High above the streets, she shot out a cable to hook on the rooftop of the Lombard building. She tested the line to make certain the hook was secure and then anchored it. All the while she watched the building and moved from angle to angle to get a feel for the rhythm and movement taking place in the offices on each floor and on the roof.

A guard with a dog walked the ground-floor corridors. The building was dark above the third floor. It looked empty and inviting, but her senses told her it wasn’t so. The vault was in the center of the building. Not the basement as one would think, but where all the researchers could have easy access. The building was built like a hive, with the vault as the center hub of activity. It was an enormous room with security cameras and panels for retinal scans, fingerprints, and access codes. She had watched two of the men insert keys into the locks and turn them simultaneously to gain entrance into the vault. Everything from data to prototypes was locked up in the vault when the researchers went home. It was the perfect place to hide stolen data. Who would ever know the difference?

Lombard Inc. had a good thing going. They stole ideas, hid them in a vault where no one would look, and after a few weeks or months, pulled the ideas back out of storage, modified them slightly, and put them into production under their own label. It was an amazingly effective, lucrative scheme. And now they’d decided to line their pockets even further by developing classified weapons and selling them to any government or terrorist group willing to pay an exorbitant price.

Dahlia turned her attention back to the problem of getting to the rooftop without being detected. The wind was particularly vicious, one of the greatest hazards of using a cable to cross between high buildings. She studied the angles of the roof with an expert eye. When cable running, she started out firmly on the cord, but most of the time, she did levitate just above it, and it took tremendous concentration on her part to generate forward momentum while levitating. It was actually faster to run, but not quite as safe. The steady drizzle wouldn’t help, making the cable slick, so she decided to do a combination of both.

Dahlia leapt out onto the cable, and began to run, nearly levitating as she raced across the long stretch between the two buildings. The wind blew in fierce gusts, almost as if it were taking deliberate aim and blowing straight at her to knock her off the cable. It caught her sideways a couple of times, nearly taking her off the thin line strung between the two rooftops. She never looked down, never took her eyes or her mind off her destination. She could control the sag in the cable and even the sway to some extent, but it was impossible to control the wind. A particularly strong gust caught her from the side, slamming into her hard enough to throw her off the cable.

Startled, she fell, flinging out her gloved hand to catch the braided steel as she toppled. Her fist closed around it, nearly yanking her arm out of her socket. She could hear Nicolas’s gasp of horror echo in her mind, but he shut off his thoughts to allow her complete concentration. She caught the cable with both hands and dangled several stories above ground waiting for the wind to die down. With few structures to impede it, the wind could be ferocious.

Using her gymnastic and high-wire skills, Dahlia swung her legs up and over the cable until she was hanging by her knees. Drops of rain splashed over her neck and ran down her face. Dahlia reached through her legs and pulled herself into a sitting position. Below her, the streetlights looked a hazy yellow through the dreary mist. She stared down at the strange-colored halo of light to orient herself when she saw the shadow move out of the alcove of a doorway. Recognition was immediate.

There had always seemed a furtiveness about the way he had moved. Roman Howard, Martin’s brother, had been the man at Rutgers University, just outside Dr. Ellington’s office. He had walked by casually, just like any other student, but she had noticed him because he caused every instinct to flare into self-preservation mode. He had been hunting that day, already staking out the professor and marking him for the kill. Dahlia had been just another student herself, and he hadn’t noticed her blending in as she always was able to do, a chameleon when necessary.

High above him, with the wind and rain in her face, she watched him cross the street to the Lombard building and stand in front of the entrance, looking around him guardedly, as if he suspected someone was watching him. This was the man who had killed her family, destroyed her home, and nearly killed Jesse Calhoun. He betrayed his country and his own family, using his relationship with the woman who raised him as her own son and his brother, to further his own ends.

Dahlia watched as Roman Howard walked back down the sidewalk, using the building’s reflective glass to try to search for hidden eyes. He was clearly uneasy, but he eventually went back to the entrance and punched in a code. How would he have one, and why? He was supposed to be a student, self-employed. Lily’s investigator had found no evidence of him working for Lombard. They were a large firm and often received government contracts. Many of their research and development teams had security clearance. There had been no mention of Roman Howard having such a clearance.

It was only when Dahlia felt the precarious sway of the cable and heard the sizzle of the rain that she realized the temperature around her was going up in direct proportion to the anger building inside of her. She took a deep breath and let it out. She had to keep things cool and under control. The recovery of the data on the stealth torpedo was of utmost importance. It had to come first, before anything else. She didn’t dare release more energy to the atmosphere when she was up on a cable.

She put first one, then a second foot on the thin cord and went into a crouch. Her mind immediately countered every problem the way it would in a chess match, finding points of balance in the gusting wind, finding the best angle for her body to prevent another incident. It was a fight with the distraction of wind and rain, but she kept the cable taut, using her mind. She was more cautious this time, feeling the way with her mind as she began to move forward. The wind kept the line swaying continually, so Dahlia had to counteract with her own brand of persuasion, using her psychic ability to hold the braided cord still. She picked up speed, but not enough impetus to propel her onward as she levitated. She had to actually push off the cable with her foot to keep forward momentum going.

It should have been nerve-wracking, and probably was to the GhostWalkers, but Dahlia reveled in the difficulties. Her mind and the extraordinary amounts of energy gathering in her body needed the constant challenges. She made it to the roof of the Lombard building and stood for a moment, regulating her pounding heart and controlling her breathing as the adrenaline flooded her body. She was used to that as well, the aftermath of the incredible feats she performed and the rush she got when she realized she was still alive.

Before stepping off the cable, she searched with both mind and body for cameras, motion detectors, and any other security devices. Her body was a reliable tuning fork, something, she was certain, to do with high frequencies. She could jam them, but she didn’t want to alert anyone to her possible presence, especially with Roman in the building.

I want you to abort now. It was a clear order. Roman Howard entered the building and he was clearly agitated and suspicious. I don’t like the entire smell of this. Abort. We’ll try another day.

Dahlia felt the full force of his frustration, the edge of his anger at her for not listening to him. But it wasn’t Nicolas’s responsibility if an enemy got their hands on the research for a weapon as potentially destructive as a stealth torpedo would be. She steeled herself to oppose him.

Don’t distract me. If you can’t lay back, wait for me at the house.

There was the same force of frustration, but he held back his anger. He simply was silent. They both knew he’d never leave.

Dahlia dismissed him from her mind and concentrated on finding any new security precautions. She’d scouted the rooftop numerous times, but not since she’d paid Lombard Inc. a visit. She was certain they would have beefed up their defenses.

The rain stopped, although the wind persisted, rising almost to a howl so that she had to crouch low, taking shelter beside one of the series of pagodas that housed the heat exhaust vents. She remained very still while she studied every detail of the roof, trying to orient herself to the earlier layout and what detail might have changed.

There was a small dark spot up near the top of the casing housing the wide cooling coils. The roof was as artfully done as the building itself, which gave Dahlia room to move between the pagodas and stay out of the camera’s vision. The camera itself was set on a sweep of the roof. She timed it twice to make certain she had enough time to fully disappear down the vent before it would pick up her entry.

She waited until the camera swept past the pagoda and immediately sank down into the shaft. It was easy enough to slip down, using her hands and feet to guide her until she reached the turn. It was a closer squeeze, but her small body fit nicely. She had memorized the layout of the building and followed the narrow vent that took her to the elevator shaft. She had used it before and was familiar with the way the vent opened into the shaft. She had to be careful with the screen, holding it even as she pushed so that it wouldn’t fly down the shaft to the basement level. She maneuvered it carefully aside and peeked into the shaft.

The shaft was the fastest way to get to the hub of the building where the enormous vault room was. The elevator bypassed the floor unless one of the elevator’s occupants had a special key and the correct access codes. Dahlia didn’t bother with elevators; she simply climbed down the shaft, using safety grips when possible, or cracks for fingers and toeholds when there was nothing else. The vent she needed was in an awkward position above her. She hooked a line to a safety grip, metal sliding against metal. The grating noise was overly loud and seemed to reverberate up the shaft.

Dahlia waited a moment or two until she was certain it was safe to proceed. She swung like a pendulum, back and forth, pushing off with her feet until she was able to swing high enough to hook her heel over the edge and hold her body there while she tied off the rope for a fast getaway. It was a simple enough matter to pull her body into the tube, but she did it in slow motion, inch by cautious inch, fully aware of the motion detectors scattered through the vent. It took a tremendous amount of concentration to keep them still as she crawled carefully through the narrow tube.

A strange buzzing began to grow louder and louder in her head. It was annoying, developing into a pressure, making her temples throb. Keeping her mind centered on the motion detectors was difficult with the buzzing interference. Her stomach began to churn. Dahlia stopped moving and lay completely still, recognizing a psychic attack. It had never happened to her before, but she knew it was an outside source. Tiny beads of sweat broke out on her forehead. She forced air through her lungs as the pressure in her head increased until it felt as if a vise gripped her skull.

She tried to be small and far away, thinking of the bayou and the sound of the frogs and alligators, the continual lapping of the water, anything to take her mind off the increasing pressure. She pictured it in her head, the island that had been her home with the myriad of flowers and bushes and trees scattered everywhere and the wildlife she spent a great deal of time watching from the roof of her house.

Slowly, she felt the pressure ease. Whatever was coming after her, hadn’t succeeded, but she felt sick and dizzy so she lay still waiting for her mind to clear before she proceeded. Was Roman Howard capable of such an attack? He hadn’t undergone the psychic experiment. Martin had. Martin had been taught such attacks.

Dahlia kept her head down, resting on her hands as she tried to piece it all together. She didn’t dare move until she was controlling the motion sensors, and adrenaline was still racing through her body. Everyone who had undergone the experiment had some psychic ability prior to allowing Whitney to enhance what was already there.

Dahlia, you’re scaring the hell out of me. Did he hurt you? Just his voice calmed her. She felt the air move through her lungs and her nerves steadied.

Did you feel that? she asked.

Can he hear you? Can he feel the surge around him when we communicate like this? She didn’t want another attack until she was out of the narrow confines of the tube.

No, I’ve worked at sending only to one person. Martin Howard is concealed just outside the building entrance. It looks as if he followed his brother here and is waiting for him.

It was impossible to tell who generated the attack or if it was specifically meant for one person. Our best guess is, whoever initiated the attack did so because he feels our presence and is uneasy. He was trying to draw us out.

Dahlia frowned. It made sense, but if he knew she was in the building and was hunting her, it made it all the more dangerous, especially if he were feeling strong emotions and he got close to her.

Nicolas kept his voice neutral this time, and she was grateful to him. She had to think it through before she made a mistake. She took another breath, let it out slowly. I’m so close, if I leave now, I’ll have to do this again. I’m going to see if I can get in and out without trouble before I turn away on this one.

She felt more than heard the echo of Nicolas’s disappointment, the sheer frustration of not being able to command her the way he could his men. Was she being stubborn? It was one of her worst traits, but she didn’t think so. It wasn’t stubbornness, it was fear. She didn’t want to be responsible for the research falling into the wrong hands and she never wanted to come back to the Lombard building.

When this is over, I want to see where you live, Nicolas.

I promise, Dahlia. Just don’t let anything happen to you.

She took another breath and concentrated on the sensors. When she was certain she controlled them, she scooted forward until she was against the screen in the tunnel leading to the vault room. There were six access tunnels, all with the same camera setup and heavy doors. The security was tight, requiring retinal scans and codes. And that was after coming off the secure elevator that required the proper set of keys and a different access code.

She pulled her tool kit out of the sealed flap of her cargo pants and made short work of the screws on the vent screen. She had to control the cameras next, keeping them from seeing her as she slid from the tube and landed in a crouch on the floor. Cameras were easy to manage, but also easy to forget. If she let her mind drift, even when she was concentrating on other, more difficult tasks, she would be in trouble.

Dahlia stayed close to the wall and blurred her image just in case she slipped up. The most important thing was the access code. She knew it was changed on a daily basis. This was her favorite thing to do, cracking the access code and opening the vault. Her mind was already humming, feeling how to move the tumblers into place. Even though the vault had an electronic access code keypad, she didn’t need to type in the numbers to figure out the right ones. In fact, she didn’t dare attempt it since entering more than a couple of tries triggered the alarm. Dahlia simply bypassed the electronic part altogether, and worked directly with the mechanical spring-loaded tumblers.

She stayed very close to the wall, at the best angle to avoid the panning camera, just in case during this phase she forgot in her excitement. The retinal scan was easy enough to bypass, but the code was all-important, and it was her mind against the machine’s.

She sat with her back against the wall as she began the hunt for the correct tumbler positions. It was bound to take a little time and with Roman Howard wandering around, she wanted to be in and out as quickly as possible. She had half the positions when the second attack came. A sharp thrust to her brain, piercing jabs scattering through her mind, jarring her out of her concentration. She clapped both hands over her head, pressing hard to relieve the terrible viselike grip. Her stomach lurched.

Dahlia held her mind’s grip on the camera. She had to let go of the vault, but the camera was more important to control. She could always start over if she dropped the tumbler positions. The attack was hard and deadly, but because the sender didn’t know whom he was attacking, it was unfocused. She received the brunt of it only because she was closer than the GhostWalkers, but they must have felt it as well.

Breathe deeply until it passes. Nicolas sounded gentle, calm. Normal for him. Just his voice seemed to help ease the pain. We can’t retaliate or he’ll know for certain someone is here. Right now he’s probing. He isn’t sure.

She wanted to answer him, reassure him she was all right, but the pressure in her head combined with controlling the camera was enough work. She hunkered down and went into meditative breathing, waiting for the assault to pass.

It lessened gradually, the pressure easing until she could think again. Immediately she focused on the vault. Roman Howard had absolutely no idea she was in the building, and he certainly didn’t know she was opening the vault. He was psychic enough to be uneasy, but he couldn’t find an enemy. Still, she needed to get out fast. If his uneasiness continued, he would check the vault.

She worked faster, staying alert as the tumblers dropped into place. She repressed the urge to laugh when she found the last, satisfying position and they lined up perfectly for her. Dahlia worked out the numbers that corresponded to those tumbler positions, and entered them into the digital keypad. Now she could feel the tumblers staying in place without her having to hold them there. She turned her attention to the retinal scan, finding the image of the last scan in the memory of the computer and repeating it. There was a moment of silence. Of expectation. The heavy vault door swung open.

Dahlia moved fast, running toward the row of what looked almost like safety-deposit boxes. Each was large and deep, able to hold most anything a research team needed to leave in safety. She bent to open one nearest the floor. In amongst the stacks of paper and zip drives, she found the precious disks holding the data on stealth torpedoes. There were no identifying marks, but she recognized the strange red circle the professor at Rutgers liked to use on his correspondence.

Dahlia tucked the disks into a Ziploc bag and shoved it inside her tightly woven jumper where she had a hidden pocket. Once it was safe, she arranged everything to look exactly as it had been, closed the vault, and took to the vent. She was going out toward the side entrance where the bushes were close instead of back up toward the roof. It was easier to get through the vents. She simply had to remember to be cautious of the motion sensors.

She had to take a few minutes to orient herself in the maze of vent tunnels before choosing the one she needed that would take her directly to the side entrance facing the narrow street. There was a yard to the back, and dogs were often left loose to guard it at night. The side entrance had less light and only two cameras. Dahlia unscrewed the screen and slipped out of the vent into the office. She could hear the guard talking to someone in the distance. Grateful that she just missed the guard and his dog, she hastily deactivated the alarms at the window and opened it. It was a fair distance to the ground, but she jumped, landing in a crouch close to the wall. She took one step toward the bushes when she heard the door hinges squeak. Men’s voice intruded into the night.

Dahlia shrank back against the wall, stilled, and closed her eyes as two men emerged through the side door. Obviously in the middle of an argument, they remained close together, halting just a foot from her. She recognized Trevor Billings, one of the researchers reputed to be a boy genius. The man Jesse Calhoun had been investigating. He glared at Roman Howard. “I told you not to come here anymore.”

Roman shoved Trevor so hard, the smaller man had to grab his glasses to keep them from flying off his nose, and at the same time, he flung out a hand to grab the wall to steady himself. Dahlia could see his fingers only a scant few inches from her shoulder. She stared at them with a kind of sick horror. It seemed impossible that they wouldn’t see her, but she concentrated on keeping her image as blurred as possible.

Trevor held up a placating hand as Roman stepped close to him. “We’ve got a good thing going. You bring me the research, and I develop it, and we can sell it to the highest bidder. You’re going to blow it if you keep this up. What’s wrong with you? The research was taken and unless we can recover it, we have to focus on the next step.”

“Don’t talk to me like you’re a somebody, Billings. You were nothing, a pissant gofer no one noticed until I brought you the idea and set the entire thing up. My people are the ones taking all the chances while you sit in your little office and get the glory, looking like the genius. We both know you couldn’t think your way out of a paper bag.”

Dahlia couldn’t get past the two men. She was trapped in the dark corner very near the bushes, but light from the streetlamp bathed the path in yellow. They would see her moving and know they weren’t alone. She dared not even breathe with Trevor gripping the wall so close to her.

“We lost this one, Roman. I don’t understand why it’s so important that you’d risk everything. You’re hurting people. Sooner or later they’ll come after us.”

Roman smirked at him. “We’re killing people, Billings. That’s an important part of the work and you’re too much of a weasel to do it yourself. Get the hell out of here and don’t be telling me where I can or can’t go. I tell you what to do.”

Dahlia was suddenly hit hard with the ferocious violent energy, the urge to kill. The mass of energy swarmed around Roman, raced to hammer at Dahlia. She felt the rising need as it gained force. She wanted to shout at Trevor Billings to run. He must have seen the promise of death in Roman’s eyes because he pulled himself away from the wall and began to edge away, stumbling toward the street.

Roman took a couple of steps after him, but then stopped abruptly and turned back as if he caught sight of something—or someone. She was certain he sensed someone close.

Dahlia froze, pushing her small body hard against the side of the wall, using every ounce of experience she had to control her breathing so that there was nothing to give her away. She kept her image blurred, but Roman Howard was close. So close she could reach out and touch him. He was furious. His anger radiated from him. He turned his head this way and that, sniffing the air, wanting to ferret out his enemy. He paced away from her, about five steps, and the light from the street lamp spilled over him for just an instant as he turned. Dahlia saw the knife blade laid flat against his wrist, the hilt in his closed fist.

Her breath caught in her throat. She pressed closer to the wall, wishing there was a crevice she could crawl into. Not only could she feel his anger, but violent energy poured from his body. Surrounded him. Ate at him until he was mumbling beneath his breath, hissing in retaliation, certain he was being watched and wanting to kill. Air slammed out of his lungs. He wanted to kill. Even needed to kill something or someone. The craving was so strong she feared for any innocent passersby.

The energy hit her in waves and she could read the ugly truth of Roman Howard’s life. Always one step behind his brothers, yet a brilliant man who believed he could outwit everyone. He hated. The emotion boiled and churned in him, poisoning and eating away at him until he could barely control and conceal his actions. Dahlia felt it all, and the energy massed around her, choking her, filling her until the pressure was unbearable. She bit down hard on her wrist, concentrating on the pain, trying to block out the violence of Roman’s emotions.

A shadow stepped from the wall not more than six feet from where she was concealed. Roman spun around and froze. Mesmerized, she watched his fingertips stroke the knife hilt.

“Martin, what are you doing here?” Roman cleared his throat and attempted a faint smile. “I thought you were on some big investigation. Louise told me you were in Atlanta.”

“I was on my own investigation. I started wondering how anyone could have found out about Dahlia Le Blanc.”

“Who? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I wish that were true, Roman, but only a very few people knew about Dahlia. We buried her under layers of flags and not one of those flags was ever raised. That’s how I knew whoever went after her didn’t find her through the computers, and they couldn’t have had personal knowledge of her. Jesse knew where she lived, but it would be ludicrous to think he tortured himself.” Martin ran both hands through his hair, dark shadows in his eyes. His face was etched with pain. “Dahlia paid Louise a little visit last night. Jesse’s condition wasn’t common knowledge, but you knew. How would you know, Roman? You didn’t think I’d be talking to Louise so soon after you told me, did you? You let me believe she told you, but she didn’t know anything about Jesse and was shocked when I gave her the news.”

Roman shrugged. “Who knew they were going to keep it a secret? Why would they? It made sense that Louise would know. A small mistake, but in the end it still won’t matter.”

“It was enough for me to know what you were doing. Why, Roman?”

Roman’s smile was a parody, his teeth bared like a wolf. “You tell me. You’re Martin, the almighty. You can never do anything wrong, but I think when they start investigating, they’ll see you aren’t so innocent.”

“You planted evidence to incriminate me.”

“Someone has to take the fall. You’re too squeaky-clean to be true. How would I ever be a suspect? They won’t find a single bug, anything at all to connect me to anything. I didn’t know the woman. I’ve never heard of the woman.”

Martin spread his hands out in front of him. “So this was all about jealousy? You wanted to get back at me?”

Roman burst out laughing. It was an ugly sound and the waves of violent energy nearly became a tidal wave washing over her. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s about money and power. Of course they chose the golden boy for the experiment, when I had far more ability than you. And of course something went wrong, and they compensated you with a trust to set you up for life. Why you, Martin? We both know I have more natural talent than you do. You lied to them about me. You and Calhoun kept me out of the program.”

Dahlia choked back the bile rising in her throat. Her body was trembling, nearly shaking apart. She knew if she didn’t expel part of the energy, she would have a seizure. And that meant allowing the two men to know they weren’t alone. The research material was burning a hole through her skin, reminding her that she had to protect it at all costs. She was wearing work clothes. Both men would know she’d been recovering something and they would search her body.

She turned her head and focused on the middle of the street where nothing could possibly burn. Flames leapt through the air. The road blackened. Both men turned their heads toward the fiery display.

Roman swore savagely, took a step toward his brother. Martin frowned at the leaping flames, then looked carefully around him, suddenly wary. Suddenly aware Dahlia had to be somewhere close.

“What is it?” Roman demanded.

“How the hell would I know?” Martin asked. “How far are you into this, Roman? What have you done?”

Roman laughed. “I’m not into it at all. You forget you’re the one they have the evidence against. Are they going to believe I can read minds? That I’ve been reading Louise’s mind for years? I don’t think so. They’ll blame you, Martin. Louise will even blame you, her golden boy.” He stepped closer, his knife hand at his side, concealing the weapon.

“Do you really think I’ll let you destroy my reputation and everything I’ve worked for?” Martin asked.

Dahlia’s gaze was on the knife hand. The fingers caressed the hilt. She could feel Roman’s rising excitement, the lust for the kill. She stepped away from the wall. Nicolas cursed, his protest loud in her mind.

“He has a knife, Martin, and he intends to use it on you,” she said softly.

Both men spun toward her. She stayed in the shadows and kept her image as blurred as possible to prevent either man from seeing the bad shape she was in.

“You!” Roman spit on the ground, his eyes narrowed and dangerous. “I should have guessed it was you.”

“Are you going to kill both of us with your knife?” she asked. The shaking was worse, rising in direct proportion to Roman’s eagerness for violence.

“No one would believe a crazy woman.” He took another step toward Martin.

Dahlia sucked in her breath. “Don’t!” she said sharply. “Don’t get any closer to him. Can’t you feel it? Can’t you feel the guns trained on you? They’ll never let you get close to either one of us. Put the knife down and let the lawyers handle it.”

Martin looked around them, a long careful search of their surroundings. “It’s them, isn’t it? The GhostWalker team. They’re out there watching us.”

She nodded. “They have a sniper with them, Roman. He’s a remarkable shot. Put down the knife. This isn’t worth your life.”

“You’re lying.”

“She isn’t lying,” Martin denied. “You should be able to feel them, Roman, I can. Who’s the sniper, Dahlia?”

The violence was building to an appalling level. She felt her legs turn to rubber and she sat down, frightened at her own weakness. She was only a few feet from Roman. If he chose, he could easily leap on her and stab her, and there was little she could do about it as weak and helpless as she felt. It took all of her concentration to keep from having a seizure. “Nicolas Trevane,” she answered.

Roman’s head jerked up and he began swearing repetitiously. With each oath, the energy spewing from him swirled around Dahlia, black and ferocious.

Get rid of it. Nicolas sounded calm. Dead calm. Ice-cold calm. She knew immediately he was in hunter mode, and he was locked on target.

I didn’t want to distract you.

I don’t get distracted. There was complete confidence in his voice.

Dahlia turned her head and once again focused on the street. Fire rained from the sky. White-hot streaks of orange and red fell in a shower and danced over the street, some flames leaping as high as six feet.

Martin looked at the display with a kind of awe. Roman shifted his weight to the balls of his feet, bringing his knife hand low, blade up, as he lunged at his brother. Dahlia saw the impact of the bullet before the sound reached them. Roman’s body jerked. Like a rag doll, he was flung forward and fell into Martin, driving him to the ground with his dead weight.

The rush of energy hit her hard and fast, sending her over the edge. She fell to the ground, a seizure taking her, bile choking her, fighting to stay conscious to protect the data she had recovered. It was impossible to stay focused as the energy ate her alive, her temperature soaring and the pressure building and building until there was nowhere for it to go.

Kaden reached her first. Nicolas had been trapped on the rooftop, protecting her and, although he was certain of his shot, he didn’t dare take his eyes off his downed target, or even Martin, until Kaden signaled him an all clear. Kaden knelt beside her and put both hands on her shoulders, trying to absorb the energy consuming her. He glanced at Martin who knelt weeping beside his brother. “Are you an anchor?”

Martin hesitated, and then nodded.

“Get the hell over here. Put your hands on her,” Kaden ordered.

Martin complied, somewhat in shock as the other GhostWalkers joined them. Gator made the call to Lily to inform the director of the NCIS that the data was recovered and the traitor found. Nicolas rushed to Dahlia’s side and gathered her into his arms.

“This is the last time. I swear, never again, Dahlia,” he whispered as the convulsion eased and left her staring up at him with wide, dark eyes. “You scare me to death. The only way I’m going to breathe properly again is if you come home with me where I can keep my eye on you around the clock.”

“Just get me to some place where the data will be safe until I can give it to the admiral,” she whispered.

He brushed a kiss across her forehead. “I’m on it.”