The door to Jones’s private quarters closed.

Clyde leaned toward Sierra and spoke in low tones. “Between you and me and Twitch, here, I think our Mr. Jones has got it bad for Ms. Rosser.”

“I’m not surprised,” Sierra said. She pulled on her boots and jacket. “They’re perfect for each other.”

“Nice of you to introduce them,” Twitch said. He grinned. “The boss has been in a pretty good mood lately.”

CHAPTER 2

Ashort time later Sierra drove into the underground garage of one of the gleaming apartment towers in the South Lake Union neighborhood. She shut down the SUV’s big engine and sat quietly for a moment, checking the side mirrors and the extra-wide rearview mirror for indications she might not be alone. There were no auras reflected in the glass.

Satisfied, she collected her pack, got out of the car and headed for the elevator lobby at a brisk pace. The fact that she could not detect any auras in the car mirrors was no guarantee there was no one hiding in the emergency stairwell or around the corner of a concrete wall. The mirror locket worked reasonably well in a one-on-one situation at close quarters, but it had some serious limitations.

She used her key fob to access the elevators, but she did not allow herself to relax until she reached the twelfth floor and was safely inside her small one-bedroom apartment.

Cozy was the term the leasing agent had used to describe the small space. Sierra had stuck with the term because it sounded more upbeat than cramped. It would have made more financial sense to go with one of the tiny studios but she knew she would not have been able to handle the claustrophobia. She had grown up on a rural island in the San Juans surrounded by a heavily wooded forest and a rugged landscape. City living had required some major adjustments.

She had worked as a Vault agent for less than four months. She was still struggling to recover from the financial hit that had struck when she had lost the job at Ecclestone’s Auction House in Portland. In the meantime she told herself she was okay with the small apartment. It wasn’t as if she spent a lot of time in it. Like the other agents who worked for Ambrose Jones, her “office” was a booth in the underground level of the Vault nightclub.

Out of habit, she made her way through the apartment, locket in hand, checking to make sure she truly was alone. Mirrors glittered on every wall. She thought they made the place look bigger. Also, she liked mirrors.

Satisfied there were no zombies hiding under the bed and no psychic monsters in the closets, she changed into pajamas and slippers and padded into the kitchen to pour herself a large, medicinal glass of wine. It had been a very long night—also a very unprofitable night.

She sat down at the dining counter and picked up her phone. She had deliberately left it behind when she set out to deliver the artifact. Vault protocol dictated that agents carry minimal tech when operational. It was a precaution that made it more difficult to be tracked.