“I’m . . . I’m sorry,” he said, genuine fear flashing across his face.

That—that was a pleasant change. She’d gotten surprise, shock, even awe once or twice, but never such a simple thing as fear. They hadn’t known who she was, but they knew what. An EO. And it clearly scared the shit out of them.

Maybe Marcella was right. Maybe EOs shouldn’t be the ones hiding.

“Not to worry,” said June, cheerfully, shifting back into the brunette. “Honest mistake.”

They scrambled to open the door, and she stepped into the penthouse, marveling a little at the strange comfort of returning.

We really need a dog, she thought. Something to greet you when you

get home.

She reached the open living room, where Jonathan sat slumped on a leather sofa, palms pressed against his eyes.

“Johnny boy, why so glum?” Her steps slowed at the sight of a large red-brown stain on the floor. “Well, that’s new.”

“Yeah,” said Jonathan, looking up, “she’s been busy.”

“I can see that. And where is our fearless leader tonight?” Jonathan didn’t answer, didn’t need to. Marcella’s voice streamed from her office.

“Why would I want flowers?”

“They’re lilies,” said a man’s voice. “I thought they’d make an elegant centerpiece.”

“I’m the elegant centerpiece.”

“Without something to soften the space, I’m afraid it will look awfully austere.”

“This is the beginning of a new age,” snapped Marcella, “not a fucking sweet sixteen. Get rid of them.”

The man hesitated. “. . . If you’re sure . . .”

June heard the telltale click of heels on marble. “Well, perhaps you do know best . . .” There was a shuffle, a gasp, and June stepped through the door just in time to see the man crumble in Marcella’s grip.

“Oh, I’ve missed this,” said June pleasantly as what was left of the man fell to the floor. She considered the ruined heap, adorned only by a few tattered bits of silk and a silver cufflink. Marcella was burning hotter, faster, and—as far as June could tell—she still had yet to find her limit.

Marcella leaned back against her desk and took up a cloth, wiping her hands. “I’ve always hated having to repeat myself.” She glanced up.

“Shouldn’t you be watching over our new arrival?”

“I’ve had enough babysitting for one day,” said June. “I delivered your message.”

“And?”

“He’s a tough one to predict, but I think he’ll come.”

“I certainly hope so,” said Marcella. “I am glad you made it back in time.”

“For what?” asked June.

Marcella handed her a card.

June took it up, turned it over, eyes flitting over the paper. She shook her head, baffled and amused. “Jesus, Marcella, anyone ever told you that you’re batshit crazy?”

Marcella pursed her lips. “Several times,” she said. “It’s an insult men love to aim at ambitious women. But aren’t you forgetting, June—