He couldn’t waste another round buttering the Sturmbannführer up. Not with the guard watching him, the guard who might be something else entirely. He had to cut right to the chase before it was too late and the manuscript was out of his grasp again.

“Your base at Siegen.” Liam tapped the rim of his refilled glass. “I’ve heard your commander, Himmler, has a tremendous collection of artifacts there—old manuscripts and historical records.”

“And you would like to see these treasures,” Junker said in a singsong tone. “For completely innocent purposes, I am certain, Amerikaner.”

The other officers erupted with laughter. Liam stewed, darkness throbbing behind his eyes. What was so damned funny? He was finally so close—and they were taking him for a joke.

He’d let himself get sloppy because of that damned guard—who probably wasn’t even a threat, just some poor sap who got stuck with a dead man’s uniform. And that stare, that wayward curl—

Liam made a fist underneath the table and let the shadows build further. Coalescing. Festering.

“I don’t see what’s so funny.” Liam cocked his head at Junker. Just a few more seconds.

“Oh, Mr. Doyle. Whoever you really are.” Junker wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “If you honestly think we would let an American spy onto our military base—”

The gunshot silenced him. A fine mist of brain and skull splashed Liam’s face as Junker slumped forward, eyes wide.

Liam leapt back, cards and brandy and bottle caps flying as the table tilted and dumped the Sturmbannführer onto the floor.

“Shit—”

“Hands in the air, Amerikaner! Hands in the air!”

All around him, the officers jumped to their feet, fumbling drunkenly for their sidearms. Liam raised his hands, keeping one fist closed, as what sounded like thousands of pistols were cocked.

But they were all turning on the young guard who now stood behind Junker’s chair, his sidearm still spewing smoke.

“For my family,” he snarled, chest heaving as he glared at Junker’s corpse.

“Arrest him!”

“Shoot him!”

Liam and the guard locked eyes, and the guard’s mouth twisted with unrepentant hatred, his eyes coal black.

“You bastard,” Liam said.

Then he opened his hand, spilling darkness all around them. Thick as tar, hungry as acid. As the officers screamed, Liam lunged forward, humming the right frequency, and dragged the guard—the assassin—with him into the roaring black.

CHAPTER TWO

DANIEL