Julie rubbed the back of her neck as the light on her desk flickered. An intercom in here was out of the question. The effort of coordinating two dozen mentalists was hard enough without sudden noises.

  The Department of Surveillance and Supervision of Afflicted had many advantages over rogue afflicted, but one of the greatest was the ability of its agents to work together. Except for Julie, none of the mentalists in the room had much power; but as one, they were formidable.

  This project was ambitious even by DSSA standards. It was typical for four or five mentalists to work together, like linking small computers to form a cluster. But having this many required someone of greater skill to maintain and smooth out their bonding. That someone, of course, was Julie—which explained why she hadn’t slept in three days.

  She flowed into the mental net. Return, she said.

  The eyes of more than twenty mentalists opened at the same moment. It was past time for a break anyway. She’d been pushing everyone too hard over the past week, including herself.

  Not that I have much choice, she thought. She remembered her last conversation with Director Whitchurch.

  “We may have made a mistake with you, Julie,” Whitchurch had said in that slow, patronizing tone of voice she hated so much. “I thought you could handle this, but maybe it’s time for a reassignment—or more retraining.”

  “Retraining” was something DSSA agents did anything to avoid. But at this point, she’d almost welcome it. At least I’d get some rest.

  She squeezed her forehead and stood. “Go get some sleep. We’ll pick it up again in …” She checked her watch. “Ten hours. That’s seven o’clock.”

  She made her way down the hall to a conference room, where Greenly waited with another man …. Agent Eddie Rodrigues.

  Rodrigues’ shiny black hair was cropped close and Julie could tell by his corded muscular arms that he was still obsessed with weights and strength training. A chill ran down her spine at the way his muscles rippled beneath his military camos as he turned toward her.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Julie nodded to them and closed the door behind her. “Welcome aboard, Rodrigues.”

  “Evening, Agent Hawkins,” Rodrigues said.

  She braced herself, reaching down to straighten her skirt as an excuse to wipe her palms. Calm, she thought. Control. He’s just another dog. Bigger than most, but no different. Either at your feet or at your throat.

  Or in your bed. God, that had been a mistake. But those brown eyes... She sighed.

  “You've read the case file,” Julie said. “Any questions?”

  Rodrigues came to attention and saluted her. “Sí, couple a talented pendejos giving the bosses a shit fit. Don’t worry, se?ora. This vaquero is ready for war.”

  “Cut the shit, Eddie,” she said, fighting a smile. “We both know you’re a Harvard boy from Chicago. And your accent sucks.”

  Rodrigues stayed at attention for another second, then cocked his head at her and grinned.

  “And we’re getting ahead of ourselves, aren’t we?” she said. “Strategy is my job, in case you’ve forgotten. You worry about what I tell you to worry about.”

  “Your wish is my command, Agent Hawkins.”

  “Bullshit.” Her biggest problem—and greatest turn-on—with Rodrigues was that he was dangerous to her. Physically dangerous, in a way that few people were. She was used to being able to perceive threats before they were formed, but she couldn’t do that with him. If he decided to reach over and break her neck, she’d never know it was coming.

  She turned her back to him. “Well, let’s get on the same page. Anything on your end, Horace?”

  “Nothing on the police, military or other nets about our three fugitives,” Greenly said. “No robberies or other sightings that fit their descriptions—which isn’t very helpful given what they can do.” He shook his head. “They might have died in the desert, though I doubt it. I think it's more likely they've left the area.”

  “Damn. I was hoping we’d catch a break. Eddie, have you touched base with the Army?”

  Rodrigues nodded. “I spoke with the liaison from 1st Cav this morning. They have checkpoints on all the roads, and patrols throughout the desert. We’ve got a mentalist with every platoon. It’s as tight as we can make it.”

  “Which isn’t tight enough,” Julie said. “My evaluation of the capabilities of our targets was low, if anything. And we’ve got nothing: six days of scanning and not one fucking blip.”

  Greenly raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t make any sense. Hiding twenty-four hours a day for a week? No one is that good.”

  “Apparently Teri Darby is. This is the biggest and most expensive manhunt in DSSA history and we’ve got jack shit. Not so much as a hint of a clue.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “We need a break soon, or Whitchurch is going to pull us off this fucking case.”

  “That goatfucker,” Rodrigues muttered.

  “Well, that’s out of our control,” Greenly said. “All we can do is wait and hope they make a mistake.”

  Julie bit back a curse. “I hate it when you’re right.”