* * * *
I flexed my fingers above the keyboard, the green electronic energy dancing between them like miniature lightning. Three weeks of recovery had restored most of my strength and all of my abilities—maybe even enhanced them.
The command center beneath The Golden Bear hummed with technology that responded to my presence like eager pets sensing their owner. Screens flickered to life as I approached, hard drives whirred, and data flowed through systems at my mental command.
This was my domain now, as surely as the restaurant upstairs and the criminal empire beyond belonged to Nicolai.
I still couldn't believe he'd given me this—an entire room filled with cutting-edge technology that probably cost more than most small countries' defense budgets.
Multiple screens lined the walls, surveillance feeds from across the city mingling with financial data streams and facial recognition programs.
A massive digital map dominated the center of the room, glowing red pins marking the locations of O'Rourke's former facilities, blue ones indicating his associates we'd already dealt with, and yellow for those still at large.
There were a lot more blue pins than when I'd started three weeks ago.
I smiled grimly at the thought, directing my attention to a cluster of screens showing bank transfers between shell companies. O'Rourke was good at hiding his money, but I was better at finding it.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard, though I barely needed the physical interface anymore. Since pushing my abilities to their breaking point at O'Rourke's facility, my connection to electronic systems had deepened. I could feel the data flowing like currents of electricity, could reach into the streams and redirect them with a thought.
The price had been steep—a month in a coma and weeks of recovery—but I couldn't deny the results were impressive.
"Found you," I murmured as a transaction caught my attention—a transfer of funds to an account in the Cayman Islands that matched a pattern I'd been tracking.
I reached out with my mind, following the electronic trail through servers and firewalls. The green energy around my hands intensified, reflecting in the monitors as I bypassed security protocols that would have taken conventional hackers days to crack.
For me, they were as substantial as cobwebs.
The door to the command center opened behind me and I didn't need to turn to know who had entered. Nicolai's presence filled a room like no one else's—a predatory energy that made the air feel suddenly thicker. My body reacted to his proximity with a shameful eagerness that I was still getting used to.
"Busy day?" I asked, eyes still on the screens as my consciousness traced financial networks across continents.
"Productive," came the rumbled reply.
I swiveled in my chair, taking in the sight of him. The immaculately tailored suit couldn't completely disguise the power of the body beneath it, and the bloodied knuckles of his right hand told their own story.
"Let me guess," I said dryly. "Mr. Henderson suddenly decided to be more cooperative about his business relationship with O'Rourke?"
Nicolai's mouth twitched in that almost-smile that did unfair things to my heart rate. "He developed a surprising enthusiasm for sharing information."
"Amazing what a change in perspective can achieve." I nodded toward his hand. "You should clean that up before Yuri sees. You know how he gets about bloodstains on the imported carpets."
"Henderson's nose bled more than I anticipated." He moved to the small sink in the corner, washing his hands with methodical precision. "He provided names. Three new associates we weren't tracking yet."
My interest immediately piqued. "Financial backers?"
"One financial, one political, one technical." He dried his hands on a towel, then moved to stand behind me. "The technical contact is particularly interesting."
He handed me a small notebook with three names written in his precise handwriting. I input them into my system, setting facial recognition programs in motion across surveillance networks and initiating deep searches through financial and communication databases.
"Senator Williams is going to be a problem," I noted, eyeing the second name on the list. "His security is top-notch."
"Leave the senator to me," Nicolai replied, his voice taking on that dangerous edge that reminded me of exactly who and what he was. "Focus on this one."
He tapped the third name—Dr. Elaine Reeves, Technical Director.
"What's her story?"
"Henderson claims she was the architect of the containment technology used on shifters." Nicolai's voice remained calm, but I caught the slight tension in his jaw. "The same restraints they used on me."
