Sten Ander still lived in the same boring middle-class apartment complex in Tacoma she remembered. Beige vinyl siding, fresh asphalt from the previous summer’s repaving, and bedraggled Christmas decorations hanging from small second- and third-story decks made the place indistinguishable from every other batch of apartments within a twenty-mile radius. Which was exactly why Sten lived there. He liked to blend in—lots of people did—though he excelled at it despite the fact there was nothing ordinary about him. His world was deception, and she was about to waltz back into it—a mistake for sure, but one she couldn’t avoid.
Val spotted his car in its assigned spot. He worked the evening shift on the Seattle Police Department vice squad. Her guess he’d still be home in the midmorning looked correct. Climbing the stairs to his apartment, she felt an uncomfortable sense of déjà vu as memories of their sordid affair from years ago crept back. Max wouldn’t be happy to know she paid a visit to the man who tried to kill him twice. Even less happy to learn she’d slept with Sten a handful of times in a misguided and self-destructive bid to learn how to better control her ability. For reasons she didn’t understand, he could focus her visions in a way no one else could, not even Max. Though their twisted relationship had occurred when she and Max weren’t together, it was better for everyone, really, if Max never knew. Visiting Sten now, she poked the hornet’s nest that’d stayed dormant for almost half a decade. But she needed answers about her mother that only he could provide. With any luck, the hornets would stay asleep. It was a small poke, after all.
Val reached Sten’s apartment door, took a deep breath, and knocked. She tapped her foot and waited for the better part of a minute. Maybe he wasn’t home after all. Damn, she’d have to find another opportunity to come back—
The door rattled, then swung open. Sten stood in the threshold, scruffy and bare-chested, one arm braced against the jam while his other hand rubbed sleep from his eyes. Before she could stop herself, her gaze drifted down from his well-defined pecs, bulging biceps, over a toned, flat stomach, and ending at a pair of unbuttoned jeans sagging off his hips. Oh yeah, she almost forgot—he’d been good in bed. Very good. Not as good as Max in the looks or sex departments, but a close second—
For God’s sake, Val, stop that!
She blinked and forced her eyes back to his dark, heavy ones, praying he hadn’t noticed her ogling him like a juicy piece of meat. Why the hell did he answer the door half-naked anyway? It was December, for Christ’s sake. Knowing him, he probably did it to mess with her and faked the just-woken-up shtick. He always did love mind games. Fucking Sten.
“Hoooleee shit,” he said, his voice rasping with the roughness of a hard night. “Valentine Shepherd. The world’s about to end, isn’t it?”
She cocked an eyebrow. Let the games begin. “Any day now. Did I ever tell you I have a recurring vision of Delilah Barrister becoming president and nuking the world?”
“Crazy bitch would do something like that.” He leaned against the doorjam and ran a hand through his brown hair as if still rousing himself from sleep. His pants looked like they might slip off at any moment. What a goddamn actor. Anything to distract her.
“Are you still Delilah’s slave?”
His eyes popped open and he stood up straight, folding his arms across his chest. “I was never her slave.” Now he was awake. Very few things bothered Sten, but his indentured servitude to Northwalk and their associates, such as Delilah, happened to be one of them. “Listen, I’d love to exchange passive-aggressive witty banter with you all day, but I’ve got places to be. If you’re in the mood for a quick fuck, come on in. Marriage gets stale, I understand.”
Val rolled her eyes. Same old Sten. “No, I don’t want a quick fuck, but yes, I’d like to come in.”
He turned and walked back into his apartment, leaving the door ajar so she could enter. Closing it behind her, Val was struck by the emptiness of his place—nothing on the walls, no knickknacks on the shelves. Not that she expected Sten to have any interior decorating sense, but she didn’t recall his bachelor pad being quite so bare. Walking into his living room and the adjoining tiny kitchen with beer cans piled on the counter, she spotted a couple stacked cardboard boxes and made the connection.
“You’re moving,” she said.
“Affirmative.” He padded to the kitchen on bare feet and flicked on the coffeepot to heat up black liquid already in it—yesterday’s brew. Damn, that was gross, even for him.
“Where?”
Walking to the living room, he tapped a cigarette out of a carton lying on his coffee table. “East,” he said as he lit the cigarette, took a long drag, then sat down on the sofa and propped his feet on the table.
How far east? Across the city? The country? Back to Asia? Five years ago, he’d implied he grew up an orphaned child soldier in Chechnya. Northwalk had picked him up off the street, groomed him to kill for them, then dropped him into American society to be their inside man, employed as a cop while doing odd jobs at their behest. So he’d said anyway. He’d always been evasive about his past—about everything really—so she couldn’t take anything he told her without a huge grain of salt. She stopped herself from asking where he was moving, though; she didn’t want to sound too interested. Despite the fact she hadn’t seen Sten in years, she realized she liked knowing he was around, within reach. In case of emergency. Once upon a time, he’d insisted they were partners in the fight against Northwalk. Partners was putting it strongly; more like he was willing to be her ally under certain circumstances. She’d take anyone she could get.
“Found a better job?”
“No.” The word snapped from his mouth with a sharpness she hadn’t expected. She’d hit on another sensitive topic. Usually he wasn’t so testy. She studied him for a moment, curious. Sten met her gaze and let her look him over without flinching away. Last time she saw him, he’d perfected the art of smarmy cool with glimpses of the human being underneath few and far between. Stretched out before her now, he looked leaner than she remembered, tauter. Tense. New creases dashed out from the corners of his eyes. Whatever he’d been up to these last few years, life hadn’t been easy on him. Now his handlers were making him move, and he wasn’t pleased about it.
As she studied him, he studied her. She felt his gaze as if he were pawing her with his bare hands, down and up the length of her body until resting on her face again to trace the outline of her features with his eyes. Val tried not to squirm under his scrutiny; she’d started it, after all. Sten said he had places to be, yet he seemed content to sit there and stare at her for the rest of the morning.
Dammit, she shouldn’t have come. Already things were getting weird. But he was the only person she knew who might have answers.
“Do you—” Val shook her head. There was no way to ask that didn’t sound strange. Might as well come right out with it so she could get back to her kids. “Do you know my mother?”
He squinted at her as if confused. After a pause, he said, “Biblically?”
“Goddammit, Sten—”
“If this is the start of a joke, you’re not telling it very well. Needs more levity.”
“Can I assume that means no?”
He scratched at the stubble on his chin, cocking his head like he might actually be giving her question some serious thought. “Are we talking about the woman who abandoned you when you were a kid?”
Val nodded. So he remembered. She’d told him about her mother years ago, when they’d served in the Army together and briefly dated. Should she be touched or disturbed he recalled long-ago details from her life? She went with both.
“Why do you think I know her?”
Sighing, she knew her only hope of getting a straight answer out of him relied on the truth, no matter how much it might compromise her. She still had no idea where his true loyalties lay at that particular moment. “I had a vision where you told me, ‘There are ways to resist. I thought you’d want to see your mother one last time,’ or something like that. Then I saw her being shot and killed.”
“Huh. What were we doing while we had this conversation in the future?”
His slight smile told her he knew she didn’t want to answer, so of course he would dig. “I don’t know exactly. We were in a hotel room”—Sten smirked—“hiding from something, I think. We were upset. Nothing sexual happened between us, if you’re wondering.” Except for the last part of her vision. He didn’t need to know about that, though.
Sten tapped cigarette ashes into a soda can, then lounged backward as he took another drag. “Wow. It’s almost like we’re meant to be together.”
“Jesus, Sten, do you know her or not?”
He played with the cigarette, rolling it between his fingers as he seemed to consider every possible way he could answer. Finally, he said, “No.”
Great. Assuming he wasn’t lying, he wouldn’t be any help solving her mother’s future murder. At least she wouldn’t need to see him again anytime soon. Silver lining.
When she turned to leave, he said, “But I know someone who might.”
Val stopped and faced him again. “Really.”
“If your mom’s got any connection to this fucked-up freak show you and I find ourselves forced to perform in, my contact would know. She’s closer to the top of the food chain. She sees things us peons don’t.”
So he wanted to help after all. Thankful and wary at the same time, she stopped herself from cringing and asked, “What do you want in return?”
“Just your gratitude.” He pressed his lips into a tight smile, amused by his own bullshit. “One friend helping out another.”
In other words, he expected a favor. They’d played this tit-for-tat game before, and it had ended in blood—she’d unintentionally murdered a man she’d never met at Sten’s urging, and he’d jailed and killed her rapists. As his last gift to her, he’d rid the world of Lucien Christophe, the medical genius and pure evil behind the Blue Serpent cult. She would always owe Sten for that. It wasn’t only their prior relationship that kept her uncomfortable around him; her debt to him weighed on her as well. And he knew it.
Val swallowed hard. She didn’t want to play this game again, but what else could she do? No matter what happened, she wouldn’t kill for him. Nor could he have her body, despite what her visions suggested. They weren’t partners. “Yeah, well, if you find out anything, let me know.”
“Uh-huh.” He rose and walked back to the kitchen, poured the now-hot black sludge into a coffee mug, and took a long slurp. “You know, you can come by anytime if you need to hit something again. I think I’m in the mood to hit something, too.”
Val’s jaw clenched. They’d fallen into bed the first time during a spasm of anger she’d taken out on him while drunk, punctuated by some swift punches to his face. But that wasn’t all he meant. At the time, she’d asked him to help her take down Delilah and Northwalk; he’d refused, saying the time wasn’t right. Now he was “in the mood to hit something”—he was ready to fight. Whatever he’d been doing for Northwalk for umpteen years, he’d had enough and wanted out.
What’s more, he wanted to punish them. And so did she. She could practically taste their blood in her mouth. It was the tie that bound them, a pitch-black thread wrapped around their souls, pulling them together as surely as the white thread that connected her to Max. The years-long, simmering fire of vengeance grew in her, her cheeks heating up at just the thought of finally making those bastards pay. With Sten’s help, they could kill all of Northwalk—
No. If she went down that road, she put her family in danger.
It’s not worth it, Val. You’ve been good this long, and Northwalk and Delilah have left you, Max, and your children alone. Don’t throw it away.
But she could get vengeance now, if she wanted.
Aw, shit. Bile rising in her throat, Val turned and left without looking back—not that it mattered. She’d see him again soon. There was no avoiding it now. She’d poked the hornet’s nest—including the long-buried one inside her—and they’d all begun to wake up.