“Look, babe,” said Adam, shifting a little on the bed—enough that the phone slipped off the pillow—“just call him. Pull the bandage off. Let him yell if he wants to, but just know you did what he sent you there to do. You’re his daughter. He loves you.”

After a long string of moments, Eve reached through Adam’s chest and picked up the phone. She did not see his eyes change from their perfect deep summer sky blue to a swirl of ugly green and brown.

She punched in the number and held her breath until the call was answered.

“Hello,” said Rafael Santoro.

CHAPTER 115

THE PLAYROOM

UNDISCLOSED LOCATION

NEAR VANCOUVER, BRITISH COLUMBIA, CANADA

Rafael Santoro closed the lid of the flip phone very slowly, quietly, and placed the instrument neatly on his desk blotter, just to the left and below center. He considered it, then adjusted the angle so that it perfectly aligned with the other items on his desk.

He was a small man. Middle-aged, thin, wiry, and fit. There were scars on his swarthy skin. Old, faded ones that were hidden by his tan, and newer ones that looked like flattened pink worms. His hair was intensely black but swirling with silver lines, his lips full and sensual. People who didn’t know him well told him he had a gentle smile.

He looked at the phone as if he could see Eve. His fractured little adopted daughter. A prodigy whose abilities outweighed her eccentricities. At least for now.

Then he swiveled his leather chair around to face the tall man who stood by the wet bar, a tall glass of superb Japanese single malt in his hand.

“And…?” asked the other man. Kuga looked like a younger Kevin Costner. Broad-shouldered, all-American good looks, piercing blue eyes, and a very expensive smile.

“Dr. Brozović is on his way to the safe house,” said Santoro. “He will be on a plane first thing in the morning.”

“He okay? Last thing we need is him with his brains scrambled.”

“Eve says that he was rescued without injury. He is confused but is cooperating with her.”

Kuga sipped his whiskey. “Good. What about the team?”

Santoro hesitated, searching for the right words to frame his response. “There were casualties.”

“How many?”

“Four Fixers exfilled with Eve.”

“Only four? Ouch. You can’t tell me that a bunch of prison guards took down most of a top-tier strike team. Every goddamned one of them was juiced and jacked. They should have been able to walk into a military base and kick ass. Shit, we’re counting on higher levels of opposition for G-55. How in the hell can—”

“He was there,” interrupted Santoro.

Kuga froze. “Who? Who was there?”

Santoro fought to keep his voice calm as he spoke the hated name. “Joe Ledger.”