For a moment, Daniel could only stare, his mouth dry and his heart in his throat. Ronald Atkins, the mark he’d left lying in an abandoned barn. He’d put a bullet in Ronald’s skull and splattered the concrete with his blood. His eyes had been empty, his breathing stilled, his voice silenced. Daniel had made sure of it.

Yet, here he stood, alive and well, shaking hands with John Dearborn.

“Miranda, show our guest to Mr. Winter’s office,” John said with a friendly smile. “So nice of you to drop by, Mr. Atkins. We’ll get this taken care of for you.”

“Right this way,” the receptionist said with an unwavering smile.

The “dead” man winked at John, then followed her out of the small lobby, his hands tucked into his suit pockets. For someone who’d been dead twelve hours ago, he certainly seemed relaxed.

“Daniel. Come in.” John strode back into his office, leaving Daniel to collect his scattered thoughts. It took a few seconds for him to shake off his astonishment and follow his boss through the door.

John slid the bolt, then faced Daniel with a frown. “Last night?” he asked in a clipped tone.

“I killed him,” Daniel stated in an edgy voice. “I put a bullet through his temple. He was dead.”

“He’s walking,” John said. “So, either you’re lying, or the bastard’s related to God.”

“He’s fucking Jesus, then,” Daniel snarled. Deep within, his cat stirred, but he took a breath, attempting to soothe the creature into submission. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on, John,” he managed after a moment. “But I killed him. Would I have showed up today to collect my payment if I hadn’t ensured the job was done?”

John looked at him a moment more before ambling back to his desk. “He wants a meeting with you.”

Daniel’s heart lurched. “What for?”

John shrugged. “He didn’t say. But he knows about the organization. And he isn’t going to the cops.”

“Christ, John.” Daniel’s tiger yowled its displeasure. “You let him walk out of here and you think he’s not going to the cops?”

“He’s not leaving this building alive,” John snapped. “The contract specified death by five o’clock today, and now’s your chance to fix it. So, watch your tone.”

The feline within prowled, restless and raging at the implication that he’d screwed up. Daniel swallowed several times, fighting with himself. His boss didn’t seem to notice, though a scowl darkened John’s brow. He opened a drawer of his desk and flipped through a stack of files.

“I was going to call you,” John continued. “Have you come in for the meeting. Downstairs. Basement.” He slid a small manila envelope across the desk. “Use the second elevator.”

Daniel upended the envelope. A brass key fell into his palm. “Then what?”

“Kill him,” John said. “With your bare hands if you have to. He walked in here. He’s not walking out.”

* * *

The basement.

Daniel had heard of it, but before this, he hadn’t thought it actually existed. Most New York high rises had basements, but it was doubtful they were rigged for murder.

The basement was meant as a last resort. The place newbies brought their targets if they couldn’t finish the job, or if the body couldn’t be disposed of in a more conventional manner. Daniel had never needed to use it, and what he’d heard had been so scant, there was no telling what awaited him.

He pocketed the key, then took the hallway to the pair of elevators at the end. One led to the street. Daniel had never ridden the other.

He pressed the down-arrow button, and the doors opened smoothly. Inside, there was no panel. Only a keyhole.

Easy enough. Daniel inserted the key as the doors closed, and turned it. A low buzz sounded, and the elevator began to descend.

How in the hell was his mark walking, talking, breathing? And then he comes here, Daniel mused to himself. Now that he was over the shock, he began to analyze. Maybe there was no round in the chamber? No, he’d heard the shot.

Whatever had happened, it was completely abnormal shit. On edge, Daniel glanced upward, expecting to see the usual row of lighted floor numbers indicating how far down he’d gone. But there was nothing on the wall, and his anxiety ramped a bit more. He sucked in a long breath in an effort to stay calm. Skin itching for the change, he flexed his fingers, curling his hands into fists to keep his claws at bay.

At last, the elevator landed. The doors opened with a soft ding, revealing…an office remarkably similar to the one he’d just left. Marble floors, leather couches, flourescent lighting. Light jazz played from hidden speakers. An attractive blonde sat at a mahogany desk, her eyes glued to a computer screen. All in all, he’d seen worse waiting rooms.

Huh. Not what he’d expected. Daniel grabbed the key, but it wouldn’t come loose.

“Leave it,” her soft voice advised him, though her eyes didn’t stray from the screen. “Mr. Dearborn will retrieve it when the elevator goes topside.”

Daniel stepped from the elevator. “Uh—”

“Through the third door,” the blonde said. She slid a keycard across the desk. “Your client is already waiting.”

So far, none of this was what he’d imagined. Kill him, John had said. But what would happen afterward? Daniel wasn’t the type to ask for help. He’d never needed assistance before. But the basement existed for a reason, and was clearly busy enough to warrant a receptionist. Maybe the gatekeeper could help him.

“What’s your name?” he asked, for lack of a better opener.

“Not interested,” she replied in the same bland tone. “Third door.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s happening here,” Daniel said. “Whatever you can tell me, I’d appreciate.”

At last, she tore her eyes from the screen and peered at him. She was flawless, her face eerily sculpted, like a doll’s. Daniel had seen faces like hers on magazine cover—airbrushed within an inch of perfection.

“I haven’t seen you before,” she said after a moment. “Are you new?”

“No, I’m old. Well, I’m not old, I...”

A tiny grin quirked one side of her blood-red mouth.

“I’ve never had to come down here,” Daniel said, feeling a bit ashamed. It was like admitting impotence. “Sixteen years, and this is my first time.”

“A virgin.” She raised one eyebrow as she grinned, revealing a space between her two front teeth. The flaw made Daniel like her more. “It’s easy, gorgeous. You’re in room three. ‘Mr. Winter’s office’. Cute, huh?” She giggled. “Winter, iced, killed…anyway. It’s a standard office. Your client is waiting. The door will lock behind you. We’ve got cameras going, so we know what you’re up to in there. No sound, though. Got your tools?”

He blinked at her. “I’m sorry?”

She smirked, then reached under the desk. “What’s your pleasure? Blades? Bullets? Poison?”

“Oh. Uh...” Cameras. His mind raced. “Blade.”

She nodded, seeming to approve of his choice. From beneath the desk she produced a roll of leather, which she opened to reveal half a dozen knives. They all looked sharp, so Daniel slid the first one free, not bothering to survey it too closely. “How do I get out of the room once it’s done? The door locks, you said?”

“Use the card to get in. It’s one way, and once the job’s finished, I’ll let you out.”

“The body?”

“We’ll handle it.” She winked at him as she rolled up the remaining knives, her lips parting once more in an amused smile. “You weren’t joking about being new to this. Sixteen years? How do you usually do this?”

He rolled his eyes. “What do you mean, how do I do this? Do you watch the news? When did murder get corporate?”

She laughed, then turned back to her screen. Daniel snuck a glance at her computer, trying to see what had her so mesmerized. It was a game, some sort of colorful thing with a square grid filled with a rainbow of shapes.

“Thanks,” he muttered, then folded the knife closed and slipped it into his jacket pocket. The key card he kept out.

Third door. Easy enough. He cracked his neck as he approached, trying to decide how to approach the whole thing. Cameras...

John had said the target wanted a meeting. So, let him talk first?

The door was going to be locked. Not like either of them could go anywhere. Two men go in, one comes out, he thought. Cameras, but no sound. That’s what she’d told him, anyway.

Best to tread carefully. If what Blondie said was true, then coming to the basement wasn’t so uncommon. Even so, Daniel didn’t want to come back anytime soon. His kill graded? Himself judged by a panel of unseen superiors? He’d gotten into murder mostly by accident, but doing so allowed him to avoid the kind of bullshit that came with corporate jobs. It was ridiculous that he now found himself subject to a performance review.

A light on the card slot lit up when he inserted the key. He opened the door and stepped inside.

“Daniel,” a bright voice greeted him. “Hey. How about we talk about you trying to kill me?”

The heavy door closed with a solid thunk. Daniel turned, taking in Ronald Atkins’s smiling face. “Let’s,” Daniel replied. Blondie hadn’t been lying—it was a standard office, with a manager’s desk, a subordinate’s chair, and bland wallpaper. He stole a glance at the ceiling corners—no cameras to be seen, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. The mark would have to think it was a normal room, after all.

Ronald had taken the chair behind the desk, so Daniel subjected himself to the less powerful one. Daniel’s tiger growled an objection, the beast’s tension putting him on edge. Something about this whole situation didn’t smell right. Gosh, what a brilliant observer you are, he thought with a healthy dash of sarcasm. Sitting across from the living, breathing man he’d murdered the night before irked his cat. Go figure.

“So.” Ronald folded his hands atop the desk, and grinned at Daniel. “You must have questions.”

Daniel said nothing.

“No? Wow. Man of few words, huh? Last night you were all about hearing me talk, right? Asking me what my last words were?”

More than once, Daniel’s trainers had told him he was a cold motherfucker. An uncaring SOB. Frosty as a witch’s tit had been the colorful colloquialism they’d used. He called on this tendency now, staring at Ronald with dark impatience.

Ronald gave a low whistle as he leaned back in his chair. “See, I figured you’d be dying to know how you could put a bullet in my head and me walk away. Maybe I’m Ronald’s twin. That ever occur to you?”

“Fuck you,” Daniel growled.

“Oh, he does talk!” Ronald’s eyes lit up, his face a touch manic as he slapped the desk with both hands. “Here I was wondering if it was going to be just me talking for the next few weeks. I mean, I love the sound of my voice and all, but—”

“Shut up,” Daniel said, feeling disgusted, then paused. “Wait. The next few weeks?”

“You’re coming home with me, Dapper Dan. The fam is dying to meetcha.”

Daniel stared at him, his brows furrowing.

“Wow…you really don’t remember, do you? I’m insulted.” Ronald gave him a frown, but the mania still glittered behind his eyes. “Maybe this’ll help.” He held up one hand. To Daniel’s utter shock, long claws sprouted from his fingers.

The knife was a reassuring weight in his palm as Daniel jumped from his chair and staggered backward. A flood of memories assaulted him, none of them good. “No,” he choked out. “You’re dead. I fucking killed you.”

“Twice,” Ronald agreed. “Too bad it didn’t take either time.” His facial features had begun to morph, twisting into something vaguely feline. Irises shimmering with a golden hue, he shrugged out of his coat and laid it over the back of the chair. “Remember the night we first met?”

For an answer, Daniel flipped the switchblade open.

“Oh, that’s rich.” Ronald hooted at him as he made his way around the desk. “Tigers don’t die from lead bullets, son. I’m sure you know about the healing, too…cut us, we bleed, and then we heal.”

“So, there’s no way to kill you.” Daniel countered Ronald’s steps. The two circled each other, felines on the prowl. “That means there’s no way to kill me either, shithead.”

“Oh, there’s a way.” Ronald loosened his tie, sliding it from his neck and tossing it on top of his jacket. His claws retreated as he unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. “But I’m not interested in killing you. Like I said, you’re coming home with me. You’ve never had to kill one of our kind before? Really?” He paused. “I guess not. This isn’t really our home turf. You’re far from where you belong, bud.”

Inside, Daniel’s cat screamed, claws blossoming from his own fingers. He curled his hands, aware of the cameras Blondie had mentioned. No matter what, he could not change.

“Do you know why I chose you, Dan?” Ronald toed out of his loafers, then peeled off his socks. It was maddening how casually he stripped down. “Because you’re strong. We need greater numbers, and you’re a valuable male. Do you feel it? The urge for the challenge?”

Daniel swallowed. Oh, he felt it.

“We can’t live in the same area,” Ronald continued. “But there’s enough territory in Texas that it won’t be a problem.”

“Texas,” Daniel said flatly. “Why the fuck would I go to Texas?”

“You aren’t listening, Dan. You don’t have much say in the matter. When I made you, I intended to take you back with me that first night. But you fought. You proved that I’d chosen an excellent alpha male. You’re exactly what we need.” Ronald sighed. “Sadly, an emergency at home pulled me back before I could subdue you.”

“You mean after I left you for dead,” Daniel snarled.

“And when I returned, I couldn’t find you.” Ronald continued as though Daniel hadn’t spoken. “You’d vanished into the city. It wasn’t til you bought that country house that I figured out where you were.”

Daniel gripped the knife tighter. The scent of another male in the room made his vision blur. How had he missed it last night? His skin crawled with the need to shift, but doing so would give him away. “How do I kill you?”

Ronald tsk’d at him. “Doesn’t seem smart, me telling you that.” He stepped from his trousers, folding them neatly and laying them over his jacket. The question of boxers or briefs was moot—the man had gone commando, and now he bent in a feral crouch. “All you have to do is bow to me,” he warned in a low voice. “Bow, and we’ll go home where you belong.”

With that, he shifted, faster than Daniel had thought possible.

Daniel gave a mighty yell as the beast pounced, the tiger’s roar deafening in the tiny space. Leaping aside, Daniel dodged Ronald’s lethal claws and slashed with the knife. His blade scored Ronald’s neck, rewarding him with a gout of blood.

A rumbling growl rolled from the feline throat as Ronald stared him down. Kneel, Daniel heard within his mind. It was more a feeling than a word—a compulsion that made his knees tremble. But the feeling dissipated and his lips parted in a wild snarl.

He would kneel to no one.

One hand shot out, his claws extending as he buried his clenched fist in the animal’s neck. Ronald swiped at him, his claws raking Daniel’s suit to ribbons. Grunting, Daniel threw his weight to the side, slamming the tiger to the ground. Ronald fought back, his eyes wild as Daniel held him, keeping him from escaping. With the knife, Daniel sliced through fur and skin, halting only when he hit bone.

Blood pooled as Daniel cut methodically through Ronald’s neck, his choked noises giving way to wet gurgles and his struggles quieting. It didn’t take long before the body fell completely still.

The door flung open, revealing a white-faced John Dearborn with a hunting rifle tucked into his shoulder. He surveyed the scene with wide eyes and whispered, “Mother of God.”

“Get me a saw,” Daniel rasped as he tossed the knife to the ground. “This cat is being burned in pieces.”