I took out my cell and called Guy. No one answered. Karl couldn’t hear the ring from the adjoining unit. I hung up and tried Max. No answer. Same with Tony.

I left a voice mail message for Tony, asking where they were and what was happening. I could see them not answering my call—they had no idea whether I’d been kidnapped or had betrayed them, and if Guy wasn’t there, they might not risk picking up. But they’d certainly discuss it or comment on it, and probably check the voice message. Still Karl heard nothing.

We went outside to find Lucas.

TEN MINUTES LATER, Karl was picking another lock—the door into the gang unit. This time he had not only snipers but two members of the SWAT team flanking him, one pressed against either side of the doorway.

Karl sampled the air, then checked with me. No chaos vibes either. The officers followed us inside.

This unit was divided into three sections—two rooms with closed doors plus a large open storage area. The officers passed us and swept the open area, then retreated to check the closed rooms. The first held two cots, a microwave and a minifridge—a place to hole up if needed. The room was empty.

One officer opened the second door, and they swung in. A grunt. Then a wave, telling us it was safe. It was not, however, empty. Max and Tony were passed out drunk at a dining table, a bottle of Glenlivet single-malt Scotch within reach.

I bent to read a note that had slid to the floor.

Party Time!

Yeah, it’s the good stuff this time.

Guy

I whispered, “So what do we do?”

Karl’s hand closed on my arm, and I thought he was telling me to be quieter. But he tugged me back and I realized he didn’t want me getting too close. Smart—I didn’t want to be within arm’s reach if the guys woke up.

I turned to say something to Karl, then saw his expression and, at the same time, over his shoulder, Tony’s. He lay on the table, arms askew, but his eyes were half open. Empty eyes…

I reached to grab his shoulder. An officer stopped me.

“D-dead?” I managed.

My gaze shot to Max. His head lay on his folded arms, face hidden. But his body was still.

No, it couldn’t be. If they were dead, I’d feel it. I’d see their deaths. Nothing chaotic could have happened—

I saw the bottle again and flashed back to the night before. To the guard inside the house, looking as if he had just passed out, coffee cup by his hand. I hadn’t felt so much as a twinge from his death. Because it had been unchaotic. Dead before he realized what was happening.