into her so that her stomach churned and pressure built in her chest. Electricity crackled in the air.

Louise looked around her, frowning at the static electricity in the air.

“Have you seen Jesse? I’m so worried about him.” Dahlia thrust her hand into her pocket and found the amethyst spheres, palming them for added control. Wisps of Louise’s hair were standing at attention, drawn by the static building in the air. Dahlia feared if she didn’t control it, lightning would arc.

“No, dear,” Louise sighed. “I wish I could have. Martin told me about him. Martin Howard.” She gestured toward the picture. “We’re good friends, and he knew I was worried, so when he found out, he told me.”

“How would he have found out?” Dahlia frowned and clenched her fingers tighter around the spheres. “I even asked the director, and he didn’t give out any information.”

“Dahlia, why would anyone keep Jesse’s condition a secret from all of us? There’s a lot of classified information, but an injured friend isn’t one of them.” Louise spoke very gently, reminiscent of her calm, pleasing voice on the phone.

Dahlia bit down hard on her impatience. “It does seem rather ridiculous, unless someone is out to kill him.”

Louise opened her mouth and then snapped it shut again. She studied Dahlia’s face for a long time. “Out to kill him? Deliberately? Dahlia, you’d better tell me what’s going on.”

“Someone destroyed my home and killed my family, Louise. And they tried to kill Jesse. It was a setup from the very first. I walked into trouble. They didn’t follow me home, they were there ahead of me. I don’t exist to anyone except the NCIS. And even there, only a few people know about me.”

Louise shook her. “That can’t be. Only a handful of people know about you, Dahlia, even at the office.”

“So my guess is, the director is protecting Jesse even from the other agents until we find out who is behind this.”

Louise’s faded blue eyes met Dahlia’s squarely. “That’s why you’re here. You think maybe I had something to do with it.” There was great dignity in her voice and a wealth of pride. “I’ve served as Frank Henderson’s secretary for over twenty years, and long before that I served in positions of trust. I’ve never divulged a secret in my life. And you can’t count Jesse’s condition, as nothing has crossed my desk calling it classified information.”

“I’m just trying to keep from getting killed, Louise,” Dahlia said. It was hard not to believe the woman. The energy coming from her was not that of pretense or subterfuge.

“Does Frank think I’ve betrayed him?” When she asked the question her voice wavered and cracked, but her expression was one of pride and dignity. “Do you?”

“I honestly don’t know what to think, Louise. I was hoping you might have a few ideas. The person has to be NCIS. There’s no one else.”

Louise was quiet for a few minutes, obviously giving it some thought. “I can’t imagine anyone in our office being a traitor, Dahlia. The agents are close, but they’re very professional. Most have served in the military, all of them are intelligent and dedicated.” She rubbed her forehead, looking dismayed.

“Maybe someone slipped up and told a girlfriend or wife.”

Louise shook her head. “They wouldn’t do that, Dahlia. Their lives are at risk. They know that.” Her head went up. “You mean me. You have the mistaken idea that I’m an old lady with a young boyfriend. You believe I would trade information for a chance to have him in my bed? Martin Howard is totally dedicated to his job. He’s a decorated officer and a wonderful man, and he certainly isn’t my lover. He would never betray his country, and I certainly wouldn’t do so either.”

“I never said that, Louise.”

“You were thinking it.” She put a hand to her throat. “Is that what everyone is thinking of me?”

Dahlia forced herself to touch the other woman. She laid her hand on Louise’s wrist, wanting to calm her. Needing the gathering energy to give her a respite. The more Louise became upset, the more the heat rose and the pressure in Dahlia’s chest increased. Outside, an owl hooted—once, twice. Dahlia breathed a sigh of relief. “Louise, I don’t think the director would ever believe for one minute you would betray him. He’s protecting Jesse. Are the NCIS offices routinely swept for bugs?”

“You’d have to ask the director.”

It was a standard Louise answer and one Dahlia had heard more than once over the years. “We’ll find whoever is doing this. I know there are all kinds of very sophisticated ways to bug an office or listen to conversations. I’m going now. One last question. Did Martin ever tell you who told him the news about Jesse?”

“No. I didn’t ask. I just presumed that all the agents had been told. In fact, I was a little hurt that the director hadn’t informed me as well.”

“I wouldn’t mention it again, Louise, not to anyone.” Dahlia patted the secretary’s hand and stood up. She was desperate to get out in the open, away from the woman who was feeling a mixture of confused emotions.

“I won’t.”

Dahlia went out of the house the same way she’d entered, swinging through the window onto the roof and running fast to the corner of the house where she somersaulted onto the ground. She hurried to the waiting car. Nicolas pulled away from the curb the moment she was safely inside and headed for the airfield.

“Did you find anything?” Dahlia asked, breathing slow, drawing the spheres from her pocket so she could begin to dissipate the energy. “I don’t think she has anything to do with it.”

“Dahlia, she’s the only one who knew about Jesse’s legs,” Nicolas pointed out gently. He reached across the seat to wrap his fingers around her thigh, to help draw the energy from her.

“That’s not exactly true,” she said thoughtfully. “Martin Howard told her.”

“If she was telling the truth.”

“I don’t think she was lying,” Dahlia replied stubbornly. “It isn’t her.”