Thorn was nearly sixty years old but could easily have been mistaken for a man ten or fifteen years younger. He was very fit, with a head of dark hair that didn’t have even a sprinkling of gray in it yet, although that could have been because he dyed it. His dark eyes were as sharp and intense as a hunter’s, and he had no problem giving away the fact that he was studying Trevor as much as Trevor was studying him. But while Thorn exuded the pure charm and charisma that many politicians possessed, he also had the cold, detached aura of a psychopathic killer. Thorn might not have set off the bomb that killed John, but he’d ordered the hit.
Until recently, Thorn and his head of security had never hung around the DCO training complex, but since John’s murder, they’d both become regular features. Their excuse was that, in times of crisis, the DCO needed superior guidance and leadership. That was bullshit of course. Thorn was hanging around to make sure his plans—whatever those might be—went off without a hitch.
It was difficult seeing Thorn and knowing what the man had done, not just to John, but to the whole DCO. One friend was dead, and the rest were on the run for their lives, all because Thorn wanted them out of the way. The urge to rip out the man’s throat was frigging hard to resist. The only thing that stopped Trevor was the knowledge that killing Thorn wasn’t what John would have wanted.
A slow, evil smile curved Thorn’s lips, as if he realized the struggle going on inside Trevor. The arrogance in the man’s eyes damn near pushed Trevor over the edge, and he felt his canines elongate, aching to tear into some meaty part of this a-hole’s anatomy.
Trevor took a deep breath and forced his fangs to retract, pushing down the urge to kill and instead turning his attention to the woman sitting in front of Dick’s desk as he sat down beside her.
She was undeniably attractive, with long, strawberry-blond hair tied back in a professional-looking bun, perfect fair skin, and some seriously pink bee-stung lips. She also had the most unusual green-blue eyes he’d ever seen. They were kind of mesmerizing, actually.
Since she was seated, he couldn’t tell exactly how tall she was, but he was guessing five ten or so. While he couldn’t be sure of her height, he was definitely sure the woman was fit. Not even the professional-looking pantsuit she had on could hide the fact that she had long runner’s legs.
She also had the familiar scent of smokeless gunpowder clinging to her. It was mostly covered up with some kind of fruity bodywash and a flowery shampoo, but he could smell it. She’d fired a weapon recently, probably that morning. She was almost certainly a field agent of some kind, though what the hell any of this had to do with him, Trevor didn’t have a clue.
He turned back to Dick. “Someone mentioned you wanted to see me? I would have come sooner, but they were serving hot dogs in the cafeteria.”
Dick’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, Trevor thought the man might explode, but instead, he got a grip on his anger and gestured to the woman. “Trevor Maxwell, meet Alina Bosch.”
Trevor glanced at her. “A pleasure.”
Alina nodded in return, but before she could say anything, Dick spoke again.
“She’s former CIA and your new partner.”
Trevor waited for the punch line. Because one had to be coming. There was absolutely no way in hell Dick was ever going to voluntarily put him back in the field, so why waste time giving him a partner? But after a staring contest with the man, he finally realized Dick wasn’t joking.
He hated doing it, but he was gonna have to bite on this one. The curiosity was just too much for him. This was like giving in and admitting you couldn’t find your four-year-old nephew during a game of hide-and-seek—it just plain sucked.
“Okay, Dick. I admit, getting someone out of the CIA is a big win for the team,” Trevor said, giving him a thumbs-up. “But why partner her up with me? I mean, you’ve had me on the bench for a while.” He threw Alina a glance. “No offense. I’m sure you’re a wonderful agent and all. Your parents must be very proud.”
Alina shrugged. “No offense taken. You’re not exactly my first choice in partners, either.”
Snarky and blunt. Two qualities he appreciated in a woman. Throw in the fact that she was also hot as a blowtorch, and Trevor had to admit he was disappointed she was on Thorn’s payroll. It made him wonder if the man had chosen Alina through the use of some crazy software program that said she possessed all the qualities necessary to trick him into being stupid in her presence, because she definitely did.
“Oh, and just to be clear,” she continued, “my parents don’t know I’m CIA. They think I’m a barista at a coffee shop.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Trevor saw Thorn regarding him and Alina with the same detached expression he probably used when pulling the wings off flies.
“You’re right,” Dick said. “I have been keeping you on the shelf lately, and with good reason. We just had six of our best shifter teams conspire to kill the former director of this organization. I haven’t been able to bring myself to put you out in the field since John’s murder because I simply don’t know where your loyalties lie.”
The fact that Dick was even having this conversation with him and bringing up the subject of trust was significant. The man instinctively didn’t want to trust Trevor because he was a shifter, but something else was going on that had him questioning that. Something serious enough to make him pair Trevor up with a new partner and put him back into the field.
Trevor had no idea what that something was, but if it meant getting out from under Dick’s constant surveillance—even for a little while—it would be worth it to play along.
“You want to know where my loyalties lie?” Trevor asked bluntly. “That’s easy. They lie with John Loughlin, the man who recruited me and taught me most of what I know. The man who was killed by a bunch of fucking cowards that I’d do anything to hunt down and gut like the pieces of crap that they are.”
Dick didn’t say anything, but his heart sped up a little. No doubt because Trevor had let out a menacing growl at the end there as his anger got the best of him. Then again, maybe Dick’s heart was beating a little faster because he knew Trevor was pointing those threats directly at him.
After a moment, the director looked at Thorn, who gave him a barely perceptible nod.
Dick opened a drawer along one side of his desk and took out a thick file folder, dropping it on the desk in front of Trevor with a thud.
“As I’m sure you already know, the DCO has expended a tremendous amount of time and resources in the hunt for the rogue shifters, especially Ivy and Landon, whom we consider the ringleaders of the conspiracy. Unfortunately, those efforts have been a failure. Regardless of our commitment to finding John’s killers, the time has come to realize that our traditional agents simply don’t have the tools necessary for the job.”
Trevor almost laughed. Considering that the operatives Dick had sent out weren’t even real agents but hired muscle, it was an understatement to say they didn’t possess the tools to catch Ivy and Landon. Hell, those meatheads weren’t just missing the right tools to catch a shifter; they didn’t even own a fucking toolbox.
“So you want me to track them down?” Trevor asked, figuring that was what Dick wanted to hear.
