“You look different in person,” she said to him in greeting, her voice slightly raspy and deeper than he expected.

  “Nice to meet you, too,” he replied dryly. “How long have you been with the Panacea Group?”

  “Long enough to be on time,” she replied.

  “Sorry,” Winter muttered sarcastically, annoyed that her words stung. “I got lost going through the fridge tunnel.”

  Sydney turned to look at Niall. “You’re right,” she said with a completely blank face. “He is funny.”

  “Be polite, Sydney, and eat your risotto,” Niall admonished, his brows scrunching lower. He glanced at his partner. “Go ahead, Sauda.”

  “You’re currently inside a secured information room,” Sauda told him. “We call it a SIR. What that means is no information revealed in here enters or leaves this room without special clearance. The walls are designed to prevent the transmittance of any signals outside of those approved on our agency equipment. Even your brunch today is classified information. So don’t go raving about our porridge to your manager.”

  Winter studied her face. “What if I’d said no?” he asked.

  “To telling your manager about our porridge?”

  “To your request in the car.” He frowned. “You told me an awful lot in there without any guarantee that I’d work with you.”

  She smiled a little. “We’ve been studying you for a bit longer than that night. Months, actually. We’ve been gathering intel on you, your team, your music, and your beliefs. What matters to you. We take risks, Mr. Young, but calculated ones—and when we drove you off in that car, we knew we were coming into your life during a time when you were questioning it. Makes you an ideal potential asset. Avalon calculated the chance of your successful recruitment at ninety-three percent.”

  Winter opened his mouth a little, then closed it. His head buzzed with the number. They had been psychoanalyzing him for months.

  “And how accurate are Avalon’s calculations?” he finally said. On a whim, he glanced over his shoulder at the walls. “Avalon, am I cute?”

  A second later, text drifted onto the wall.

  Based on available data of online mentions, cuteness attribute is 89%.

  Winter gave Sauda an offended squint. “It’s broken.”

  Sauda put down her fork and said, “Avalon, dim the lights and load up the mission.”

  The room dimmed. As it did, Niall tapped on the table and made a swiping motion upward. Two photographs materialized over their plates, sliding up with his movement to hover in the air above the table.

  One photo showed a girl around Winter’s age, her hair pinned high on her head, her eyes wide and doe-like, her expression earnest and a little lost. The second depicted a man in his late sixties, someone who was clearly her father, wearing a pair of round glasses and an expression with none of his daughter’s innocence—he looked polished and shrewd, a businessman with the kind of charisma that warned he was not to be messed with.

  “Eli Morrison has been on our list for years,” Niall explained. “On the surface, he’s the magnate of a legitimate shipping empire that has made him a billionaire many times over. In reality, his legal businesses are in debt and he’s made the majority of his fortune by being a major shipper for drug lords, dealers in illegal weapons, poachers, human traffickers … You name it, he’s shipped it. He has a complex network of ties in politics and police enforcement that’s granted him safe passage through major ports. It’s made him difficult for us to pin down.”

  Niall swiped the two photos away, then flung up a few new holograms of past court convictions. “A few years ago, the CIA did manage to arrest him on fraud charges, but he succeeded in getting a plea deal that only gave him a year of probation and no jail time. So the CIA tapped us. We need stronger evidence against him in order to make a better conviction, the kind of evidence that involves too much red tape for the CIA.”

  Sauda grimaced. “In other words, the kind of evidence the CIA doesn’t have the scruples for. Too many layers of approval needed.”

  As Sauda spoke, Sydney shifted. Winter’s eyes darted to her as she took a quiet, subtle breath in through her nose and then breathed out slowly and evenly through her lips.

  “So,” Sydney said. “What do we need to find?”

  “Just one thing.” Niall folded his arms against the table. “Evidence from Eli Morrison’s latest shipping ledger.”

  Winter could feel the knot in his stomach tighten. “And what’s that ledger for?” he asked.

  “Shipping a massive supply of illegal chemical material from a corporate supplier in Corcasia to Cape Town, South Africa.” Sauda tapped the air, and the court convictions disappeared to make way for a map of Eastern Europe, highlighting the country sandwiched between Estonia and Russia.

  Niall sighed. “Not just any illegal weapons material,” he said. “Have you ever seen footage of what the atomic bomb drops on Hiroshima and Nagasaki actually looked like?”

  Winter had not. He recalled a documentary he’d once watched in school that showed the blasts of a nuclear bomb at a US test site, the way the trees bent sideways as the explosion engulfed the world around it. Some of his classmates had even laughed at the sight, it seemed so overwhelming.

  “There’s a new lab-grown chemical called Paramecium,” Niall explained, “that we call chemical warfare’s answer to the atomic bomb. Corcasia’s terrorist cell has been working with a sister cell in Switzerland to manufacture it, and they’re relying on Morrison’s shipping empire to send kilos of it for human experimentation. Detonating a Paramecium bomb in a city center can kill hundreds of thousands of people, anyone who breathes in a trace of it.”

  His words met the silence of a tense room.

  “In other words,” he said softly, “we’re about to prevent a new world war.”

  Winter had the strange sensation that he was no longer inside his body but watching himself on the outside of it, that this wasn’t a briefing for some upcoming performance but a warning of what, exactly, he was about to get into. Like he had dipped his foot into water cold enough to kill.

  Across from him, Sydney breathed calmly in again and exhaled slowly through her lips, a subtle enough gesture that no one else seemed to note.

  “We know Morrison has already begun shipment of these materials hidden on board one of his biggest cargo ships,” Sauda went on. “He has allies at the Kiel Canal who have apparently allowed the shipment to pass on to London.” She paused to tap on the map, first on a canal in Germany connecting the North and Baltic Seas, and then the narrow strait between Spain and Morocco. “We need to intercept it before it reaches the Port of Gibraltar, where it will be transferred onto a different ship in order to help erase his tracks. But we need warrants, and we can’t get those warrants without evidence of this contract.”

  “So all we need to do is get some kind of ledger?” Sydney asked. “Does he even keep track of his shipments and contracts?”

  Niall nodded. “As you can imagine, many are handshake deals. Verbal agreements. But like anyone running a billion-dollar corporation, Morrison needs proper accounting. We believe any information related to his illegal business transactions is kept strictly offline and on a series of drives he stores at a location in London.”

  “So we need those drives,” Sydney said.

  “We need those drives,” Sauda echoed with a nod.

  Sydney raised an eyebrow. “What a coincidence that his daughter’s birthday party is happening at the same time.”

  Sauda pointed briefly at her. “A gold star for you,” she said. “Morrison is hosting his clients in London soon, when the shipment goes out, and to disguise these meetings, he’s having the biggest bash in the world for his daughter at the same time. There will be heads of state in attendance, along with other celebrities and wealthy elite. No reason to suspect that any of those people showing up in London that week aren’t there for his daughter. It’s a big cover for an important deal.”

  “Good thing my schedule was open,” Winter muttered.

  “Lucky him,” Sydney replied.

  Winter scowled at her. “For you, I’d charge more.”

  “You presume I’d hire you.”

  “If you could afford it.”

  “Enough,” Niall grumbled, and both of them halted. “Save your bickering for the job.”

  “How are we supposed to get to these ledgers?” Winter asked. “I’m guessing they’re not going to waltz us to them.”

  “Eli’s daughter,” Niall answered. He swiped away the map and replaced it with a new photo of the same girl from earlier, a telescope-lens shot of her standing outside a shop in Paris, giggling with a few friends. “Penelope Morrison,” he said.

  “Despite his unsavory reputation,” Sauda explained, “Penelope checks out from our analyses. She is uninvolved in his business and has as normal a life as a billionaire heiress can have. Eli seems to genuinely dote on her, perhaps partly out of grief over the death of his wife from a terminal illness some time ago.”

  At that, Sydney looked away. “Monster has a heart?” she said coldly.

  “So small you’ll miss it if you blink,” Sauda replied with a nod. “But he is genuinely protective of his daughter, reluctant to get her mixed up with his dirty politics, and keeps her clean.”

  “Penelope Morrison is the only person in the world that Eli trusts,” Niall added. “That means that if anyone can get us close enough to her father’s world to incriminate him, it’ll be her.”

  “What good is she if she’s uninvolved in his businesses?” Sydney asked.

  Sauda smiled. “Not entirely uninvolved.”

  She brought up a third photo, this time of a young man with a narrow face and a scruff of beard, his eyes sharp and wary behind a pair of tinted glasses. “This is Connor Doherty, who reports directly to Eli Morrison. On the surface, he’s a young financial advisor who helps manage Penelope’s trust fund. In truth, he’s in charge of tracking Eli’s dirty money and cleaning it up. He ensures payments come on time and in the correct amounts, and then are moved into banks as legitimate money, without leaving a trail.”

  “Penelope has had some tension with her father lately,” Niall added. “We think it has to do with how suffocatingly close Eli guards her. So, part of her quiet rebellion against her father is a secret affair she’s been carrying on with Connor, someone whom she seems to have had a crush on for some time.”

  Sydney let out a low whistle. “Scandalous romance in the House of Morrison. I like this girl.”

  “Connor is a mysterious figure for us, and almost impossible to get near. We rarely see him photographed at any of Eli’s business meetings or events. Even Eli’s other associates don’t know him well, and he’s quite intentional about keeping them at arm’s length. But because of his management of Penelope’s funds—and their affair—he can occasionally be found with her. He’ll definitely be in attendance at her party.”

  “What’s she like?” Sydney asked.

  “We don’t know much.” Sauda nodded at Winter. “But we do know one interest she has.”

  “Painting?” Winter suggested wryly.

  “Bad taste in music?” Sydney answered.

  Winter felt heat creeping up his face and opened his mouth to argue.

  Sauda frowned at Sydney, who just held her hands up in mock innocence. Then the woman turned her attention back to Winter. “Winter, Penelope has attended over half of the concerts you’ve put on in the last two years. She has been in the audience during some of your interviews, has bought two of your old stage outfits from charity auctions—each of them at price points over two hundred thousand dollars, and she even met you once at a VIP backstage event for a handful of your fans. You probably don’t remember her—she’s quite shy and keeps a low profile.”

  He swallowed, his mind automatically flipping back through the hundreds of meet and greets he’d done before, trying to remember her face. “True fan,” he murmured.

  Sauda nodded. “I suspect that you’re a bit of an escape for her, and the oppressive world her father has built around her. Now, like Eli, Connor Doherty is a possessive man. He cherishes the beautiful things he owns, and one of those beautiful things at the moment is Penelope. He’s quite aware of her overwhelming fondness for you, though, and I imagine it won’t be hard for him to be lured out if Penelope is hanging on your arm throughout her party.”

  The danger of this setup sent a shiver down Winter’s spine. “You want me to seduce her?”

  Sauda shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to us. Be a flirt, be a confidant, be whatever you need to be. Walk the line of making Connor just jealous enough to want to get to know you, and not so much that he shuts you out.”

  Winter’s attention shifted back to the photo of Connor Doherty hovering beside Penelope’s. If there was anything he was good at outside of music and performance, it was knowing just how much charm he needed to dial up in order to get the specific results he wanted. He’d just never expected to use it for espionage.

  “Yeah, sure,” he muttered. “Piece of cake.”

  Sauda nodded. “Excellent. If we can get close enough to plant something on Connor, I believe Sydney can steal the evidence we need.”

  “Not to criticize any part of this,” Sydney interjected, “but I have serious doubts about whether or not Winter can maintain our cover.”

  “This sounds a lot like a critique to me,” Winter said.

  She eyed him. “You didn’t even know what a CPU was.”

  Winter held a hand out at Sauda. “You told her I didn’t know?”

  “Well, he knows now,” Sauda said, casting a stern look toward Sydney before turning back to Winter. “We’ll prepare you. But the best part of your cover, Mr. Young, is that it isn’t really a cover at all. Your cover is you. So just be yourself.”

  His gaze went back to Sydney. Her eyes stayed away from his, and everything about her body language told him that she would do everything in her power to avoid him unless it was necessary for them to cooperate.

  There would be no small talk with her.

  Fine. Winter tightened his lips and kept his focus on Sauda, too. He wasn’t joining the Panacea Group for this mission to make new friends, anyway. By the end of it, when they made it out, they would never need to see each other again.

  “Are we all on the same page?” Niall asked, his eyes settling on each of them. When no one added anything, he nodded and turned off the hologram. The photo of Penelope vanished, leaving the middle of the table bare. “Excellent.” He tucked his hands in his pockets and gave Winter and Sydney a tight smile. “And get to know each other. We’d like you to give off the impression that you both get along, or are at least polite.”

  “This is the most optimistic I’ve ever heard you, Niall,” Sauda said.

  “I’m only doing it for you,” Niall replied.

  Sauda put a hand against her heart. “Flattered as always.”

  Niall just grunted. “Optimism is my hidden power.”

  Optimism is my hidden power.

  The familiar phrase jolted through Winter like a lightning bolt. Suddenly, he saw a flashback before him of Artie leaning back on the couch in their old home, teasing Winter as he scribbled bits of lyrics in a notebook.

  The flashback vanished, and Winter found himself staring again at Niall. His head swam. “Wait,” he said, holding a hand up. “Why did you say that?”

  “Say what?” Niall asked.

  “Optimism is my hidden power.” He looked at Sauda, then back at Niall. “My brother used to say that all the time. Why are you saying it?”

  Niall and Sauda exchanged a knowing glance.

  Winter’s eyes had turned solemn and cold. “I’ve signed your paperwork and heard you out,” he whispered. “So I think it’s time you told me the truth.”

  Sauda laced her fingers together on the table and gave him a steady look. “We recruited your brother a month after he joined the Peace Corps,” she said. “He worked for us. He was a Panacea agent.”

  5

  All the World’s a Secret Stage

  Winter should have known.

  Should have guessed it during his first conversation with Sauda and Niall.

  But who the hell would automatically assume that his late brother was a secret agent?

  All those missions. All those times his brother had left for weeks, then come back and told him elaborately detailed stories about what he did. Lies.

  No, not lies. He had worked for the Peace Corps. It just wasn’t the whole truth.

  Had Artie once sat in the back of a car and listened in disbelief to Sauda making him an offer? Had he refused, then agreed? How had he really died?

  “Are you okay?”

  Winter looked up through his swimming thoughts to meet Sydney’s frown.

  “If you need some time to process this,” Sauda said, “we can reschedule the remainder of today’s meeting.”

  “No.” Winter squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes. I mean—I don’t know.”

  “Quite a remarkable family,” Niall said.

  “Your mother doesn’t know,” Sauda went on, her voice gentler now. “She still doesn’t. I am going to order you to keep it that way.”

  “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Winter snapped. There was no use being angry at Sauda, but he couldn’t help the fury roiling in his veins. How could he even fathom telling his mother something like this?