Dex chuckled, and Sloane shook his head. Fine. If Dex wanted to continue baiting the scary cougar Therian, he only had himself to blame when he got bit. It wasn’t like Dex was going to listen to reason. He was on a mission of optimum annoyance.

  They followed Sparks down yet another drab gray corridor that looked like every other drab gray corridor they’d visited over the last few months. Not that he expected TIN to put up any artwork or framed portraits, but would it kill them to slap some paint on these walls? Something to differentiate one facility from another? Since they weren’t officially sworn in yet, the location of each facility remained undisclosed, and although they had been informed that each site served a unique purpose, they all looked the same. The corridors varied in length, but it was always the same dull gray with the same steel doors, always closed. How many of these facilities were scattered around the city, most likely hiding in plain sight?

  “So what’ll it be today?” Dex asked, breaking the silence. “Ooh, please tell me I get to ride some kickass motorcycles. I’ve had my eye on the Dodge Tomahawk.” Dex rubbed his hands together, and Sloane chuckled at his excitement. Something told Sloane whatever Sparks had in store for them did not involve a half-a-million-dollar motorcycle.

  Sparks sighed. “Yes, because that would be so inconspicuous. Flashy equipment is used only when an operation calls for it.”

  “Okay, how about a Kawasaki Ninja?”

  Sparks didn’t so much as blink. “No. There are no motorcycles involved in today’s training.”

  “Fine. You plan on telling us what today’s training is?”

  They finally reached the end of the corridor and a set of doors. Sparks turned to them, her eyes intense.

  “For months you’ve been trained in various forms of combat in a controlled environment. Today the real training begins, and when you return from your honeymoon, we’re going to be putting everything you’ve learned to the test, and then some.”

  Sloane had no idea what that meant, but his inner Felid was awake and alert. Something on the other side of the door smelled familiar. Sparks opened one of the doors and motioned for them to step through. Was this an exit? It looked like there was a street on the other side.

  Dex stopped in his tracks, and Sloane did the same.

  “What the fuck is this?” Sloane asked, looking up and down the street. He turned and looked up at the building they’d just been in. It belonged to an apartment building just down the street from their house.

  “This is the street you live on.”

  Dex held up a hand. “Are you telling me you have a TIN facility on our block?”

  “Your neighborhood and every home on these two blocks has been under surveillance for several months. After today, the facility will be relocated.”

  Sloane’s brows shot up. “You planted surveillance equipment in every home?”

  “In other words, TIN wiped their asses with the Fourth Amendment,” Dex scoffed.

  Sparks folded her arms over her chest. “Allow me to impart some truth to you boys and your very naïve view of privacy. We’re creatures hardwired for connection, now made ever easier by the internet and social media. This privacy you seem to think we all have, it doesn’t exist. You leave a digital trail every time you turn on your computer, use a bank card, or even start your pretty orange car. Every aspect of our lives is out there, ready to be harvested with a few clicks of a mouse or strokes at a keyboard. It’s our job to make sure that doesn’t happen. But what about when lives are at risk? What then? Do we sit back and wait for criminals and murderers to slip up? Do we allow law enforcement agencies to set up task forces and undercover operations that could stretch on for years with no results while citizens lose their lives?”

  Dex opened his mouth to reply, but Sparks held up a hand.

  “You do realize you’ve joined a covert intelligence agency. Most of our ops are undisclosed to even the president.”

  “Okay, I get it. But we’re not talking about infiltrating a terrorist cell here. We’re talking about my neighbors.”

  “Beck Hogan was someone’s neighbor. Isaac Pearce was someone’s neighbor.”

  Sloane couldn’t help but flinch at the mention of Isaac Pearce. He should probably feel remorse for Pearce’s death, but he didn’t. The son of a bitch had killed Gabe and had planned on killing Dex. Sloane hoped he was rotting away in hell like he deserved.

  Sparks let out a sigh, and Sloane was surprised when her gaze turned sympathetic. “I know this is all difficult for you to come to grips with, and I don’t expect you to flip a switch and suddenly see things the way we do. You need to ask yourself, how far are you willing to go to protect people? How far is too far? We’re the ones who get our hands dirty so no one else has to. When you look around you, all you see is your quiet neighborhood filled with Humans and Therians going about their daily lives, but what you don’t see are the operatives who risk their lives every day to make sure that’s possible.” Sparks pointed to the house three doors down from theirs. “You know Mr. Jonas, correct?”

  Dex nodded. “Yeah, he’s a sweet old guy. A Pre-First Gen who fought in Vietnam.”

  “His wife makes us cookies all the time,” Sloane added.

  “Did you know Mr. Jonas has been losing the battle against his illness?”

  Dex cursed under his breath. “I knew he wasn’t well, but he doesn’t like to talk about it, and when I asked Mrs. Jonas once, she burst into tears, so I didn’t ask again.”

  “Mr. Jonas shares the same illness as several other Pre-First Gens we were monitoring who were dying at an alarming rate. They were all on the same prescription drug. Our operatives traced the drug to a large American pharmaceutical corporation located abroad. We quickly learned the drug should never have made it past the trial stage. Four out of the ten clinical trial subjects died after eight months of taking it. While the CEOs made billions, Therians were dying.”

  “How come we never heard about it at the THIRDS?” Dex asked.

  “Cause of death for each patient was determined to be complications brought about by the illness. Not only were the drugs not helping the patients, but they were slowly killing them. Our intel led us to Mr. Jonas, and our surveillance led us to the corporation responsible for killing hundreds. Had TIN not become involved, how many more Therians would have died before the truth was revealed? I’m certain you believe alternative, lawful means could have reached the same conclusion, but what if we made it personal? We managed to do in weeks what could have taken other law enforcement agencies years.”

  “But you don’t know that,” Dex argued.

  “True. Would the timeline matter if I were to say the same medication was prescribed to Thomas Hobbs four months ago?”

  Sloane swallowed hard. Fuck. “Was it?”

  Sparks nodded. “Mr. Hobbs’s physician was convinced this new drug would alleviate Mr. Hobbs’s pain for a period longer than his previous medication. We made certain to collect every prescription out there, including the one sitting on the shelf at the pharmacy waiting for Sebastian Hobbs to pick up.”

  “Does Seb know?” Dex asked, his voice quiet.

  “Yes. As you can imagine, this particular operation was of great interest to Seb. How do you feel about our involvement now? It shouldn’t matter, should it? But it does because you care. You care what happens to these people. The world isn’t black and white. You need to be prepared for the worst and be willing to do something about it.”

  Sloane hated to admit it, but Sparks was right. They kept telling each other and everyone else that they were ready, but were they really? They’d spent most of their adult lives following their moral compasses and the laws their country was governed by. There was no telling where their operations would take them or what would be asked of them. In the end, they had to trust in their own judgment and hope they were making the right choices for the right reasons.

  Rather than answering Sparks, Dex motioned to the street. “So, what are we doing here?”

  “You’ve just received intel that a very dangerous enemy agent is inside one of the homes on your block. You need to find them, detain them, and bring them in for questioning before their extraction team arrives.”

  Dex peered at her. “Which is in how long?”

  “One hour.”

  “An hour? Do you know how many apartments there are on this block?”

  “Maybe you’ll get lucky and they’re sitting in the restaurant on the corner.” Sparks turned back toward the door they’d come from. “If you blow your cover, the operation is aborted and you’ve failed.”

  “Got it. Equipment?”

  Sparks’s grin was wicked. “You’re wearing it.”

  Dex looked down at himself. “But… I don’t have anything on me.”

  “Then I suggest you be resourceful.”

  “In other words, we’re on our own,” Sloane muttered, not really surprised. It wasn’t like he expected to go into every situation perfectly prepared. If his time at the THIRDS had taught him anything, it was to always expect the unexpected and shit was always guaranteed to go wrong.

  “Are you saying you need me to hold your hand?” Sparks asked, amused.

  “We got this.” Dex turned to Sloane and motioned toward the street. “Come on.” The door closed, and Dex stepped closer to Sloane. “This is so freaking weird.”

  “I know. Okay, where do we start?”

  “Our house,” Dex replied with a grin. “And more importantly, our closet.”

  Sloane returned Dex’s grin. They were so all over this. “Let’s go. We’ve got a lot of area to cover.” Not to mention it was Sunday, so a good number of their neighbors were probably out enjoying the nice September weather before winter came to kick all their asses, and someone could arrive at any moment and catch them.

  They jogged over to their front steps, and Dex quickly unlocked the door. It was so surreal.

  “This is crazy,” Dex said as he scanned their living room before running for the stairs leading up to the bedroom, Sloane on his heels. In their bedroom, Dex gave Sloane a wry grin as he pointed. “Oh look, TIN got to see the wet towel you always leave on the bed.”

  Crap. It wasn’t bad enough Sloane always forgot the damn towel; apparently, now there were witnesses.

  “Sorry,” Sloane said as he walked over to the bed to pick up the towel.

  “What are you doing?” Dex asked, amused.

  “Shit. Right. Covert operation.” He dropped the towel back on the bed. “This whole thing is messing with my head.” He joined Dex at the closet as Dex pulled out the locked weapons and ammunitions crate they had stored in there. It used to just be a small case with a couple of Glocks, but after all the craziness they’d been through, they’d agreed an upgrade was in order. The crate was programmed to open with a thumbprint from Dex or Sloane only. Inside were several different firearms, tranq guns, zip ties, ammunitions, and more. Dex checked his Glock’s magazine and frowned.

  “Fuck.”

  “What is it?” Sloane asked, picking up one of the tranq guns.

  “I can’t believe we’re going to break into our neighbors’ homes.”

  Sloane shook his head. “We can’t shoot that.”

  Dex blinked at him. “Why?”

  “Because someone will hear and call it in.”

  Dex peered at him. “So, we’re supposed to break into our very possibly armed neighbors’ homes, face an ‘enemy agent,’ not blow our cover, and all in less than an hour, without firing a shot?”

  Sloane nodded.

  “Fuck. This is why we need silencers,” Dex muttered.

  “Why would we need silencers?”

  “Because of this right here.”

  “This right here has never happened before, so there was never any need for silencers.”

  Dex threw up a hand. “And look how well that’s turned out.”

  “Oh my God, seriously? Babe, we have less than an hour or we fail our first fake operation.”

  “Shit. Okay, stock up on tranqs, then. You take this end of the street, I’ll start at the other end.” Dex put in an earpiece and handed Sloane the other. “Stay in communication, and be safe.” Dex kissed Sloane before hurrying off. Sloane called out behind him.

  “You too.” Sloane shoved some Therian-strength zip ties into his pockets. He left the house, noticing Dex was nowhere to be seen. With his gun tucked in the back of his waistband, covered by his shirt, Sloane closed the front door of their house and discreetly scanned the street of their quiet little West Village neighborhood. No one was outside, and no movement caught his eye. The end of the block was a completely different story. Their house was only four buildings down from the corner of a typical busy New York City street intersection. There were people walking, riding bikes, milling about, waiting for their burgers at Five Guys or heading into the pizza place across the street.

  Right. Break in next door without getting caught. The basement windows were out of the question, since they all had bars, and seeing as how TIN had yet to issue them any nifty gadgets, Sloane had to think of another way in.

  Just his luck, one of his neighbors, Sandra, headed in his direction. She waved as she went up the stairs. Well, it was time to do this. He quickly jogged over, flashing his brightest smile.

  “Hey, Sandra. Do you know if Brian’s in? He borrowed my power drill, and I need it to fix a loose shelf before Dex gets home. It’s been driving him nuts.”

  Sandra smiled brightly at him. “I’m not sure, but why don’t you go ahead,” she said, standing to one side of the open front door.

  “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.” He slipped inside and turned to give her his most appreciative smile. “If I don’t get this thing fixed, I’m going to end up in the doghouse. Or the cat house, I guess.”

  Sandra giggled before waving at him and heading upstairs. As soon as she was out of sight, Sloane waited until he heard her apartment door close before turning to Brian’s apartment. He leaned in, listening for any signs Brian might be home. It was doubtful, since their young neighbor was most likely out with his girlfriend. Sloane rapped gently on the door. As a Felid, Brian had exceptional hearing. If he was home, he’d have heard Sloane.

  How many times had he told Brian he needed to change his door? This one was total shit with a crappy lock. All it took was one forceful push of Sloane’s shoulder, and the door was open. He quietly closed it behind him and stilled, listening for any movement. When he heard nothing, he moved around the tiny apartment. He couldn’t imagine where an agent would find a place to hide in here unless they also happened to be a contortionist. Nonetheless, he checked every nook and cranny, while also listening to Dex on the other end of Sloane’s earpiece.

  “Holy fuck.”

  Sloane straightened, his heart pounding. “What is it? Did you find the agent?”

  “No, but I found something even better. Dude, Mrs. Bauman’s into BDSM.”

  “What?” Sloane let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding.

  “Mrs. Bauman. She has an entire closet full of leather stuff, paddles, whips…”

  “Why are you searching Mrs. Bauman’s closet?”

  “For our guy, or girl, agent.”

  “And a highly skilled enemy agent is going to be hiding in Mrs. Bauman’s closet?” Maybe they were taking a page out of Dex’s book. Dexter J. Daley’s 101 Places to Hide If You Want to Get Caught. Number 1. Bedroom Closet. Sloane let out a snort at the memory of a naked Dex hiding from Ash in the bedroom closet back when they’d thought they were being sneaky about their relationship. Of course the closet was the first place Ash looked.

  Dex let out a bark of laughter. “Oh my God!”

  “What now?” Sloane was going to strangle him.

  “Mrs. Bauman has a strap-on.”

  “I did not need to know that.”

  “Ooh yeah, get your freak on, Mrs. Bauman. Just goes to show, you’re never too old to get jiggy with it. Man, I hope we’re this adventurous when we get to her age. We’re probably going to need a little something-something to help with the, uh, you know, gravity, but we can make it work. Shit. What if Mrs. Bauman is the agent?”

  “Really?”

  “Think about it, Sloane. She always happens to pop up when I’m either compromised or half-naked.”

  “I think that says more about you than it does our elderly neighbor.”

  “I bet her walking that tiny prehistoric dog—which I’m convinced is some kind of wingless pterodactyl—is her doing surveillance. She’s probably got all kinds of explosives hidden in her housedress. Have you seen how ginormous the pockets are?”

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  “Am I, Sloane? Am I really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine, but when she springs out at you like the wrinkly ninja she is and tries to strangle you with her hairnet, don’t say I didn’t warn you. I bet those rollers are actually grenades.”

  “Stop talking.” Sloane heard a board creak up in the ceiling. “Um, Dex.”

  “A lot of people would probably be grossed out by Mrs. Bauman’s sexual prowess, but she’s a mature woman. A very, very, very, very mature woman. But who says she’s not allowed to have some fun? People are so judgey.”

  “I’m not talking about Mrs. Bauman’s sex life,” Sloane hissed. “Would you stop for a second and listen?”

  “Listening.”

  Sloane silently moved around the apartment, his eyes up at the ceiling. There was another creak. “Mrs. Lloyd spends the day with her mom on Sundays, right?”

  “Yeah, while her wife is at dance practice. Why?”

  Sloane lowered his voice to a whisper. “Because someone’s upstairs in their apartment.”

  “On my way.”

  “Don’t blow your cover,” Sloane warned, and he hurried to the door. Cracking it open, he peered out into the hall. It was empty. After slipping out of Brian’s apartment, he edged toward the stairs and took them two at a time until he was on the second floor. The old brownstone, like countless others around the city, had been converted into apartments, with three apartments occupying the structure. Sandra lived up on the third floor, and Mrs. Lloyd and her wife on the second.