He watched the blond kid scribble a few things down on a notepad before tossing it aside.

“Can we record this?” the kid asked, pulling a small voice recorder out of his pocket.

Before he could answer, their leader, Jackson, gave him a firm no. Cole was glad about that. There were already too many people here at this house. He felt the noose around his neck tighten with every new person that knew him and his story. That kid and whatever damned story he was working on wouldn’t help things in the least.

“What’s that for?” Cole asked him, watching the notepad return to the kid’s knees.

“I’m working with Annica.”

Great. Another person he didn’t want to talk to who likely already knew the entire story.

This location, too . . . This house, and people in it, were definitely not what he’d expected and dreaded during the mostly silent ride out of the city. He had tried not to think about the obvious, what he almost certainly thought would be his last car ride. His last location, wherever they chose to dump the body.

He supposed it was only fitting that Annica had something to do with his rescue, if he could call it that.

“I’m a reporter,” the kid said, knocking the back of his pen against the pad.

“He’s the intern.”

Cole followed the direction of that familiar sound, a familiar voice though lacking its usual hushed urgency. He’d known it before as the sound of desperation, of fear, a blood-curdling scream lurking just under the surface. No, it was sweet and easy, and almost as pretty as the woman behind it. Annica.

“They’re getting some food together,” she said, motioning back to the kitchen from where she came.

He had no taste for food right now.

She sat next to her news buddy, sliding over to the side a little bit so their bodies weren’t touching. “Can we get you anything else in the meantime?”

“When can we talk this over?”

“Whenever you want.”

Cole looked to the kitchen doorway. “With them?”

“Yeah, we can wait for the others.”

“I don’t care about them,” he said, glancing to the guy next to her. “I just want this kid to take it easy.”

“With the notes?” she asked. He nodded. “Take it easy,” Annica told him.

“What about the other two?” Cole said. “In the van.”

“Can you tell me what happened?” Annica said.

He checked on the kid again. He had put the pad and pen away, this time not bothering with the recorder but just sitting there, hands crossed. Cole looked at Annica. “Can we go outside for that?”

“After.”

“After . . . dinner?”

“Sure,” Annica said. “But I just need to know. Are you Cole?”

He took a deep breath, and said, “Yes. My name is Cole Hunter.”

“My contact? The whistle-blower?”

He nodded.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I couldn’t risk it,” Cole said. “I wasn’t sure at first. You shocked the hell out of me, falling through the ceiling like that. Then before I could get close enough to figure it out for sure, Roger had arrived. And then . . .” He trailed off, his words stolen away by the blank look on Annica’s face. Her sudden pallor seemed to draw in light and energy, and his concentration. “I feel the same way,” he said finally.

“Shock?”

Cole nodded. “And relief.”

“Yeah,” she said. “For a few reasons.” Annica turned her head away, looking instead toward the doorway, from which his two “captors” emerged. He had learned now that they were Tucker Quinn and Macy Chandler, associates of a Washington-based security company. What Cole knew of DARC Ops was even more limited. He knew they handled security in a broader sense, even going as high as national security at times. They were hackers and tech specialists, not armed thugs watching over drug shipments. The two companies were security—related, yes, but they couldn’t be more different.

“No hard feelings?” Tucker said to him.

“It’s all good.”

“You sure?” Macy asked. “Your wrists okay?”

He looked down at them, rubbing his hand around his left wrist. The bones were a little sore, but he’d be okay. “I’m fine,” he told her, offering a smile since they’d probably only seen his scowl. “Better you guys than whoever else they sent after me.”

Tucker nodded. “We fixed your phone, by the way.”

“How?” Cole said. “Did you smash it with a hammer?”

“Have you ever heard of a Faraday cage?”

“No.”

“Well, I guess it’s more of a box,” Tucker said. “It completely isolates your phone from any signal, so it can’t be traced. You’ll want to keep it in there until we get one of our guys to look at it.”

“Who?” Annica asked. “I thought it’s just the five of us.”

“Six?” the kid next to Annica said.

Cole figured he’d join in. “Seven,” he said, smiling at Annica. “If you’re working with her, then I know it’s all good.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Jackson said, walking into the room, holding a tray. “We need you, Cole. You’re that missing ingredient that could piece this whole thing together.”

“And you’re the start of it all,” Annica said. “You set this in motion, everything, everyone here, starting with that first email to me.”

“I had no idea,” Cole said. “I mean, just yesterday I wasn’t even sure if I’d be . . . um . . . coming back here.” He noticed, after he said that, a flicker of life in Annica’s eyes. She already knew so much about him. He’d almost forgotten everything that happened before Batchewana, the weeks of email exchanges. The slow build up. The fear and excitement. The release of endorphins with each new message from her.

She was still looking at him, her gaze focused intently. Now it was his turn to look away, his gaze falling on Jackson. Another military guy by the looks of him. He was nodding confidently.

“I heard you talking about the Faraday cage,” Jackson said. “You won’t be needing that much longer. And I don’t mean that Tansy’s almost here. I think there’s a quicker way of dealing with this.”

“Yeah,” Cole said. “I think so, too.”