He saw a queen-size bed with a bright red comforter, a stone vanity, and a dresser painted with flowers and vines.

“What’s the bubbly plaster in the wall from?”

Her gaze sharpened on the photo. “What bubbles?”

“There.” He pointed to the wall beside the closet, nearly hidden by shadows.

She messed with the wire until the wall came into better focus. Her frown deepened, a mirror of his. “I don’t know. Not from a punch or kick. It’s too thin.”

“Looks like someone plastered a hole, didn’t know what they were doing, and let the mold get too hot around the edges before it dried.”

“Think he’s hiding something there?”

“Could be.”

“I wasn’t in there long enough to study it. He didn’t like me in the apartment, so I had to sneak in. And unless I’m with him, he doesn’t leave. So I had to walk in, snap some shots, and walk out fast.”

“I want an inside look.”

His cell buzzed again.

Mishka sighed. “Answer it,” she said, devoid of emotion. “They wouldn’t be calling back if it wasn’t important.”

He pressed a kiss to her lips and lumbered from the bed, hating the tension humming from her. He dug for the unit. Though he didn’t recognize the number, he held the cell to his ear. “This is Agent Tremain.”

“And this is Senator Estap,” the voice on the other end proclaimed. “We have something to discuss.”

CHAPTER 21

Two-hour flight from New Chicago to New D.C. in a cramped ITS, an ionic transport system that ran on vibrations of subparticle strings of energy—no problem. Two burly guards greeting him at the airport, pyre-guns hidden below their coats as they frisked him and removed his weapons—whatever. Forty-five-minute drive to a palatial office building in the heart of the city—fine. Ten-minute walk along the streets—why not twenty?

Being forced to leave Mishka behind—a killing offense.

He’d finally found her, only to be dragged away. The person responsible would pay.

He’d told her he’d been called away, that he’d be gone for a few days, and her face had washed of emotion and feminine softness. She’d paled, losing the rosy glow of satisfaction, and her naked body had stiffened.

Where are you going? Why are you going? she’d asked, almost desperate.

I’ll talk to you about it when I get back.

Ha! I’m coming with you.

No. Sorry.

Yes, damn it! What’s going on?

Miss me while I’m gone, ’cause I’ll damn sure miss you. Just trust me and stay here. And don’t kill my friends, okay? And don’t go inside Nolan’s without me. He’d dressed, kissed her—not that she’d kissed him back—and left with only one backward glance. That glance had nearly destroyed him, though. She’d been sitting cross-legged on the bed, hair tumbling around her shoulders, nipples peeking through the strands. Her hazel eyes had been glacial.

All he’d wanted to do was gather her in his arms and hold her close. Damn, I’m worse than a woman.

On the way to the airport, he’d called his friends and told them to work with her, not against her, and had warned them to play nice or else. They’d hung up on him. He didn’t think they’d attack her, but he couldn’t be sure.

Jaxon scowled. Estap would soon be hurting. The bastard’s fate had been sealed years ago when he’d decided to use Mishka. Only the little details had been in question: how quickly, how painfully, and when death would come.

During the flight, Jaxon had had time to think. How quickly—a few weeks hovering on the edge of death wouldn’t be enough. How painfully—there would soon be a new definition for the word suffer. The senator’s screams would echo long into eternity. When—the sooner the better.

“We’re here.”

Jaxon’s scowl faded and his lips curled in a slow smile.

One of the human guards beside him saw the smile and frowned, brow furrowing in confusion. “What are you so happy about?”

“Future’s looking good, that’s all.”

They stepped from the warm morning light illuminating the sidewalk and into an abandoned alley, past a door painted to look like a wall, and inside the building. He soon found himself inside an empty, narrow corridor, blocked by another door.

He didn’t think this had been their original destination. The two men had been driving north when they’d gotten a call. A terse exchange and a “Yes, sir” later, and the car had been reprogrammed and turned south.

“Your prints aren’t loaded into the ID, so don’t think you can come back without permission,” guard number one said as he slapped his hand against an etched box. A light scanned his prints.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

A door slid open, revealing yet another corridor.

“Plus, we’ve got cameras all over the place,” number two proclaimed. “You’d never get in undetected.”

Wanna bet? “Am I here to chat with you or the senator?”

The men shared an irritated look before stomping forward, a silent command for him to follow. As he strode behind them, he studied the walls. Bare, silver, and made from the same material as a pyre-gun, a nearly indestructible alien metal. At the back, front, and middle were tiny holes. The cameras, he was sure.

Public places weren’t allowed cameras without a license. Too many images had been spliced and doctored, and too many people had been incriminated for misdeeds they hadn’t committed. Government officials automatically received a license for their “protection.” Too bad for Estap that Jaxon had learned long ago how to disable them, since many criminals used them without permission.

A left, right, left, and short elevator ride later, one of the guards muttered, “Good luck,” and pressed his thumb to the ID pad. The elevator opened into yet another hallway.

Jaxon’s shoulder was given a little push. Quick as a snap, he grabbed the guard’s hand and twisted one of the fingers before the man could rip away. There was a pained gasp, a howl.

“No touching,” he said calmly. “Understand?”

“Yes, yes.”

He released the man and maneuvered his way past the only door, into a spacious, well-furnished office. Plush blue carpet and real wood shelves greeted him. The scent was amazing, very woodsy. Behind him, he could hear the other guard drawing a gun.

“Put that away,” an irritated voice said. “For God’s sakes, he’s my guest and the broken finger was deserved. You do not push my guests.”

Camera in the elevator, too, then. The door closed, blocking the guards from view.

Silence.

Jaxon studied his host. Estap sat behind a massive oak desk. An expensive antique that probably cost more than most people earned in a year. Average height, lean build. Thick brown hair, not a strand out of place. Intelligent hazel eyes, smooth, sun-kissed skin. Black suit. Red tie. He recognized the sense of entitlement radiating from the senator, as if the world owed him. As if citizens were beneath him and laws were not meant for him. That was me at one time.

“Have a seat. Please.” Estap waved to the chair just in front of him.

Jaxon sat, gaze roving over the rest of the office. Plaques and certificates of achievement adorned the walls. Family photos were scattered in between. Thirtysomething wife with bright red hair, freckles, and a happy smile.

Was Mishka’s control panel hidden in here?

“You had a smooth flight, I hope.”

“Yes.” He said nothing else, hating the senator more with every breath he took.

A sigh. “You’re probably wondering why I brought you here,” Estap said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his middle.

“Not really.”

Estap blinked in surprise.

“Le’Ace or the Schön. Or both.”

A tense pause, then, “You are correct.” Estap leaned forward, pinched a folder and tossed it to Jaxon. “We found a male victim. I wanted you to question him, find out who he’d had contact with, but he decided to eat his doctor’s heart for breakfast and kill himself after.”

Though Estap spoke of murder and suicide, his tone was dry, slightly amused.

“We tried to remove the virus from his system. No luck. We tried to kill the virus. Again, no luck. It was like the damned thing anticipated our every move and worked to prevent it.”

“Have any of the victim’s family members exhibited any signs of the virus?”

“He wasn’t married, but no, his male lover has not.”

Jaxon flipped open the folder. Pictures of the now dead man stared up at him. Familiar graying skin as the disease rotted him from the inside out, patches of missing hair, sunken eyes. “Did you check him for recent sexual activity?”

“Yes.”

“And was he active?”

“Yes.”

“And did you ask the lover for an exact date for the last time they’d had sex?”

Estap shifted, crossing one leg over the other. “Yes. He refused to answer. Said it was personal.”

“Nothing is personal during an investigation. Have someone ask again and again until he answers. If it wasn’t recently, you can conclude that the vic cheated. And if he cheated, it’s safe to bet it was with a Schön. What about your doctors?” Jaxon asked, looking up. “Have they exhibited any signs?”

Estap licked his lips nervously. “Two. Having seen the other victims, however, they chose to kill themselves immediately rather than suffer.”

Or had they been murdered?

“What do you know about the virus?”

“We suspect it’s alive. An alien being with a separate consciousness from the Schön, searching for a host. We believe that taking blood from a victim is like signing your own death warrant.”

“We can’t not study it.”

He showed no mercy. “Tell your doctors good-bye, then.”

Hazel eyes narrowed menacingly. “What do you suggest we do?”

“Lock them up, isolate them, and observe. But do not take blood, do not send people into their cells. Meanwhile, A.I.R. will hunt and kill the Schön without spreading the virus.”

Estap snorted. “You expect me to sit back and do nothing? When A.I.R. has done such a poor job?”

Jaxon pierced him with a dark smile. “You haven’t done any better. Sir.”

Another bout of silence ensued.

A tactic, Jaxon knew. He’d used it often enough himself during interrogations as a means of making his target uncomfortable, intimidated.

How many times had Mishka been here? Had Estap berated her? Called her names? Hit her?

No reaction.

“I’ll be honest with you, agent,” Estap said, finally breaking. “There is one way to study the infected blood.”

“And that is?”

“Le’Ace.”

At her name, Jaxon’s stomach clenched. No fucking reaction. “Oh, really?”

“She’s immune to everything.”

Calm. “Are you sure?”

“Sure enough. There’s always a chance for failure, though.”

“You’d be willing to sacrifice her?”

A shrug.

He’s testing me. Gauging my responses. “Whatever you think is best.” Bastard. You are so going to die.

“She’s a machine, agent, no better than an animal.”

I will not use the knife hidden inside my belt, I will not use the knife hidden inside my belt. Not yet…

A slow smile lifted Estap’s lips, as if he knew Jaxon’s every thought. “My great-grandfather was part of the team that created her, you know. Each of the five scientists used pieces of themselves to form her DNA, as well as machines, aliens, and animals, as I mentioned. She was to be the first in a new breed of warriors. A killer, a seducer. Their winning ace.”

Their puppet.

Meditating didn’t help; breathing didn’t help. Jaxon still wanted to attack. Mishka had never really known kindness. As a child, her smiles had probably been snuffed out, her humor treated as a liability, and love deemed forbidden. From birth, she’d been isolated, trained, and used.

What would she have wanted to be if she’d been raised by loving parents? A doctor? Painter? Candy maker? Did she allow herself to dream of something more, something better? Or had she given up on independence completely? Probably. She never spoke of it, not even as an afterthought.

He couldn’t return the childhood she’d lost, but he could give her a future free of enslavement. He would. And he would love her, all the days of his life.

Love.

He loved her, he realized. He wanted her with him every damn minute of every damn day. He wanted her to talk to him, share her feelings, listen to his, hold him, delight in him the way he delighted in her.

From the beginning, he’d been drawn to her as he’d never been to another. She captivated him, enthralled him, made him so hot the desire was like a fever. Her happiness came before his own; her life came before his own.

She was a part of him. A part he could not live without, a part more important than his heart or his lungs. How it happened, he didn’t know. But every breathless sigh, every heated glance and courageous word out of her mouth had pulled him deeper and deeper under her spell.

He’d leave his job, his friends, give up every penny in his accounts if she asked it of him. Willingly, happily. More than that, he would slay her dragons. Again willingly, happily.

“Are you listening?” Estap asked him.

What had he missed? “Continue,” he said, not really answering.