Chapter One

Where was the damn helicopter? They couldn’t hold these bastards off much longer.

Dan Romeo wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his camo shirt and slammed another magazine into his rifle. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to turn out, although they always had to prepare for it. A sign over his desk back in Baltimore read NOTHING IN LIFE IS EVER SIMPLE. In his business, Dan considered it a motto.

He was so sure their mission had been successful. Five days ago Drummond Laboratories had placed an emergency call to Phoenix, the agency in which Dan was the senior partner. Drummond’s CEO, Hank Nolan, had been captured by guerillas in Mexico, the kidnapping capital of the world. They’d snatched him right off the street in Acapulco, where he’d been vacationing with his family.

The people from Drummond made sure Phoenix understood the feds could not be involved. The guerilla group had threatened to cut off Nolan’s head if the feds were contacted. Cut their losses, so to speak. These kidnap-for-ransom groups were getting bolder every day, especially in Mexico.

Drummond hadn’t balked for an instant at the fee Dan quoted him.

So Dan had put the team together, and using bribes, snitches, and other sources of information, they’d found the location of the guerilla camp. They’d suited up, and Mike D’Antoni, pilot extraordinaire and another of the partners, dropped them into the humid, insect-infested Mexican jungle. Where they were going was definitely not a vacation spot.

They’d hiked to the camp location in stealth mode, using the sounds of the jungle animals as cover for their movements as often as they could. Then they’d concealed themselves in the surrounding jungle. Watching. Waiting. Timing the guards. Identifying where Nolan was being held. Learning the rhythm of the camp. For Dan, a former Force Recon Marine, jobs like this were no different from the missions he’d led in Afghanistan and Iraq. The same methods applied.

At last, when they’d gathered sufficient information, the men put their plan together. Waiting until full dark and using the covert skills they’d learned from years in the military, they made their way to the rear of the camp. Silently, with the team working like a well-oiled piece of machinery, all parts moving as designed, they took out the two guards in front of the shack where Nolan was being held. Then, moving swiftly, they backed out of the camp, half-carrying Nolan, until they reached the safety of the surrounding flora and fauna.

As soon as they were far enough away to use the satellite radio safely, Dan had called in for extraction, and Mike radioed he was on his way to get them. The two men set their coordinates, and the team took off to meet the chopper. But Nolan had been tied up for two weeks and half-starved. In his deteriorated condition he’d had trouble keeping up, so they’d finally had to carry him. That delayed them, giving the kidnappers, once they realized their prize was gone, time to pursue the rescue team with AK-47s and other assorted weapons.

Now Dan and his group were pinned down at the extraction point, and the guerillas were moving closer. Machine-gun bullets rained down everywhere, punctuated by the screeches of the howler monkeys and the squawks of tropical birds. Dan could only pray the kidnappers didn’t have rocket-propelled grenades with them. That could take down not just the team but also the helicopter. Disaster didn’t begin to describe what that outcome would be.

Then, at last, he heard the distinctive whump-whump of the helicopter blades, and his comm unit crackled in his ear.

“I am above you and ready to extract,” Mike said. “Looks like you need a little covering fire.”

“No shit,” Dan answered. “Get that ladder down and have the shotgun riders start peppering these bastards.”

The chopper now hovered directly over them. Someone pitched the rope ladder from the open cabin door, and it hung tantalizingly in the air. Two Phoenix men were balanced on the chopper skids, spraying the area around them with machine-gun fire. The occasional shrieks let everyone know that at least some of the bullets had found a target.

Dan hoisted Nolan onto the ladder and motioned for one of the guys in the cabin above just to pull the damn thing up. In seconds, Nolan was inside the chopper and the ladder was dropped again. Firing into the surrounding area as they climbed, and aided by the gunners above them, each man scrambled up to the helo’s cabin, then reached to help the one behind him.

Dan was last, as usual, holding on to the ladder with one hand and his machine gun with the other. He was gratified to hear more screams of pain as hands pulled him through the opening to safety.

“Go now,” he shouted to Mike, who needed no urging to pull up and away.

As they lifted into the sky, the two Phoenix gunners continued to fire until the chopper reached a safe altitude.

“Sorry to cut it so close, Danny boy,” Mike yelled at him. “We had to wait for some other air traffic to clear. They didn’t look like they wanted to invite us for afternoon cocktails.”

“These damn thugs are getting better equipped all the time,” Dan cursed. “We’re having to run our asses off just to stay ahead of them.”

He looked around him and studied the activity. The men were all checking their guns, making sure they had full clips just in case a surprise awaited them somewhere along the line. The medic on their team was attending to Hank Nolan, expertly starting an IV even under the extreme conditions, and then cleaning his wounds.

“Mostly malnutrition,” he told Dan over the roar of the chopper’s blades. “And shock. He’ll be a long time forgetting this little trip.”

Dan leaned back against the cabin wall, regulated his breathing, then checked again to make sure everyone else was okay.

“You earned yourself a little downtime after this,” Mike yelled from the cockpit. “Don’t you think? A break from the office? Maybe a little R and R?”

Dan gave his partner a lopsided grin. He knew what that meant. Get your ass out of town and get some rest before taking on another mission. Give your body some rest. He had to agree that Mike was right. At thirty-eight years old, he was getting a little past the age for this kind of activity.

“Chase Carpenter invited me to come to San Antonio,” he told Mike. “His company has created a sophisticated new robot that supposedly is undetectable and can do everything but sing and dance. He’s having a big unveiling next Friday, with lots of military brass, top cops, and international corporations. He thought it might be something the agency could use.”

Mike grinned. “Knowing Chase, it’s a high-ticket item. Do we get a discount for being friends?”

Dan laughed. “I’ll ask him.”

“You ought to take him up on it,” Mike insisted. “And while you’re there, you could see Mark and Faith.” Mike chuckled. “And interrupt his vacation.”

Mark Halloran was the newest partner in Phoenix. He and his wife, a bestselling author of political thrillers, were both telepaths, a psychic ability that had been the determining factor in Mark’s successful rescue from terrorists in Peru. At the time, he’d been a Delta Force team leader. A highly placed defense department official, who had been taking payoffs from the arms dealer Mark’s team was sent to take out, had blown the whistle on the mission.

Only Mark and one other member of his team had survived the ambush they’d walked into. Joey Latrobe, whose brother was a Phoenix partner, had managed to hide himself from the terrorists until he could be extracted, even though he’d been seriously wounded.

Mark had been held in the terrorist camp, and his only communication with the outside world had been the telepathic messages he’d exchanged with Faith. Like a raging virago, she’d taken on Washington and the Pentagon, and when no one else would help her, had turned to Phoenix, even going along on the rescue mission.

Dan had to smile when he thought of her courage. It would be nice to see her again.

“Maybe I’ll do that,” he told Mike now. “But not before taking the world’s longest shower and eating the biggest steak I can find.”

* * * * *

No. I’m tired. That’s all that’s wrong.

Mia Fleming put aside the art book lying open on her desk, closed her eyes, and rubbed her temples. She’d been staring at the photo of the Da Vinci painting too long, that was all. As the art historian and assistant curator at the DeWitt Museum, she was immersed in research for the private collection due to arrive at the museum next month. Part of her job was to gather information for the brochures that were printed and the press kits they distributed. And as usual, she’d been overdoing it. But it was rare that she had a Friday when her boss was away and she could work uninterrupted.

Shoving long, brown hair, the color of rich chocolate, back behind her ears, she pulled the book forward and began to study the page again. And there it was. Just as before. Shimmering in the center of the photo of the Da Vinci painting. An ugly rock that looked like a misshapen lump of clay, bumping along, wobbling back and forth, with a pair of hands reaching for it. Then nothing except the original picture, undisturbed.

God, not again. Please, please, please. Choose someone else, okay?

Why did she have to be the one these things happened to? Why did she have to have what her grandmother called a “special gift”? More like a curse than a blessing, the woman often said.

But Mia couldn’t tear her eyes away from the book. The image on the page kept shifting, first the photo of the painting, now that stupid little rock with its jerky movements. Finally, the shadowy hands reaching for it. Like a broken record, the vision continued to repeat itself over and over, taunting her to find its hidden meaning.

Mia slammed the book shut and shoved it away. It was just like always. How on earth was she supposed to figure out what the vision meant? A rock was a rock, right? Still, she’d learned to be extra cautious over the years. The images that came to her without warning and at the strangest times were not always easy to interpret. She’d been wrong more times than she’d been right because she’d misinterpreted what she’d seen. Or because the visions had come to her after the fact. She had no training in deciphering these things and certainly no place to go to find any.

When she was younger, there had been an edge of desperation to her determination to find answers. Getting people to listen to her was a battle in and of itself. Her parents had always considered her a strange child—aloof and shy but apparently making up weird stories to capture attention. They never believed her stories about “visions.”

“Don’t keep telling people those crazy stories,” her mother said too often to count. “They’ll think you’re crazy. They’ll think we’re all crazy.”

“The neighbors are all talking,” her father admonished her. “I don’t want them pointing fingers at our family.”

They even sent her to a psychiatrist who was supposed to “deprogram” her. What a lot of fun that had been.

But still the visions continued to plague her. Too often the images had been too vague or misleading, and now she’d almost become a pariah. When she did succeed in getting someone to listen, and her vision ended up being helpful, the media called it a fluke. The frustration of not being able to make people understand the things she saw, combined with the rejection because of her “oddness,” had ultimately caused her to isolate herself from everyone else.

When she finally escaped to the University of Michigan, she convinced her father to pay the extra money for a single dorm room, then eventually, she moved into a studio apartment. She chose art history as her major because she could lose herself in the richness of the creations of the artists and sculptors, the potters and temple rubbers. The orderliness of delineating art history gave her a personal discipline that allowed her to exert some measure of control over her existence.

The visions, for whatever reason, came less frequently while she was at school, as well as all the way through her postgraduate studies. When they did come, they were so fractured that she made herself ignore them, even if the effort sometimes made her physically ill.

But when she was finally finished with her studies and sporting her brand new PhD, the visions came roaring back. Not knowing how or when they’d appear, she isolated herself more and more, except at work. She lived alone in her apartment, surrounded by the books and music she loved. It wasn’t that she was antisocial or weak, just self-protective. It took strength to deal with the impact of her visions and the primarily negative responses she’d learned to live with.

Her life, for the most part, was focused on her career with the museum. Her job as art historian suited her perfectly, since it allowed her to work alone the majority of the time. She was always on edge, anticipating that a vision would explode from nowhere. Being isolated allowed her to deal with them without distraction or embarrassment. During those instances when she had to meet with the museum curator, she found herself praying that she would not be disrupted by one of her visions. They came without warning, and she didn’t think Dr. Hunter would be too impressed by them. For someone who appreciated art, he was definitively black-and-white in his outlook.

Today, thank God, he was away on a trip and unlikely to wander into her office unannounced. Her newest vision had disrupted her work half a dozen times already this week. Just seconds each time. That was all. A brief flash. But it wouldn’t go away, and she had no idea what message she was supposed to read into it.

She’d almost begun to believe that whatever was causing this to happen to her had disappeared. She hadn’t had one of what she’d taken to calling her “episodes” in months now and had almost begun to relax, thinking they’d gone away for good. Not so. Her stomach was doing the jitterbug as it always did at the beginning of one of her incidents, and an aspirin-proof headache was already beginning to build behind her eyes.

And then, without warning, a sharp pain stabbed her head. She leaned back in her chair, eyes closed, willing whatever was after her to go away. Then, shockingly, the headache eased, and a sense of peaceful bliss stole over her. No, more than that. Erotic feelings were creeping through her body, dampening her bikini panties, and making her breasts ache inside the silken cups of her bra.

The image of the man that now shimmered before her shook her, both because of its startling clarity and because he was so completely, devastatingly masculine. Tall and lean with muscles rippling enticingly beneath his olive skin, he had obsidian eyes and black hair that touched the nape of his neck. His face had a grimness that bespoke too much exposure to life’s misery.

And he was nearly naked!

Clad only in tight-knit boxers, she saw the strength of his thighs and the impressive bulge of an erection that made her mouth water.

I want to fuck you.

Shock vibrated through her. Had he actually said that, or did she just imagine it? Imagine, of course. This wasn’t real. She’d heard voices before but never like this. Never focused on her so personally. Never erotic! And why now was she having one of her rare visions where the image was as clear as if this man had really been in her presence? She was aware of every detail of the vision, awake yet in a trance at the same time. Sensuality radiated from his body, reaching out to her like shimmering tentacles of heat.

Did you hear me? I want to fuck you. Take off your clothes.

An unfamiliar urgency gripped her, and she had her blouse unbuttoned and half-off before she snapped back to reality. She blinked her eyes, hard, and the image disappeared. Her hands were shaking, and she was sweating. But more than that, the pulse in her womb throbbed with an insistent beat, demanding attention. Craving release.

What the hell?

She could barely catch her breath.

An unfamiliar bolt of lust speared through her, and her body was so hot she was sure she had a fever. She had a sense of actually watching herself, not being a part of this, even as she felt every throb, every sizzle, every electrified enhancement of her senses.

On legs not quite steady she stumbled to her office door, then closed and locked it. Her trembling body collapsed into her desk chair, and with almost frantic haste she unzipped her slacks and splayed her legs. Something blazing in the core of her was demanding satisfaction, craving release. Every sense she possessed, normal and psychic, was on high alert. Desperately, she slid her hand under the silk of her panties until she found her very wet core. The tips of her fingers grazed across her clit, and shock raced through her, intensifying the low thrum in her body.

Mia leaned her head back and started to close her eyes.

Open your eyes.

The voice was rough, commanding. Her eyes flew open.

Watch me while you do that.

Watch him? But as she fastened her gaze on him the boxers melted away, and he stood before her in magnificent glory with an erection that defied description. Long and thick, it jutted from a nest of black curls that seemed to glisten. Slowly he wrapped the long fingers of one hand around his erection and stroked slowly from root to tip and back again.

Don’t close your eyes.

Now she couldn’t have closed them if she wanted to. As she rubbed her clit, letting the pleasure streak through her, he matched the strokes of his hand to the motion of hers. Fire danced in his dark eyes, and every plane and angle of his face stood out in stark relief.

The walls of her sex were already quivering, anticipating the release that was spiraling through her so quickly. Faster, faster. She increased her movements, and so did he, the broad head of his cock seeming to swell before her eyes.

Now, he commanded.

It took only a few more strokes before her climax gripped her, shaking her body, muscles clenching and unclenching. She pushed three fingers into her slick flesh and bucked against them, hunching and moaning as her cream flooded her hand. At the same time his big body tensed, and ejaculate spurted from the slit on the head, spilling over onto his fingers. He held himself motionless until the tension stole from his body as it did from hers.

Next time take off all your clothes.

Next time?

Holy mother. What next time?

Quiet at last but weak, Mia leaned back in the chair, waiting for her breathing to even out and some measure of strength to return to her body. Finally she blinked her eyes, and the vision shimmered and disappeared.

What had just happened here? What had she just done? Masturbating in her office was never on her to-do list. And who in God’s name was the man in that delicious vision, who had poked himself into her brain? In all the years since she’d first realized she had extrasensory abilities, she’d never had a vision like this one. Not even close. And certainly not one who spoke to her. What was going on with her brain?

She reached into the drawer for her purse, took out her hand mirror, and examined her face. Her eyes had an unusual slumberous look, her cheeks were flushed, and somehow her hair had acquired a mussed appearance. She looked as if she’d, well, as if she’d just been . . . been . . . fucked. Well, that would never do. Not for proper Mia Fleming, museum staff member, who certainly never masturbated at her desk.

She wondered whether somehow she’d fallen for a moment into an alternate universe?

Digging in her purse again, she found one of the wipes she habitually carried and dabbed her face, then wiped every trace of fluids from her hand.

Holy hell!

When she was sure she had herself under control again, she stacked everything in neat piles on her desk and put away her pen and magnifying glass. Okay, time to go home. Letting out a slow breath, she rose to her feet, making sure she was steady enough to walk out of the building to her car. She needed to get her visions under control—the one with more clarity so she could interpret it better, the other to disappear. She didn’t need very sexy men showing up in her mind and destroying her control like that.

What she needed was a hot bath and a glass of wine. And a good night’s sleep.

* * * * *

The five people sitting in the darkened conference room stared at the big flat-screen monitor hanging on the wall. The lean, sandy-haired man was doing his best to sit quietly, but the rubber band he kept stretching betrayed his edginess. When he and his head design engineer had first discussed the project, they’d seen it as an almost unattainable challenge.

But as they’d begun developing it, trying different things, testing different components, their level of excitement had risen. Now an enormous amount of money had gone into this project—the most expensive they’d attempted yet. Today they’d find out whether the investment was worth it.

The picture on the screen showed an adobe house, one story, sitting on a sandy lot surrounded by scraggly looking plants and a scattering of rocks. To one side was a rusted pickup, parked next to a dilapidated shed. There was absolutely nothing to relieve the depressing air of the place.

Suddenly one of the larger rocks, about six inches in diameter, began to move forward, its progress a series of jerks and bumps. The house was abruptly lit up with six infrared heat signatures. A thin wire emerged from the top of the rock, extending upward, and the darkened room was alive with static-filled sound, cackling from the speakers mounted in the corners.

“Need to be prepared . . .

“Guards posted at every exit . . .

“New shipment due in tonight . . .”

The rocklike object continued to move forward until it was about ten feet from the house. A team of fifteen men, all in black, moved in silently from both sides of the screen and surrounded the house. The observers watched as, stealthlike, the team moved forward. The sound of the front and back doors slamming open echoed in the dark room. Then a series of shots. Fast. Not loud, more like the soft pops bullets made on guns with suppressors. The people directing the exercise had decided to use the silencers to make sure the robot could pick up the softer noise.

When the team emerged from the house they herded four other men in front of them who were covered in red. One of the men in black touched his lip mike.

“Perfect, boss. Just like you planned it. Did you get it all?”

The man at the center of the conference table in the darkened room picked up a tiny microphone in front of him and depressed a button. “Every bit of it. What about pictures?”

“Oscar was busy snapping away. The miniature camera eye works great. Ray said everything went directly to the laptop. He’s sending the file to you right now.”

“Good job. Bring your guys back so they can wash off all that paint you sprayed them with.”

The man in black laughed. “I think they look kind of cute. A few paintballs never hurt anyone.”

“You’ve had your fun. Give them a break.”

“Okay. On our way.”

Chase Carpenter put down the mike. He was a tall man, lean, with sandy hair and dark-brown eyes. His ready smile had fooled too many people, much to their chagrin, into thinking he was easily led. But those people never looked beyond that “gee whiz” façade. Every line of his body shouted power, and his eyes always blazed with fierce concentration.

“Lights, please,” he requested.

One of the other men got up and flicked the light switch.

“Well?” Chase looked at the other three people in the room. “Looked good to me.”

Lucas Grant, his partner, nodded his head. “I agree. If Oscar’s pictures look as good as everything else, we’re set.”

“Impressive demonstration.” Ladd Tolbert, Chase’s personal attorney as well as the legal representative for Carpenter Techtronics, put the pen he’d been fiddling with back in his pocket, stood up, and stretched. “I have to say, I wasn’t sure you could do it.”

“As long as the numbers prove out, we’ll be in great shape.” Paul Harrison, the company’s chief financial officer, only looked at things in terms of cost ratio and projected income. “But I have to admit, I’m impressed.

The man at the light switch, Stan Forbush, Carpenter’s chief design engineer and the leader on the project, couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. “All accolades gratefully accepted.” He turned to Chase. “I’d like to tinker a little more with the microphone, see if we can get a little better reception.”

Lucas looked from one man to the other and shrugged, his thick muscles flexing beneath his shirt. He was dark to Chase’s light, thick to the other man’s lean body. Their personalities contrasted as much as their physical appearances. “Seems to me we’re doing okay as it stands. We got all the heat signatures, placed the location of everyone in the house, and picked up the conversation. If the pictures are clear we’re good to go.”

“You know me,” Stan objected. “I’m always fine-tuning.”

“Like I said, that’s fine with me,” Lucas stressed. “Just as long as we’re good to go next week for the press conference.”

“We’ll be all set,” Chase assured him. “No one else has been able to miniaturize a robot this much and still get all the data needed. This will be a hot commodity, not just for the government but also for police departments, corporations, and private security agencies. The press conference will go off as planned.”

“And then the bucks will roll in,” Lucas predicted.

“I’m counting on it,” Paul told him.

Chase’s face sobered. “I want all security on this double- and triple-checked, Lucas. And biometric scans for the room where the prototype will be locked up. I invited Dan Romeo from Phoenix to the demonstration. He’ll be here a couple of days early so he can go over everything with you.”

Lucas’s face darkened. “I can handle it. I don’t need a nursemaid or a babysitter.”

“And I’m not giving you one. But Phoenix designed the biometric system and installed it, so they should give it a final check. And if we need to beef up security, they can help us with it. We can’t afford to take any chances.”

“I’m telling you, it’s all taken care of,” his partner assured him. “We’re tighter than Fort Knox.”

“It never hurts to hedge your bets. Too much has gone into this to have it blow up in our faces at the last minute.”

“Trust me.” Lucas’s voice had picked up just a tiny edge to it. “It’s done.”

Chase raised an eyebrow. “Do you have some reason for not wanting Dan to check things over?”

Lucas grinned. “Nope. Sorry for arguing. I’m just a little uptight, too. And you’re right. The more eyes on the prize, the better off we’ll be.”

Chase looked around the room. “All right, then. Stan, let’s you and me meet in my office and go over whatever tinkering you think you want to do. Lucas, you’re also going to check with marketing to make sure everything’s set on their end, right?”

“Jesus, Chase.” He blew out a breath and shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’re my partner, not my mother. Relax, buddy. I said everything would be fine, and it will be.”

“This is the biggest thing we’ve done yet,” Chase reminded him. “This project will bump our competitors off the map, so I think I’m entitled to be a little overprotective.”

“Chase, why don’t we go to your office first,” Ladd broke in, “and you can take that fine old bottle of cognac out from its hiding place. We can have a toast and enjoy the prospect of our success for just a few minutes.” He looked from one partner to the other. “And the two of you can stop sniping at each other.”

Chase allowed himself a small laugh. “You’re right. Sorry, Lucas. I’m being a horse’s ass. Let’s go get that drink.”

They filed out of the conference room, Lucas and Stan still deep in conversation.

“You’re the glue,” Ladd said in a quiet voice.

Chase gave him a sharp glance. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. The lynchpin. The one who holds it all together. This is the biggest thing this company has done yet. If you’re on edge, everyone else will be, too.”

“I tell you, Ladd, I just have the strangest feeling. I can’t put my finger on it. Like something’s out of place but I can’t see it.”

“You’re also the chief worrier,” Ladd said with a chuckle. “Come on. Let’s go toast to the success of Carpenter Techtronics. We’ve all earned it.”

* * * * *

Although it was well into the evening, the Carpenter Techtronics building was lit up as if it were the middle of the day. Teams always worked seven days a week, 24/7 in three shifts, on the highly specialized electronic units that the company was famous for.

Standing at the elevator, Chase marveled at the success of the company bearing his name. Not so very long ago he’d quit his job at a large engineering design firm, cashed in his retirement fund, and taken a chance on his own startup company. He began in an incubator building—a place created especially to nurture new businesses and provide them with assistance—with only Stan and two other employees.

Almost before he turned around, Carpenter Techtronics had grown from a small, boutique-type company to their current status as a leader in the world of specialized electronics. The expansion had taken a giant leap forward when Lucas Grant joined the firm as a partner. Bringing with him a suitcase full of contacts and the ability to sell anything to anybody, he told Chase he was buying into a company that he saw on the verge of explosive growth. With the corporate and government contracts he’d negotiated for them, they’d had the capital to move to their present location and the reputation to attract the high-dollar clients.

Sometimes Chase had to pinch himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

He knew he was obsessive about security, but corporate espionage was the crime du jour, especially when the military, police departments, and private agencies were hungry for the kind of electronics Carpenter was known for. The kind that could give them an edge in whatever war they were fighting. Carpenter was known for having security that was impervious to breaches, and Chase had no intention of changing that now.

Once a prototype had sold, production cranked into high gear. The units were manufactured on four floors of the ten-story building. Then they were sent to packaging and shipping in the basement. Security guards and a member of the design team carefully watched over every phase of production.

Now, thanks to his idea and Stan’s genius at engineering design, Carpenter Techtronics was about to take a giant leap forward. He could feel the excitement hum throughout the building. Any time a new project was underway, the guards were doubled, just in case someone got itchy fingers or an outside source tried to breach the building. This time the project was so revolutionary security was even more important.

He thought about this as he biometrically unlocked the door to the vault where Oscar’s prototype was stored.

He stopped now in front of the plexiglass block where the robot was kept, resting from the earlier demonstration. The pictures the team had received from Oscar’s miniature camera had incredible clarity. These were only of the exterior, but they could detect any hidden sources of danger to a waiting team. And in a case where interior shots were needed, Oscar could be inserted into a building with no problem at all. The images the tiny camera could transmit to the computer might possibly save lives in a hostage situation or help prevent a mission from going south.

Chase stared at the small object for a long time, then left the room, locking the door after him using the special code.

Tomorrow he would double-check with Lucas on all the arrangements for the announcement and the reception following. Their division of labor worked very well for them. Chase was the engineer, the nuts and bolts man. Lucas was the glad-hander, something Chase felt uncomfortable doing. So far it had worked very well that way.

He checked his watch. His fiancée, Joy Rivers, was sure to be waiting for him in his office. Lately their quality time had been in short supply. As excited as she was for him about Oscar, the demands on his time had begun to wear thin with her, and she hadn’t been shy about letting him know it.

People were fooled by her appearance. Tiny, with long blonde hair and pale-blue eyes, she looked like an angel made of spun sugar. But she had a core of steel that gave her strength and determination. The very thing that had drawn him to her in the first place. Joy knew what she wanted out of life, and she was going to get it. And he, Chase, was going to give it to her.

After the announcement I’ll have more time. Maybe we’ll go away for a long vacation, make some plans for the wedding. If I can just get past next Friday.

The guard nodded to him as headed down the hall. “Good night, Mr. Carpenter.”

“Keep a close eye on Oscar,” Chase told him.

“Don’t you worry,” the guard grinned. “The little fellow’s safe on my watch.”

“We have a lot riding on him,” Chas reminded him.

All the guards on all shifts had been briefed on the importance of the project.

“He’s in good hands,” the guard assured him.

He’d better be. This is our crowning achievement.

When he let himself back into his office, Joy was standing at the picture window overlooking downtown San Antonio. From this vantage point the lights and colorful attractions of the city’s famed Riverwalk were clearly visible. Off to the left was the building where the movie, Cloak and Dagger, starring Dabney Coleman, had been shot. When he’d first pointed it out to Joy, she’d insisted they rent the movie, and surprisingly, it had become one of her favorites. It wasn’t along the lines of her usual tastes.

When the door opened she turned toward him, a smile on her face. “Put the baby to bed yourself?”

“You know me. I always need to check things with my own eyes.”

She came over to him and slid her arms around his waist, tilting her head back to look up at him.

“How about going home and putting this baby to bed?” she teased.

Heat flashed through him. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day. Let’s get the hell out of here.”