“No,” said Dom. “Her power is definitely of a destructive nature.”

Victor sighed. “Then what is she to me?”

“I just thought you’d want to know. She’s just drawing a lot of attention.”

“Good,” said Victor shortly. “Then EON can waste their time hunting her instead of me.”

He knew, of course, thanks to Dominic, that they were already chasing him. Or rather, chasing someone. And he had a good idea who was leading the charge.

Victor had been disgusted, but not surprised, when he’d learned about the way Stell was using Eli Ever. Putting him back to work. Eli always did have a knack for finding his way to the center of a stage, and Stell had fallen for his charms before. Victor wondered if that was why EON hadn’t gotten closer. Not because their pet had failed to see Victor’s hand in the killings, but because he had.

It would be so like Eli, that self-righteous, self-absorbed need to handle things himself.

And every day the noose failed to tighten, Victor’s suspicions grew.

As for Marcella Riggins, let her have the spotlight, as long as she could hold it. When it came to EOs, there was a kind of natural selection. Most had the sense to stay in the shadows, but when the need for attention outweighed a sense of self-preservation, the scales tended to balance themselves.

And people like Marcella never lasted long.

XIII

THREE WEEKS AGO

XIV

JUST OUTSIDE MERIT

RAIN slipped through the warehouse roof, the steady drip of water masking the clip of Marcella’s heels against the concrete floor. The old cannery sat on the outskirts of town, a skeleton of pillars and steel beams and a rotting roof, one of the designated parcels of neutral ground in the city.

Their voices drifted through the bones of the building.

“. . . in his own office . . .”

“. . . it can’t stand . . .”

“. . . who’s going to handle . . .”

“. . . just one woman . . .”

“. . . no way she’s working alone . . .”

“What is it with men and places like this?” mused Marcella, her voice loud enough to carry as three heads came into sight. “I swear, you always pick the most morose places to gather.”

The men turned toward her. Joe Kolhoff. Bob Mellis. Jack Caprese.

She’d half expected to find them sitting at another round table, these self-proclaimed knights of Merit, but instead she found them huddled in the center of the dreary, leaking space.

Unbelievable, thought Marcella. Her husband reduced to ash, Tony dead at his desk, and yet they still didn’t even bother to draw their guns.

Neutral ground rules dictated that bosses didn’t carry, but surely no one actually went into a meeting like this without at least one piece of

artillery.

“Is it the ambiance?” Marcella wondered as she made her way toward them. “Or does like simply call to like? Defunct. Outdated.