Dallas listened, his stomach filling with jagged shards of lead. Shards that cut, made him bleed internally. “Why won’t the government let us see Jaxon?”

“I honestly don’t know.” Jack sounded like a robot, voice monotone, devoid of any type of emotion. “I’ve requested his return on three separate occasions and was finally told to shut my mouth or lose my job.”

No wonder we monitor this power and destroy those who use it. Dallas could have forced his boss to share his darkest secret. Could have forced his boss to kill every agent in the building.

Such power could be addicting.

“Call Mia.” As he spoke, his blood began to cool and his hold on the mesmerizing intonation faded…slipping from him…finally gone completely. No! He gripped his chair, feeling a bit light-headed and a lot weak. With those ghostly hands, he reached inside himself a second time, but couldn’t find a single light. They’d winked out, vanished. For the moment? Or the rest of his life?

The puppet-glaze disappeared from Jack’s eyes. He shook his head, as though trying to clear his thoughts.

Tense, Dallas waited for his boss to snap at him, fire him, something. But the conversation was never mentioned. Jack had truly forgotten it.

“You look pale,” Jack said, frowning over at him.

Determination pushed Dallas onward. “Tell Mia to return.” Together, they could hunt Jaxon down. They could do what those government officials probably deemed unnecessary: save him. “Please.”

“No.” Jack gave another shake of his head. He rummaged through his top drawer and withdrew a bottle of antacids. “She volunteered to teach at the academy. You know that, just as you know she’s using their database to try and hunt down other halflings, as well as her brother. She won’t appreciate being summoned, and when that woman gets angry, bad things happen.” Jack shuddered and shook a half dozen or so of the little pills into his mouth, chewed, swallowed.

“She’d kill us all if Jaxon dies and she wasn’t even told of his capture. Give her a choice, at least.”

Jack’s frown deepened. “Look. The truth is, I don’t need pressure from her, too, and that’s exactly what I’ll get if she comes back.”

Dallas arched a brow and pinned his boss with a get-real stare. “You’ll also get a bullet in the brain if she finds out you kept this from her.” Sadly, he wasn’t joking. Mia was the epitome of violence. After the upbringing she’d had, Dallas understood that, even sympathized. While she’d calmed down since falling in love with Kyrin en Arr, king of the Arcadians, she was still a frightening enemy to have.

A pause, another sigh. “Fine. I’ll call her and tell her what’s going on. I can’t promise you anything, though, so don’t get your hopes up. She’s been as unpredictable as you lately.”

Probably because they were both bonded to the same Arcadian, but Dallas didn’t mention that. No one but Mia, Dallas, and Kyrin, the alien responsible, knew. Dallas preferred to keep it that way. No reason to solidify what everyone probably already suspected, thereby intensifying their distrust of him.

“Just to prepare you,” he said, “I’m not giving up. I will find Jaxon.”

Jack stared at him for a long while. There was a mix of pride and regret in his eyes. Finally, he ran his tongue over his teeth. “You’re stubborn, have I ever told you that? Kicking you into next week wouldn’t be good enough.” He turned and flipped through the numbers on his holoindex. When he found what he was looking for, he muttered, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He picked up his cell unit and pushed a series of buttons. “I just sent you the number for a new agency. It’s run by two former shadows. Eden Black and Lucius Adaire. They once worked for the government agency that has Jaxon and might know a way around some of the red tape. You did not get their number from me. Understand?”

This was one of the many reasons Dallas loved his boss. “Understand.”

“Now get out of here. You’ve caused my ulcer to flare.”

Grinning, Dallas pushed to his feet. Immediately he regretted the action and lost his smile. Another headache slammed past his temples and straight into his brain. The pain was so excruciating, his knees buckled and he fell straight back into the chair. Shit, once again he couldn’t breathe.

Jack might have asked him a question, but all he could hear was the loud roar of blood in his ears.

The office around him faded, his eyesight completely gone. He was suddenly trapped inside his own mind, no way out. Shouldn’t have cut that cord. He laughed bitterly, or he thought he did; no sound emerged. Images began flashing through his head. He saw a beautiful, golden-skinned Rakan and a human male who looked capable of murder, holding a bucking Jaxon down. Dallas was screaming at them, then racing away a moment later.

This hadn’t happened yet, he realized. He’d done no such thing.

The Rakan and the human were covered in soot and seemed weakened, but still they held firm. Someone stood off to the side. Watching? Dallas couldn’t see the person, only knew that he or she was there.

At the far end of a hallway was a brunette. She, too, was dirty. Bleeding. She was crouched on her knees, her eyes glazed, as if she were drugged. Her features were conflicted. Decisions, decisions sang through his mind. Then he realized the brunette had a decision to make. What, he didn’t know.

Next he saw petite, dark-haired Mia holding a gun to the brunette’s head. “She’s going to kill you!” Mia yelled to Jaxon.

The brunette laughed as if she hadn’t a care. “She’s right, Jaxon.”

Jaxon continued to buck wildly, screaming and screaming. Those screams echoed through Dallas’s mind, making him cringe, nearly making him gag.

Jaxon finally battled his way free, dislodging the weakened couple and grabbing a gun. The brunette grabbed one, too. Mia fired, Jaxon fired, the brunette fired. The faceless someone in the corner fired.

One of the killer beams slammed into Jaxon.

After that, Dallas’s mind short-circuited and blackened. He slumped over, panting, trying to focus on the here and now.

What. The. Hell?

CHAPTER 5

Frustration was like a cancer inside of Le’Ace, eating at her, consuming her inch by inch. Every day her boss contacted her and asked about her progress with Jaxon; every day her answer was the same: I’ve made none.

The words were almost a foreign language on her tongue. She’d never had to utter them before and despised uttering them now. Failure would earn her nothing but pain. Pain she desperately wanted to avoid. Yet she hadn’t pushed Jaxon for more. Every time she considered her options—cut off one of his fingers, try to wipe his brain again, shackle him to the bed—she talked herself out of it.

Why?

The answer eluded her, same as success.

He was a man. Only a man. Nothing special. She recognized the lie immediately. His courage was something to be in awe of, and his internal fire something to envy.

What was she going to do?

He was healing nicely. And yet, he’d seemed to have morphed into a different man entirely. He was polite, reserved, never spoke out of turn, never voiced a dirty word or innuendo as he had in Thomas’s cell. He was the man she’d read about in his file. And she didn’t like it, wanted the old Jaxon back, though she couldn’t name why. The only thing consistent about him was that he refused to answer any of her questions.

Of course, he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to do. He had freedom of choice. She was as jealous about that as she was frustrated with his lack of cooperation. Her entire life, she’d never had a choice.

Actually, no. That wasn’t true. She had one choice, always: life or death. Bad as it was, she wasn’t sure why she held on so tightly to her life or why she continued to obey Estap time and time again. Death would have been easier. But she did hold on, she did obey, always watching those around her, wishing she could experience half of what they did. Love and passion, laughter and companionship.

Just once.

Le’Ace bit back a snort. She’d scaled mountains, engaged in gunfights and knife fights. She’d trekked through land mines, navigated burning buildings, and jumped from planes and moving cars. Hell, she’d even taught teenage girls how to do the same, a definite testament to her strength. But she’d never possessed the courage to stand up and say “No, I won’t do that” or “Kill me, I don’t care.” Not for long. She’d never had the courage to even take a lover, in truth. Someone she desired. Someone her boss hadn’t told her to fuck for intel or to create a sense of trust. Someone she didn’t need to steal from or secretly kill, as only a woman on top of a man could kill.

She’d been too afraid.

Now somehow someone was tempting her to forget her job, her fears, and simply enjoy. It was the “for once” she’d always craved, but she was at a loss. Jaxon’s audacity is a novelty, that’s all.

Right? That would explain why the more she watched him, the more her body reacted to him, hungered for him, even though her mind knew better. Not that she could do anything about it. For her, passion could equal nothing but agony. When she was called away, and she would be, she would leave. If she were told to kill him, she would kill him. No question. No hesitation. Tears? Maybe. She thought she might miss him.

And if they did get together, there was no way in hell he’d want her back if she were ordered to sleep with someone else while they were separated. Much as she might want to, that wasn’t something she’d lie about, pretending she’d been faithful just to keep him.

Unless ordered, she thought bitterly.

How do I handle this?

Over the years she had chased many humans and aliens. She had tortured, and she had coldly, brutally executed. In those situations, she’d known what to do. With Jaxon, she was completely out of her element.

Why? she wondered again. Why was he different?

His stubbornness, perhaps, his strength. If he had a weakness, she hadn’t found it. These past few days, he hadn’t even seemed to have a man’s needs. He hadn’t touched her again, not since they’d lain side by side in bed and she’d pretended to be his wife. He kept his distance as if she were poison.

What if I’d really been his wife?

The thought zipped through her and she couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop the hot pang of longing that followed it, scorching her soul-deep. Would he look at her with all that fire and passion again? Tenderness, even?

Oh, the tenderness had nearly slain her before. No one had ever looked at Mishka Le’Ace that way. People regarded her warily, analytically, fearfully. But not then, not Jaxon. When he’d turned those gorgeous silver eyes on her, all soft and affectionate, she’d wanted so badly for the pretend memories she’d planted in his head to be real.

More wishing, you stupid girl? You know what wishing brings: a whole lot of nothing.

With a sigh, Le’Ace leaned against the living room wall and watched as Jaxon pushed himself out of the wheelchair she’d procured for him and stood, holding the parallel bars she’d installed only that morning. He refused to allow her to help him, insisting on doing his own physical therapy.

His color was good, at least, only traces of yellow and azure remaining on his jawline. Most of the swelling had gone down. His face still wasn’t handsome, would never be handsome, but it was utterly fascinating to her.

A white, jagged scar ran along the right side of his face. An old scar he’d obviously received well before his beating. Now there were several new ones beside it, pink and puffy like kitten scratches.

His silver eyes were framed by short, thick lashes. His nose was a little too long and a lot harsh, crooked, and his cheekbones were sharp as glass shards. Overall, a savage face. Except there was something beguiling about him, something curiously calming. Sometimes, when she looked at him, a sense of peace would float through her, relaxing her shoulders, beckoning her to simply enjoy him.

The relaxation never lasted long, though, because desire was always close on its heels.

“I want a phone, Le’Ace.”

His deep voice snapped her out of her musing. How long had she been staring at him, silent? Warmth blossomed in her cheeks. “There aren’t any landlines in the building.”

“Is your cell broken?”

“No.”

“Let me use it.” Emotionless, unconcerned.

“Nope. Sorry,” she said, hating to deny him.

“Why?” He gripped the bars so tightly his knuckles bleached. Not so unconcerned, after all. Slowly, so slowly, he dipped his weight to his bare feet. A grimace contorted his features, but he remained in place.

“You shouldn’t have cut off the cast,” she admonished. So badly she wanted to go to him, help him, but she knew he’d brush her aside.

“Why can’t I use your cell?” he demanded as if she hadn’t spoken.

“A phone call could be traced.”

“I’ll make it quick.”

“You know as well as I do that a trace takes less than a second.”

He inched forward, one baby step at a time. “What would be so bad about a trace? If we’re friends, partners, as you claim, A.I.R. employees are our allies.”

Well, let’s see. The New Chicago agents wouldn’t know her, wouldn’t trust her, and would try to take Jaxon away from her. Oh, and there was the little matter of violating a direct order. Jaxon was to have no contact with his friends. That way, he would feel isolated and cling to Le’Ace.

In theory, at least, she mentally added with a frown. He had yet to cling. With every minute that passed, he seemed to draw farther and farther away from her.