Tom frowned at his monitor. He couldn’t see a damn thing wrong with those figures. They were entirely in line with the research Steadman had commissioned three years back, which meant that her insistence they’d been manipulated was strange.
Just like the whole episode in her office earlier had been odd. He pushed his chair back and ran a hand through his hair, thinking. With the deadline she’d dumped on him, he hadn’t had time to do more than file the meeting under ‘think about later.’
Now, a part of his brain that was either paranoid or rather smarter than the rest of him was questioning both the work and its urgency.
He replayed their conversation word for word. He had saidnothingthat could have caused that reaction from her, unless she had suspected what he was about to say. Which meant…
His mind shied away from the conclusion.
It was impossible that Councilor Steadman, whose father was a legendary figure in the shifters’ rights movement, could ever do such a thing. She was a ruthless operator, sure, used to getting her own way because her name opened doors that remained firmly closed to others. But whatever her faults mightbe, he couldn’t believe she would ever countenance murder, let alone of an entire pack. Oftwopacks, one of them civilian.
She waspassionateabout shifter rights. She worked harder and for longer hours than any of the other councilors, and she wouldn’t back down from her fiercely held beliefs for anything. Shifters like Tristan worshipped her for that.
But what if… what if she thought she’d beenprotectingthose principles by ordering the killings?
Maybe she’d believed that the discovery of an Argent would lead to the undoing of everything she’d been striving toward her whole career, integration between shifters and non-shifters. What if she’d wanted to get hold of Jesse in order to dispose of him?
He shook his head, unable to believe she’d ever contemplate anything like that. And she wouldneverhave ordered the slaying of a whole pack just because they were Argents and stood in the way of her agenda. Whoever had done that was a monster. It wasn’t her.
Turning his attention back to the screen in front of him, Tom found that the silence of the bookstacks, usually so welcome, suddenly felt oppressive. Katie, who had the next office, had maternity leave, and Drew, in the office opposite, was on vacation. The other two offices in their little section of the stacks were currently being used as storerooms, which meant they were pretty isolated. Katie hated it. She swore she heard footsteps down here at night sometimes.
He didn’t know if he was imagining things or if Katie had been right all along, because he caught the suggestion of a noise in the silence. He held his breath and listened again, and there it was—a soft tread on the linoleum, like someone trying not to be heard.
His heart thudded once, hard. The sense of danger that had screamed at him in Steadman’s office was back, clawing at him.
Chapter Twenty-seven
BRYCE
At any other time, Bryce would have been impressed by the grand building that housed the National Council. But not now, with Tom’s life on the line.
Their security check at the door was fleeting—apparently being guests of Councilor Bennett was enough of a guarantee—and the instant they were through, Bryce strode to the nearest reception desk and demanded to know where Tom Barrington’s office was.
“Barrington, Barrington,” the man muttered while looking him up in the internal directory. “Why do I know that name?”
Bryce darted impatient glances around the huge hall, with its colonnades and grand staircase, and fought not to punch the guy out and just read the directory himself because he’d never known anyone so damn slow.
“Oh,that’swhy—someone called with a message for him earlier, so I shot him an email. Works down in the bookstacks, office C216.”
“How do I find it?” Bryce somehow managed to stay civil.
“Well, you go along the corridor there to the back stairs, and then down, turn right, left, then left again and it’s the third office—holy mother of God, would you look atthat?”
Bryce turned to follow his stunned gaze. Matt and Jesse were emerging from the bathroom they’d disappeared into so that Jesse could shift in privacy. The washroom door was next to a tall window, which meant that the sun’s rays were falling onto Jesse, causing his coat to glow silver. It was a pale imitation of the beauty of his fur under moonlight, but it was still unearthly.
The guy behind the desk wasn’t the only one to notice—a woman cried out in shock, causing people to turn and look. Within seconds a deathly silence had fallen over the busy hall.
No matter how badly Bryce wanted to witness the casual way Matt and Jesse strolled across the hall, taking no notice of the stricken crowd, he didn’t have time. He had to find Tom. He took off at a run along the corridor that led to the basement stairs.
Whoever had built this place must have spent all their money on that impressive grand hallway, because it felt like he was heading down to servants’ quarters. The staircase was narrow and steep, with buzzing fluorescent lamps overhead. It wasn’t exactly inviting, and it got even worse when he reached the maze of corridors that looked like something out of every horror movie Tristan had forced him to sit through—for such a sweet-natured kid, he had an unholy love for the things.
Fluorescent lamps cast pools of harsh light that weren’t strong enough to reach every dark corner. Any one of those shadows could be harboring an ax murderer. Or a member of theCouncil security detail. Panic knotted Bryce’s gut as he followed the receptionist’s directions.
The further into the rabbit warren he penetrated, the more wrong it felt. Maybe it was because the few offices were empty, their occupants doing whatever people who worked here did all day, or maybe there was another reason, like the one he was sensing around the corner ahead—people moving quietly, trying to pass unnoticed.
He stopped and listened to the sounds ahead of him. Their breathing was uneven, the result either of adrenaline or exertion. And neither of those things could mean anything good, because if the receptionist’s directions had been right, around thenextcorner lay Tom’s office.
Inching forward, he peered around the corner. About twenty yards away, right by the corridor leading to Tom’s office, two male shifters were communicating by hand signals, indicating their intention to move forward.
