Prologue
Why now?
Agent Lauren Parker pulled the car up outside the Hotel Flores, slammed her foot on the brake, and twisted in her seat to face Zach. “The timing is shit. I hate coincidences. Tell me you don’t think this is a huge fucking coincidence?”
Last night they’d been ordered to back off. Until they got the go-ahead from their boss, they were not to take the investigation further. Not only that, but they weren’t to speak about it to anyone.
And yet here they were, in Paris, about to meet a man who’d said he had information, and he would only talk to Zach. Nobody else. And she didn’t like it.
He gave a loud sigh. “Look, you don’t need to be part of this. You can wait outside. Plausible deniability.”
“Right. And then who’ll watch your back?”
Because that’s what partners did. But she was risking her career. Hell, they both were, but Zach didn’t seem to care. He wasn’t thinking clearly. He’d asked her to trust him. And she did. Mostly. But he wanted this too much. He believed something big was coming, an attack that could change the world. And only he could stop it. Delusions of grandeur? Maybe.
She switched off the engine. Outside, the rain lashed down out of a gray sky, punctuated by the occasional flash of lightning. Very fitting for her mood. She climbed out of the car and handed the keys to the valet. A uniformed doorman waited beside the car with an umbrella and walked them to the door.
As they entered the reception area she turned for one last try. “You’re certain you want to do this?”
“Yeah, I’m certain.” Now he sounded pissed off, probably because it was far from the first time she’d asked.
“There’s still time to go through the proper channels.” She didn’t know why she was pushing it. Except she had a bad feeling—the churning in the gut sort of bad feeling. Like something was alive in there and trying to claw its way out.
“Relax,” Zach said, and she growled. He’d been her partner at MI6 for three years. He should have learned by now that relaxing was not her strong point. “Nothing is going to go wrong,” he continued.
She snorted. “Yeah, says the man who recently predicted the end of the world as we know it.”
“Not the end, maybe. Just a change of management.”
Her partner had a theory. When he’d first run it past her, she’d been skeptical. He’d convinced her in the end. If she stepped back, looked at the bigger picture, the patterns emerged.
And the sheer enormity of that picture terrified her.
Over the last decade there had been an escalation of seemingly unrelated terrorist attacks. Except Zach didn’t think they were unrelated. He believed there was someone, whether an individual or an organization, at the center of it all, orchestrating a plan. Like a spider at the center of a web, spinning it ever wider, sucking people in from all areas of society—government, military, big businesses—using terrorist activities to break allegiances and forge new ones, putting pieces in place.
But in place for what? What was the ultimate goal?
As he made to move forward, she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “How well do you really know this guy? You trust him?”
He turned to her; one eyebrow raised. “Well enough. And I don’t trust anyone.” He paused as if rethinking what he’d said. “Except for you, of course.”
She snorted. “Thanks.”
The reception area was a vast expanse of white marble and dark red velvet, and the cloying scent of flowers perfumed the air. It radiated a sense of prosperity, and Lauren rolled her shoulders, forcing her tense muscles to relax. “Hey, this place is nice. Perhaps we should book a room.”
Zach smiled, softening the harsh features of his face. “Perhaps we should.”
For the last six months, they’d been skirting around a growing attraction, both aware it was there, but neither ready to change the status quo. Now was not the time. Likely never.
“The bar’s over there,” she said, waving a hand. She wanted to get this over with. “I wish I had a gun.” They weren’t here in any official capacity—which meant they were both unarmed, which made her twitchy as hell.
“You won’t need a gun,” Zach assured her.
The bar was in semi-darkness—atmospheric, she supposed, the walls more dark red, the furniture mahogany. Very tasteful. Not her thing at all. There were a total of twelve people sitting at various points around the room. Most of them alone.
“There he is,” Zach said, nodding toward a solitary man sitting in a booth near the opposite end of the bar. His hands were clenched together in front of him, his head turned away so she couldn’t make out any identifying features.
Zach was already on the move and she hurried to catch up. But her feet slowed as they got closer. Something didn’t feel right. She glanced at Zach, but he was totally focused on the man at the table.
As they came to a halt in front of him, the informant raised his head. Mid-thirties, with short, dark hair and pale skin, a sheen of sweat on his forehead. His gaze settled on them for a brief moment, then flicked aside to look behind them. Toward the entrance.
She peered over her shoulder, but the space was empty, and she turned back.
He licked his lips. A glass sat on the table in front of him and he picked it up with a trembling hand then swallowed the contents in one gulp.
“Liam? What’s wrong?” Zach asked.
At least he recognized something was wrong. Badly wrong. Lauren had met with informants before, and they were invariably nervous. But this went beyond mere nerves. The man appeared terrified.
“I think someone followed me here.”
He looked past them again, focused on something behind her, eyes widening, and her skin prickled all the way down her spine.
She turned slowly. A woman stood at the entrance to the bar. Then she was walking toward them. Her face expressionless, her body oddly bulky beneath a dark coat.
Time slowed. All sounds faded except for the hammering of Lauren’s heart. She saw every detail; the woman was short, with shoulder-length black hair, dark brown eyes, and olive skin. Her left hand slipped inside her coat.
Lauren dived toward Zach. Saw the shock blossom on his face. Shoved him hard. He reached for her but was already falling backward in slow motion. A flash of intense white light. A roar filled the room. Punched forward by an invisible fist, she flew through the air, then crashed to the floor. For a moment, she lay still, suspended in time. No pain. But something had broken inside her and she couldn’t move.
Screams filled her ears. A thick, bitter stench clogged her nostrils and her face was wet. She blinked her eyes open to chaos and flames as something tore through the air toward her.
Then darkness.