When I came out of the bathroom, Riley and Wes were bent over the laptop, talking in the same low, urgent tones. Riley glanced up, and our eyes met once more, making my skin flush. Then Wes snapped his name, and he turned his attention to the computer again.

Edging up behind them, I peered over Riley’s shoulder at what looked like an aerial map on the screen. The surrounding area seemed barren—desert and dust and flat, open ground—but in the very center of the map sat a cluster of small buildings. No roads led to it; no other buildings or landmarks stood nearby.

“Is that where Garret is?” I asked softly. Wes shot me a dirty look. “That,” he stated, narrowing his eyes, “is St. George’s western chapterhouse, and it took me a bloody long time to find it, thank you very much. It’s not like the Order advertises where they are—technically those buildings don’t exist on any map or sightseeing brochure. But yes, the bastards that tried to kill us in California have likely returned there, your murderous boyfriend included.” He snorted and turned away, and I resisted the urge to slap the back of his head.

“I had no idea it was so close,” Riley muttered, staring intently at the screen, his face grim. “Right on the Arizona/Utah line. I’m going to have to relocate a couple safe houses farther east.”

“There’s nowhere completely safe, mate,” Wes said quietly, slumping back in his chair. “Not since they caught on that Talon moved a lot of its business to the States. They’re bloody everywhere now.”

“Where were they before?” I asked.

“England,” Riley answered without looking at me. “St. George’s main headquarters is in London, where it’s been for hundreds of years. They’re very traditional, and they don’t like change, so it took them a while to spread out. That’s why Talon does a lot of business in the US and other countries—the Order doesn’t have such a strong presence here. Or it didn’t for a long time.” He leaned over the laptop. “This is a fairly new base,” he stated, staring at the tiny white squares on the screen. “It wasn’t here ten years ago.” One finger rose to trace the perimeter, his face shadowed in thought. “There’s the fence, and that’s probably the armory, barracks and mess hall, officer housing…so this big one has to be headquarters.” He tapped the screen, tightening his jaw. “That’s where he’ll probably be.”