A Sense of Danger

by Jennifer Estep

  She reached up, plucked the black pen out of her waitress shirt pocket, and tossed it down onto her desk. “I found it the very first night. Glad it finally came in handy. And that you were still monitoring the feed.”

  I hadn’t been monitoring the feed. At least, not at first. No, I had been lurking outside the Moondust Diner, and I had followed Charlotte home, just as I’d done every night for the past several days, instead of being in London like everyone at Section thought. When I’d seen Trevor waiting outside her apartment, I’d known something was wrong.

  I’d just never expected him to pull a gun on her.

  I had thought about charging out of the shadows right then and there, tackling the bastard, and beating him until he was nothing more than a bloody smear on the sidewalk. But I knew Charlotte was up to something, given how cool she had been to him, and I wanted to know what she was doing.

  Then I’d gotten an alert on my phone saying I had an email from her, and the app connected to the spy pen had also dinged. So I queued up the live footage and streamed it on my phone.

  Hearing Trevor’s confession that he was the mole, that he’d been working for Henrika and Anatoly, that he’d sent Graham and all those other people to their deaths, made me sick and furious. Once again, I had almost charged out of the shadows, but I trusted Charlotte, and I knew she must have some plan in mind.

  She always did.

  So I trailed the two of them to the Section building, then slipped inside after them and crept down the fire stairs to the third floor. For a third time, I had almost erupted out of the shadows, especially when Miriam had been sobbing and begging Trevor not to shoot her, but I’d seen the calculations going on in Charlotte’s eyes, and her blue aura had remained bright and steady. She knew exactly what she was doing, so I had let it play out.

  And now here we were, with not one but two moles exposed. A woman I had never suspected and a man whom I’d considered a friend and a confidant.

  “You bastard,” I snarled, my hands clenching into fists. “How much did Anatoly pay you to sell us out?”

  Trevor’s mouth twisted, but he didn’t respond.

  “Trevor got half a million,” Charlotte said. “Miriam had more than a million in her account. I assume because she had the added task of fucking him, luring him over to the Syndicate dark side, and then keeping him in line.”

  “Shut up,” Miriam hissed. “Just shut your mouth.”

  She brandished her knife at Charlotte, who gave her another one of those cool, unconcerned looks. I focused on Trevor again.

  “After everything that we went through together over the years. All the training, all the missions. You, me, and Graham. The Three Musketeers. Why did you do it?” I asked, hating how much my voice cracked. “Why did you betray us?”

  Trevor gave me a disgusted look. “Just wait until you have a few more years on you, Dez. When Section benches you from active missions for the sin of being closer to fifty than forty, and you have a bitch of an ex-wife who keeps asking for more alimony, and a brat of a kid who hates you for working so much but is all too happy to spend every dime you make.”

  “You did it for the money?” I asked.

  “Divorces are expensive,” he said. “I was drowning in debt. Charlotte knows how that is.”

  Charlotte let out a low, harsh laugh. “Drowning in debt? Please. You were a lousy five grand in the hole. All you had to do was cut back on those expensive, organic lunches and overseas trips to run marathons in London and Paris, and you would have been fine in six months. You don’t know anything about life-altering, soul-crushing debt. The kind you know you’ll never pay off, no matter how many jobs you have or how long and hard you work.”

  He grimaced, as though she had caught him in yet another lie.

  “So what was the real reason, Trev?” I asked. “Why did you sell us out?”

  A disgusted sneer twisted his face. “You’re a Legacy, Dez. And not just any Legacy, but a fucking Percy. Your father pretty much runs Section, and he’s turned you into his own personal assassin. You’re Section’s golden boy, and everything always comes easily to you—fighting, training, killing. And if that wasn’t good enough, women throw themselves at you like you’re made of chocolate, puppies, and ice cream. You’ve had everything handed to you on a silver platter your whole life. But I’m not a Legacy, and I’ve had to fight and claw and scrape for everything I have, both inside Section and out. Every mission, every promotion, every damn dollar and measly yearly raise. Well, guess what? I’m sick and tired of risking my life and watching Legacies like you get everything while the rest of us fight for your table scraps.”

  “Truth,” Charlotte murmured.

  I didn’t need her to confirm his words. Hate, rage, condescension, and conviction rippled through Trevor’s voice along with his golden aura. From one instant to the next, he had morphed from one of my closest friends into a stranger I had never really known.

  “You disgust me,” I snarled.

  Trevor glared right back at me. “Ditto, Dez.”

  “If he’s here, then more Section agents are probably on their way,” Miriam cut in. “We need to get out of here. So shoot him, already!”

  She didn’t have to tell him twice. Trevor lifted his gun and fired at me.

  “Desmond!” Charlotte screamed.

  I ignored her cry and focused on the kinetic energy of the bullets as they erupted out of Trevor’s gun. As the projectiles zipped through the air toward me, I concentrated on and grabbed hold of those tiny yet distinct waves of energy. Then I spun to my right and flicked my hand, redirecting that force and motion. The bullets veered away from me, slamming into one of the cubicle walls and cracking the plastic.

  Behind Trevor, Miriam lunged at Charlotte, who snapped up her hand and tossed a stapler at Miriam. Her aim was true, and it slammed into the charmer’s face. Miriam yelped and staggered back. Charlotte let out a low, angry snarl, yanked a pair of scissors out of her jacket pocket, and charged at Miriam, knocking her down to the floor.

  The second that Trevor’s gun click-click-clicked empty, I put my shoulder down, lunged forward, and plowed into him, shoving my elbow into the bastard’s gut as hard as I could. He grunted with pain but quickly recovered and brought the butt of his gun down onto my spine. The force of the blow zipped through my body, but I used the sudden spike of pain and energy to churn my legs forward and ram him into the closest cubicle wall.

  We crashed through the plastic and tumbled down to the ground. I landed on top of Trevor, and I rose up and drew my arm back to punch him, but he shoved his foot into my stomach and kicked me off him. I flew backward across the aisle and smashed through another cubicle wall. My head clipped the side of one of the desks, and red-hot pain exploded in my temple.

  I scrambled back up to my feet, but my head spun, and I could tell that I was moving slower than usual—too damn slow.

  Trevor struggled to his feet as well. He yanked another gun out of the small of his back, then snapped it up and aimed it at me. My head was still spinning, and I wasn’t sure if I would be able to redirect the bullets with my galvanism as I had before.

  Trevor must have realized how woozy I was because he sneered at me. “Not so golden now, are you? Goodbye, Dez.”

  He took a little better aim and started to squeeze the trigger—

  Charlotte hurried forward, raised her arm, and stabbed him in the shoulder with that pair of scissors. Trevor screamed, whirled around, and punched her in the face. Charlotte’s head snapped back, and she groaned and fell to the floor.

  Rage exploded in my body that he had hurt her, that he had dared to lay one finger on her, and I lurched forward, closing the distance between us.

  Trevor swung back around to fire at me, but this time, he was the one who was too slow. I chopped down with my left hand, knocking the gun out of his grip, then brought my right hand up and drove my fist straight into his jaw.

  I put all the energy coursing through my body into the blow, a
nd his teeth shattered like glass beneath my knuckles. Trevor mumbled out a low, strangled sound, and blood spewed from his mouth. He staggered and started to fall to the floor, but I grabbed his tie and hauled him back upright.

  Maybe I should have looked into his eyes. Maybe I should have said something witty. Maybe I should have punched him in the face over and over again until he was hurting as much as I was inside. But all I could think about was Graham lying on the beach, using his last, raspy, dying breaths to tell me it was okay and that I would get the people who had set us up.

  Well, this was one way to keep my promise to him.

  So instead of hitting Trevor in the face again, I slammed my palm into his chest, directly over his heart. As soon as I made contact with his body, I reached for my galvanism and grabbed hold of the electrical charge that made his heart beat.

  And then I stopped it.

  Trevor let out a shocked, strangled gasp, and I shoved him away. He teetered on his feet, staring at me. Then his eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and he dropped to the ground. He would be dead in a few more seconds, just as soon as the rest of his body quit working.

  I grabbed his gun from the floor, then whirled around, searching for Charlotte, who had gotten up onto her feet. She was swaying from side to side, but she looked at me, this wonderful smile on her bruised face.

  She started forward, but Miriam darted up behind her. Before I could shout a warning, Miriam hooked her arm around Charlotte’s shoulders and pressed her knife up against Charlotte’s throat.

  “Stop!” Miriam yelled. “Or she dies!”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Charlotte

  Desmond immediately stopped, although his free hand clenched into a tight fist, while his finger curled around the trigger of the gun he was clutching in his other hand.

  I tried to jerk away from Miriam to give Desmond a clean shot, but she tightened her grip on me.

  “Don’t even think about trying to squirm away,” she hissed in my ear. “You’re my ticket out of here, Charlotte. You brought all this down on me, and you’re going to get me out of it.” She jerked her head at Desmond. “Back up! Now!”

  Desmond’s eyes narrowed, and he was clearly debating whether or not he could kill her before she killed me.

  “You’re not the only one who knows how to hurt people,” Miriam hissed again. “Step back, or I start skinning Charlotte alive.”

  She dug the point of her knife into my neck, deep enough to draw blood. I grimaced, but I kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t going to beg—not for Miriam to spare my life and not for Desmond to save it.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to back up, step aside, and let me walk out of here with Charlotte,” Miriam said.

  “Don’t you dare let this traitor go,” I said. “Kill her. Now.”

  “Desmond can’t kill me before I cut your throat,” Miriam snarled. “Now stop talking.”

  She was probably right about that, but she would kill me the first chance she got anyway, so I might as well go down fighting. I tensed, preparing myself to reach up, grab her knife, and try to shove it away from my neck before she cut me again—

  “Drop the knife, Miriam. It’s over.” Another voice sounded, and Miriam spun around, turning me along with her.

  Gia Chan strode into the bullpen, along with several strike team members. Evelyn came in behind them, hovering in the background as usual. The strike team members spread out, blocking all the bullpen exits.

  Gia looked at me. “I got your email, Charlotte. It made for some interesting reading.”

  “I thought you might find it enlightening.” I tilted my head to the side. “As you can see, Miriam stole the Grunglass Necklace from the hotel, not me.”

  “That’s a lie!” Miriam screeched. “You stole the necklace!”

  “How could I have stolen the necklace when you’re the one wearing it?” I pointed out, not even bothering to keep the smug tone out of my voice.

  Miriam let out a soft, muttered curse and adjusted her grip on me. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” she repeated. “You’re all going to let me walk out of here, or I will cut Charlotte’s throat.”

  Gia shook her head. “You know Section doesn’t negotiate with terrorists, Miriam. Not even to save our own agents.” She looked at me again. “Sorry, Charlotte.”

  I didn’t say anything. It was standard Section protocol and exactly what I had expected her to say.

  Miriam sucked in a breath, and her fingers dug even deeper into my shoulder. I tensed, thinking that she was going to make good on her threat and kill me after all—

  “I know things,” she declared. “Lots of things. About Henrika, the Syndicate, more moles inside Section.”

  Everyone stared at her, except for Desmond, who was still looking at me.

  “Truth,” I said.

  “What do you know about Henrika and the Syndicate?” Gia asked. “Tell me. Now.”

  Miriam laughed. “Please. I know better than that. You let me walk out of here with Charlotte, and then I’ll tell you what I know. And not a moment before.”

  Gia stared at Miriam, a thoughtful expression on her face. Section didn’t negotiate with terrorists…unless they had something Section wanted. And Gia and the rest of the higher-ups most definitely wanted Henrika Hyde’s head on a platter, especially after the Blacksea and Redburn missions. And if Miriam knew something about the Syndicate too, well, that would be an added bonus.

  “Stand down,” Gia said.

  The strike team members lowered their guns, but Desmond kept his raised and aimed at Miriam.

  “Desmond,” Gia barked out. “Stand down. That’s an order.”

  Anger and frustration shimmered in his eyes, and a muscle ticked in his jaw, but he slowly lowered his gun. Even though I’d been expecting it, even though I knew it was a direct order, my heart still sank.

  “What do you want?” Gia asked.

  Behind me, Miriam relaxed, just a bit, although she kept her knife at my throat. “A helicopter on the roof, and guaranteed safe passage to an airstrip of my choosing. Once I’m at the airstrip, I’ll release Charlotte and tell you everything I know.”

  LIE.

  I didn’t bother saying the word aloud. Miriam wasn’t going to let me go. No, she would dispose of me the second she didn’t need me anymore. I had outsmarted and humiliated her, and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that slide.

  Of course, Desmond, Gia, and everyone else knew it too, but Gia kept staring at Miriam, as if she were already thinking about how to best use whatever information Miriam might reveal.

  I had never wanted to end up like my father, but at this moment, I couldn’t escape the irony that I had followed in his footsteps far more closely than I had ever intended to—and that I was about to die on a mission gone wrong, sacrificed for what a Section higher-up deemed to be the greater good.

  “Do we have a deal?” Miriam asked.

  Gia’s gaze flicked around the bullpen. The strike team members. Desmond. Me. And finally Evelyn. She looked at everyone in turn before focusing on Miriam again. “Deal.”

  “Good. Then get out of my way,” Miriam snarled.

  Gia waved her hand, and the strike team members retreated, standing up against the walls and leaving a clear path down the center aisle to the main bullpen exit.

  “Let’s go,” Miriam hissed in my ear. “And don’t try anything stupid, or I will gut you where you stand, and screw the consequences.”

  She was once again telling the truth. We both knew she had nothing left to lose.

  With Miriam’s knife still at my throat, I moved forward, slowly heading toward the exit. Everyone watched while Miriam walked me out of here. No one moved, and no one spoke.

  Except for Desmond.

  He stepped out into the aisle, blocking the path, that gun still clutched in his hand and down by his side. “Forget the deal. Tell me what you know about Henrika and the Syndicate. Now.”

  He didn�
�t say anything about me, didn’t try to negotiate for my release, for my life. Maybe he was pretending like he didn’t care about me. Or maybe he wasn’t pretending and he truly didn’t care whether I lived or died. Either way, hurt still flooded my heart.

  Miriam let out a low, ugly laugh. “Oh, no. That information is going to cost you my freedom.” She glanced over at Gia. “Get your dog back on his leash, and let’s get on with things. I have a helicopter to catch.”

  “Just tell me what you know, and you can still walk out of here,” Desmond said. “I will personally guarantee your safety. I’m a Percy. You know I can do that.”

  Gia shot him an angry glare, but Desmond ignored her. He was right. He was a Percy, and he could get Miriam out of there, despite the fact that it would break about a dozen Section rules. But his father, General Percy, would smooth things over, especially to get information about a dangerous organization like the Syndicate.

  “Maybe you can do that,” Miriam said. “But I’m the one with a hostage, so I’m the one in charge. Now get out of my way.”

  “No,” Desmond growled back. “I’m not letting you leave without telling me what you know about Henrika and the Syndicate.”

  For the second time, he didn’t say anything about me. Miriam tensed, and I once again got the impression she was seconds away from cutting my throat.

  “Get out of my way, Percy,” she sneered. “Or watch Charlotte bleed out.”

  “You hurt her, and you die a second later,” he threatened.

  Miriam shrugged. “And then you’ll have nothing. Not me and my intel, and not your new pet analyst either.”

  He didn’t respond, although a muscle ticked in his jaw.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Miriam said. “You’ll never get to Henrika without my help.”

  Desmond glanced at me.

  “Truth,” I said.

  He kept staring at me, a silent debate raging in his eyes. He wanted to keep his promise to Graham, wanted to finish avenging his friend, wanted to find and kill every single person who’d had a hand in the doomed Blacksea mission. Miriam’s information would help him track down Henrika and perhaps even dismantle her organization, along with the mysterious Syndicate.