mossy ground in front of three stories of crumbling brickwork surrounded by leafy shade trees. Nichols mirrored the man’s triumphant, knowing grin as she landed across his back, but then also mirrored his surprised expression when, rather than stay down, rendered unconscious by her blow, he rolled, twisting, and came up in a crouch, still holding the child.
Nichols was so shocked she didn’t take the moment to just shoot him in the face, and then lost her chance as Daniels cannoned by her and brought his fist directly toward the naked man’s nose, point-blank, with all the force he had gathered from wanting to take on an entire festival crowd.
He missed.
Daniels was stunned when he found his target was no longer directly in front of him, and was aghast when his momentum and lack of balance sent him flying forward like a hurled javelin. Nichols, who was directly behind him, was so confused by the big man’s collapse that, once again, her gun remained unused.
Finally, both Westerners managed to catch sight of the naked man, who was scrambling toward the main archway, which framed the sparkling, dirty, roiling river beyond. They hadn’t even started to regain their footing to continue the chase when Key stepped out from a rocky wash to block the naked man’s escape.
He didn’t rush the man, try to tackle him, or even shoot him. He just stepped out, far enough in front to go in any direction the man might choose, but also essentially cornering him within the small hall of the archway, since Daniels and Nichols were still blocking any retreat. Key’s expression was not antagonistic in the slightest. If anything, it was curiously interested.
“We must’ve caught you within seconds of your entry,” he said mildly. “You probably just threw your robe under the shelves and lay there, right?” Key shrugged, appreciating the naked man’s blank face. “Who would have thought that whoever followed you in there would be after the same thing you were? Bad luck, yes?”
Key continued to stand still, casually surveying the man, and waited. The naked man didn’t move for several seconds, but then they all saw his back curve and heard a strange animal sound. Key’s eyebrows rose and his head shifted back on his neck.
“Are you snarling at me?” he asked in mock incredulity, before making a tsking noise and shaking his head sadly. “You shouldn’t be growling at me. Not when you’re so close to fulfilling your assignment.” Key jutted his chin at the man. “Are you the only one sent to collect these corpses? Or did you go, on your own, by yourself, to clean up your mess? I mean, why else would you do it? Why not just leave well enough alone?” Key let his expression change to one of realization; then he smiled sadly and nodded with sympathetic understanding. “Or did you hear about some people”—he motioned to the strongman and redhead behind them—“who were showing interest?”
The naked man’s lips came off his teeth, and the growl snapped off as both he and Key charged.
But to the surprise of all the others, Key did not leap toward the naked man. He leaped to the left of the naked man. Nichols and Daniels had hardly started to react when the big man felt disappointment that his superior had so blatantly missed the mark. The child snatcher would clearly get away, having made them all look like fools.
The naked man seemed to think that too, if his renewed expression of cunning triumph was any evidence. He all but dove past Key, his eyes filling with the hills, woods, and water beyond.
But that expression winked off like a snuffed candle when the child snapped out of his grip. The naked man stumbled a few feet down the rocky path, then twisted to see Key standing placidly behind him, holding the corpse child like a crafty cornerback who had intercepted the game-winning touchdown pass. Key waited a second until Daniels and Nichols flanked him, their guns at the ready, before commenting.
“Keep your eye on the prize, asshole,” he said.
That was all he got to say before the temple fort grounds were invaded by a screeching assault team in military gear. “Down, down! Hands up, get down! Now, now!”
Key did not get down. He watched the naked man scurry off toward the river even faster than he had before, then turned to pinpoint the commanding officer of this bunch of stupid interlopers. To Daniels’s surprise, Nichols’s chagrin, and Key’s presumption, it was the man they had known as Captain Patrick Logan.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Key complained as he raised his hands, holding the child corpse to the sky like an offering.
Chapter 3
“Your miscalculation was you wanted to beat him, to defeat him. But we weren’t there for him. We were there for his victim.”
Josiah Key was talking to his right-hand people in yet another interrogation room, which looked like almost every other interrogation room anywhere in the world. Four gray walls, one gray floor, one gray ceiling, one cheap table, five cheap chairs, one door, and one one-way window taking up most of one wall.
Nichols was going to argue the miscalculation, although Daniels knew better. “But if we could have captured him,” she started, “that would have helped us figure—”
“But we weren’t fighting him like we were trying to capture him.” Daniels sighed, already having accepted, and learned, from his mistake. “Admit it. We were fighting him like we wanted to shove his sneering teeth down his throat.”
Key smiled at the growing maturity of his associate. He was even kind enough to say “we,” when everyone, including Nichols, knew it really meant her.
Everyone at Cerberus had been relieved when Daniels, who was known to go after anything in skirts, pants, shorts, skorts, panties, G-strings, thongs, or anything remotely vaginal, had immediately started treating Nichols like a sister-in-arms and fellow Marine.
“I don’t shit where I sleep,” he once told Key when explaining how he targeted his “romantic conquests.”
Nichols exhaled strongly, laid her hands flat on the table, and slowly nodded. “Yeah, I get it. You’re right.”
“What do I tell you?” Key grinned, pleased she had taken responsibility, but he had to make sure she wasn’t just doing it as way to forget about it. “What do I always tell you?”
“You want to know how smart I am, not how tough I am,” she said in a mild singsong, but with an honest, comprehending smile.
“It’s not about how bad-ass you are,” Daniels chimed in like a five-year-old reciting his alphabet. “It’s about how effective you are.”
“It’s also not about proving how bad-ass you are,” Key stressed. “To anyone, especially yourself!”
The door finally banged open, as Key figured it would. It was the main reason they had started the lesson in the first place. Key knew it would drive Logan crazy.
Sure enough, in walked Patrick Logan—wearing, as was his custom, a full uniform, and carrying, as was also his custom, a thick file. He seemed to always want to have it at hand in case he needed something to hide behind.
Daniels looked behind him in anticipation, but to his obvious disappointment, there was no beautiful blond Second Lieutenant Barbara Strenkofski, who had been Logan’s aide when last they met. He had wanted to at least attempt a reconciliation after Daniels had left her “Mickey-Finned” in an Omani medical college break-room bunk bed—where she had successfully attempted to “romantically conquest” him.
Instead, there was a statuesque, violet-eyed brunette in a tailored uniform, sporting first lieutenant insignia. Logan looked pointedly from her to Daniels as she sat down, her notepad at the ready.
“Ah,” Logan snapped as he slapped the file onto the table and settled in. “The men from Cerebral.”
Key didn’t take the bait. Nor did Nichols, but she did check his chest and crotch in pointed silence. Key was certain Logan had purposely used the misogynist greeting, and fairly certain he had purposely mispronounced the organization’s name, but you never know. Somebody like Logan might actually think that was the name,