“I’m your favorite, aren’t I?” Maxine winked atme.
Ronnie’s mouth opened in shock. “Yeah right! Everyone knowsI’mherfavorite.”
Maxine just laughed. “You’re her best friend, butI’mher favorite. There’s adifference.”
This age-oldargument.
“What if I’m her favorite?” Brisk asked, from his place behind thewheel.
I scoffed playfully. “You wish. I’ll never forgive you for eating the last of my chocolate lastChristmas.”
We pulled up to the guard gate and Brisk chuckled, turning back to look at Ronnie. “I wish I were Ronnie’s favorite.” He winked ather.
I was pretty sure everyone collectively rolled their eyes. Brisk had been after Ronnie since last year, but because we dated for a hot minute like two years ago, Ronnie kept telling him no. No matter how many times I told her I didn’t care, or how much chemistry they had, the poor girl shot him downhard.
“All right, this guy is richer than God. Let’s get into professional mode,” I told myteam.
Ronnie straightened her black-framed glasses and pulled on her white surgeon’s coat. Clients loved that. No matter how good her résumé was, clients never failed to comment on her age. She was twenty-one and one of the youngest Harvard Medical School graduates in history—having started there at the tender age of thirteen. After long days in class at Harvard, she’d spend her evenings training at the Boston academy in military drills. Then at night, she slept with me, Nox, and Brisk. We’d had each other’s backs from the beginning and alwayswould.
She murmured something in Japanese and Nox responded with a chuckle. I just shook my head. She spoke five languages, came from a prominent family andlovedcats. I never understood how we’d become best friends. Sometimes life just stuck you with someone and they grew onyou.
A well-built young man at the guard gate approached our jeep. After showing our papers and IDs, he opened the gates and we drove up the long circular drive. The sprawling estate was fit for a celebrity, craftsman in style but with a modern flair. The home extended the length of the large lot. Standing at the front was the butler, Daniel Hansen, an older man in his fifties with black and silver hair, wearing a fulltuxedo.
“Oh my God, what if our new client is Batman!” Maxine commented after seeing thebutler.
I smiled as everyone else in the car chuckled. “You think Batman needs a team to get him through the Dream Wars?” I asked. I wished Batman was real. Then maybe he could end all of this and we could finally sleep in peaceagain.
Brisk parked the car off to the side and we all started unloading ourgear.
“Miss Steele, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” the man’s sweet voice sounded from behindme.
I turned and extended my hand. “Mr. Hansen, Ipresume?”
He nodded. I’d pored over this guy’s file too, partly out of interest, but mostly because I didn’t sleep with strangers in the house. I wanted to know everything about everyone I was protecting. Daniel Hansen was fifty-two years old and had been working for the Striker family for over two decades. He was originally from England, but his accent was mild. No family, no wife, a slave to the job. Interestingly, before coming to work for the Strikers, he was an MI6 agent in Britishintelligence.
“The pleasure is all mine, sir,” I told him as he took my hand in a good firmgrip.
The Striker family was fascinating. The mother and father died the first month of the Dream Wars. Our client was fourteen years old when the ships had landed, though the file was unclear as to whether he witnessed anything. His little brother was ten. The only comfort we had in this world was that the ghouls weren’t attracted to children under the age of maturity. It’s like they couldn’t even see them over there, so kids roamed the Dream Wars harmlessly while their parents fought for their lives. But the day you hit puberty, you were fair game. Food to the ghouls. For boys, that was usually about fourteen, and for girls it was younger, with the average age beingtwelve.
Daniel Hansen raised the two boys along with the nanny, Josephine Pearl. Miss Pearl was someone I was dying to meet. She’d taken guardianship of the boys at the age of thirty and single-handedly kept them alive in the Dream Wars, until the cadet school could pump out enough graduates to hire so the boys could be trained themselves. This family had been through numerous protection details; they’d all either died or been fired by none other than my client, DamienStriker.
“We’ve been on the waiting list for your team for over six months,” Mr. Hansen kindly reminded me. The bags under his eyes were deep. I wondered if this whole house had been up for four days, or just the injured DamienStriker.
I’d taken one phone call a week for the past six months from Mr. Hansen, asking if we’d had any cancelations. I knew full well how long they’d beenwaiting.
“Now we’re all yours. Indefinitely,” I replied, referencing the contract we’d signed the daybefore.
He smiled, a twinkle in his eye. “I am very happy to hear that. Mr. Striker hasn’t sleptin—”
“Four days,” I told him, holstering an extraweapon.
He assessed me with an intelligent gaze. “Where was I born?” heasked.
He wanted to know how prepared I was. I could play this game. I may not have been too book smart, but I had the memory of an elephant. “Cotswold England, although you grew up in Brighton before entering the Knighting Gale Boarding School forBoys.”
Now his smile reached his eyes. “It’s so nice to finally have someone competent in charge. These other teams are all muscle and no brains. Come on, I’ll bring you to meet Mr. Striker andJeremy.”
I usually didn’t let myself get attached to clients or their families, but right off the bat I liked this old man. It was a good thing too, because he, Josephine Pearl, and the Striker brothers had all been written into the contract as people to protect. The most interesting part was a clause, forcing my team to protect Miss Pearl, Mr. Hansen, and the little Striker brother over our main client,Damien.
