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  Shep stalked to his desk and sank into his chair, demonstrating the ease of movement natural to their kind, even in their older years. “What happened? Christenson pulled us in because we’re bred to be the best. Please tell me why I spent the last hour apologizing to an irate ambassador and his sobbing wife? Not to mention,” Shep’s voice lowered dangerously, “the damn FBI laughing their asses off at us. They’ve been looking for an excuse for years to integrate the Program under their domain. Let’s not hand them the opportunity on a goddamn silver platter.”

  Chase shrugged and raised his eyebrows in Adam’s direction. Adam knew what he had to do, but it didn’t mean he liked it. “I screwed up,” he said, hating the unfamiliar taste of a confession.

  Shep and his father swiveled to face him directly. “Oh?” William Blacker asked. His tone was all hard-ass, but his eyes betrayed his concern that his son screwed up in a very public way.

  “There was a woman there…she…I was distracted. I left the room with someone I thought was the greater threat but I judged wrong and exposed the baby to the kidnapper. I…” He stopped. There were no words to make it right.

  “We got played. Pure and simple,” Chase said. “They threw out a red herring and we jumped on it.”

  Shep’s eyes narrowed. “A woman distracted you? What did she do, shoot fireworks from her pussy?”

  “Just about,” Adam muttered.

  His father leaned forward, elbows on his thighs. “Could the woman have been in on it? Maybe she was meant to distract you. God knows we’ve all been too distracted by women lately.” He didn’t say it, but Adam knew he referred to the exposé in the media the previous week. For more than fifty years the Program operated in total secrecy outside the Washington Beltway. One email from a disgruntled spouse had changed it all.

  Chase sat up straight. “No. Not this woman.” Then he clamped his mouth shut, not wanting to reveal the woman in question was his sister.

  Adam shot him a quick apologetic glance, but knew he had to reveal all if they were to get to the bottom of the kidnapping and find Christenson’s kid. “It was Loren Stanton, Chase’s half sister.”

  Dead quiet settled into the room as each man pondered the implications. Finally Shep gathered his wits. “You say she distracted you. How?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know…the closer I got to her, it was like we were alone in the room. I wanted to grab her and…” He did not want to tell Chase he’d wanted to fuck his sister against the wall of the ballroom without regard to the audience. In fact, just the memory of her smile and scent had him shifting in his seat to accommodate the sudden swelling of his cock. “But she left the room before I did. There’s no way she could’ve returned and taken the kid.”

  Shep and his father exchanged a long, meaningful glance. What the hell was that about?

  “Okay, we’ll get back to Ms. Stanton later,” Shep said. “For now, tell us everything you remember about the party leading up to the kidnapping. Officially, we are off the case. As the FBI put it, ‘the hired muscle is no longer necessary and the brains are taking over the operation.’ But I’m not convinced this was an ordinary kidnapping. We’ll need to work delicately, not step on toes.”

  Hired muscle, his ass. As genetically enhanced government soldiers, they had perfect recall and higher than average IQs. Adam and Chase spent the next hour retelling the night’s events and analyzing them from every angle. When at last Shep felt they’d had enough, he ended the session, warning them to expect more tomorrow.

  “You may go,” he said to Chase, but asked Adam to stay a few more minutes.

  Chase stood, stretched and announced, “I’m heading for the pool.” He looked at Adam. “See you there in a few?”

  Adam also stretched his arms above his head, flexing his stiff muscles then lowered them. “I’ll meet you there.” He watched with vague amusement as Shep scribbled onto a spiral notebook. No amount of ribbing would get Shep to change to a tablet or laptop. He suffered through email as a necessity, but that was the extent. Maybe it was his way of reminding himself of his humanity.

  “Tell us more about Loren Stanton,” Shep finally said when the door had closed behind Chase. “Did you talk to her?”

  “I spoke to her briefly. She left before I exited the ballroom.”

  “She’s a reporter, correct?” the senior Blacker asked.

  He nodded. “Yes, for The Post,” Adam said.

  “We’re going to need to get every detail about her. Where she lives, shops, and what she knows about her father. We know next to nothing about Robert’s daughter,” William said.

  “It’s possible she knew we were on assignment there tonight and was sent to follow up on last week’s news story,” added Shep. “I’m sick of making the news. If she so much as breathes the air near Beltsville, we shut her down.”

  Adam thought their reaction was a bit overboard. Loren had seemed annoyed at having to cover an over-the-top first birthday party. More than likely she had no idea her father had been on the team of genetically enhanced soldiers who’d made the front cover of every newspaper last week. If a miniscule part of him wanted her to find the compound, find him, he pushed that emotion to the deepest recesses of his mind.

  The senior Blacker jumped in. “We don’t want a repeat of last week’s top YouTube video.” Ever since Ryan’s wife went to the press to divulge the Program’s secrets, civilians had scrambled to catch glimpses of Program Soldiers.

  Since the article, they’d had to scale back operations because it was damn near impossible to operate with people camping outside their compound, hoping to get a glimpse of one of the enhanced soldiers. Or worse, crowds of females hoping to be genetically compatible and get selected as a breeding partner.

  “That’s right,” grumbled Shep. “I’ve never seen anything like this. Third time this month we’ve been caught on camera. People with their damn cell phone cameras and Face Space pages. What happened to good old Walt Cronkite for news? Why does any idiot with a keyboard and internet connection think he’s a credentialed journalist?”

  Adam didn’t bother answering. Shep was old school and no explanation would change it. At the same time, a tiny part of him felt Loren deserved to know more about her family. She had a father who’d served his country faithfully and died for that patriotism and a brother who still served. But, nope. Never going to happen. No way Loren would ever discover the truth about her father unless Adam took out a front-page ad in a newspaper and gave the whos, whats and wheres. He kept his opinion to himself and got up to leave. His generation of the Program held their own Thursday night rituals, and he was late. He took a step toward the door but stopped at the sound of his dad’s voice.

  “Hang on, Adam. We have one other thing to discuss.”

  He turned around and retook his seat. “What’s up?”

  A silent conversation relayed across the desk between his dad and commander. He folded his arms across his chest, leaned back in his chair and waited, sure it would be a request to monitor some minor operation or training class. But surprise hit at Commander Shepard’s first words.

  “Adam, America changed after the terrorist attacks on our turf. Attitudes toward security changed. Shake-ups in the CIA, FBI, the creation of the department of Homeland Security, you name it.”

  He bit his tongue in an effort not to tell Shep to shit or get off the pot. But he was dying to know where this was headed. His no-nonsense commander never minced words. Seeing him dance around a topic like a ballerina was unusual.

  “As you mentioned, we have new challenges to face. Now that the world knows about us, it’s expected other groups will try to imitate our science and create their own genetically enhanced soldiers. We need to stay faster, better and smarter than the rest.”

  He nodded. Shep still wasn’t telling him anything new.

  Shep continued. “Ever since we were exposed, I’ve been flooded with applications and blood work from females offering themselves as breed partners. It’s foolis
h not to take advantage. We need more volunteers from the current ranks.”

  Adam replied, “What are you getting at?” His head, which had already been hammering a discordant beat, upped the tempo.

  William Blacker stared intently at Adam’s face, willing him to understand. “None of your cohorts signed up for the breeding program yet. The youngest child on campus is three years old. We need babies.”

  Adam flew back out of his seat, banging into the doorknob. No. Oh hell no. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Is that really on the table? I thought required breeding disappeared in the eighties along with mullet haircuts. It’s a whole new millennium. We have the technology to abandon the breeding program. Can’t we do test-tube babies or something? ’Cause, I’m not participating.” He turned with a plea for his father. “Sir, you know why I’ve never signed up to be matched. Has Doctor Wise given her approval?”

  “Doctor Wise feels there is a one in four chance of your child having a deformity. It’s an acceptable risk to her.”

  “Because it’s not her fetus who’d be terminated.” At the uncomfortable silence, Adam clenched his fists. “That’s it, isn’t it? She’s happy to abort my children in the name of medical science. Fuck that. Go for test tubes, ’cause I won’t be part of it.”

  Adam, you know why we can’t do test-tube babies,” Shep reminded him. “Doctor Rovinsky’s child-rearing theories are still applicable.”

  “Oh, yeah, the good old Doctor Rovinsky. Well, fuck him and fuck his ass-backwards methodology. He’s been dead for nearly twenty years,” Adam said.

  “We honor our founder.” Shep came as close to shouting as Adam had ever heard. As far as he knew, only a select, lucky few had seen Shep lose his temper, and they now mopped floors in Qatar.

  “Adam, if we did use your DNA in a test tube, would you really be able to ignore the fact that there would be a child on campus who’s technically your son?” his father asked. “You’re a good man. You couldn’t just ignore the child.”

  “Watch me,” Adam muttered, but his protest was mild. He knew himself enough to know any child remotely related to him would fall under his direct protection.

  “Plus, you’re going to want and love your DNA match, like I wanted your mother,” his father added.

  Wait, what? His father was claiming to have loved his mother? Now that was shocking. In the fifteen years he’d lived with his dad, he’d barely mentioned his mom. Granted, they weren’t about the father-son bonding thing. They had more of a business relationship, but he still would’ve expected his father to protect him on this issue, especially given the family history. All Adam remembered was his mom running away with him and his baby brother. He’d been three at the time. If there’d ever been love between his parents it had died a quick death when his mom had given birth to a disabled child who didn’t meet Program standards.

  Adam’s dad rose to his feet as did Commander Shepard. “We need you, son.”

  “The country needs you,” echoed Shepard. “Finding the perfect genetic match for you ensures the next generation of elite soldiers. You’re already thirty. Who will take over for you when you’re too old to do your job? I, myself, retired comfortably knowing my sons and friends’ sons were there to take the field.” He stared at Adam intently. “Don’t give me an answer now. Think about what we’re asking, and let us start some blood work, testing and searching. But as the leader of your group, if you get on board, the rest of your cohort will follow.”

  Silence followed. Adam didn’t trust himself to speak. His fists clenched with the urge to tear a chunk out of the wall. “With all due respect to the country, sir, I won’t do it. I can’t let history repeat itself. Ask Gavin. Ask Chase. But don’t ask me. Find some other stud horse.” He turned and slammed the door. Adam walked in silence down the hall. If he’d had running shoes on, he’d have taken off for a good, long run around the compound. Adam came to an abrupt halt and pounded a fist against the wall. How could they ask this of me? Of all people? Did they forget what happened to my family?

  He strode down the hallway and headed to the pool. He padded silently along the corridor, enjoying the cold that penetrated his overly fancy suit. Cold felt good after the day’s scorching heat. He’d grown up with DC’s summer humidity but never learned to enjoy it. At least now he lived in a place with a pool. The Beltsville, Maryland compound boasted an Olympic-quality indoor and outdoor pool for resident use. The best he had in childhood had been an open hydrant on a dirty city corner.

  Adam looked up to see Xander, his best friend, ambling up the corridor. Xander rarely moved faster than a controlled, steady gait, but when he did, look out. Adam thought of him like a jaguar. Sleek, deceptively lazy and mean as hell.

  Xander took one look at Adam’s mug. “What’s eating you?”

  “You mean besides fucking up on the job and letting a kid get kidnapped?”

  A trace of a smile flashed on Xander’s face. “Yeah, besides that. Everyone’s talking about it. No one can believe Mr. Perfect screwed up.”

  “Thanks. Don’t call me that.” He frowned. “They want me to lead our cohort in signing up for the breeding program.”

  Xander winced in sympathy. “Shit, they tapped you? I’d heard rumors.” He smirked. “You think they’ll ever ask me? I already have a tux for the wedding.”

  The only reason Xander owned a tux was to fit in at fancy parties on assignments. Plus rental tuxedos didn’t come with hidden pockets designed to hold a Glock. Adam snorted. “Yeah, Shep wants to reproduce your genes like he wants to hold a press conference on our latest mission.”

  Xander nodded, unhurt by Adam’s assessment of the truth. “I’ve heard it’s cool though. You go crazy for the female, some kind of pheromone thing. I wonder what that would be like to want a woman more than you want your next mission.”

  Adam kept walking, ignoring the warning signs and flashing lights in his brain telling him he may have made that connection with last night’s dance partner. It may have been a connection, but it was nothing he could or would follow up on.

  Xander slowed his gait, staring off into the distance, and then gave his head a shake. “Or you could end up like Ryan,” he said, naming the poor bastard whose wife had exposed the Program to the media last week. She was currently on lockdown on campus. Rumor had it Ryan had her chained to their bed in retaliation for her betrayal.

  “Come on. I can think of one cure for all ailments. Skip the pool, let’s hit the gym. Now.” He eyed Adam’s dark suit. “Go get padded up. I want to work on my takedowns.”

  He fell into step alongside Xander, grateful his best friend knew him well. A little martial arts challenge was exactly what he needed now. Xander was one of the few soldiers who could pin him and keep him down. Each guy had a specialty—knives, sharpshooting, you name it. Adam prided himself on being a true renaissance man. He excelled in all forms of combat, but he favored close-contact hand-to-hand. The pair walked along the corridor and exited the main office in companionable silence. They passed by the pool deck. Chase’s whoops permeated the humid night air as he shot off the diving board for a cannonball.

  “Man, I don’t get that guy,” Xander said.

  Adam understood Xander’s comment. He wanted to know how Chase had managed to shake off the events of the evening and be caterwauling in the pool with his buddies by midnight. All of the soldiers faced death on a regular basis, both as a target and taker of life. For most, the responsibility weighed heavily. They were prone to seeking isolation and quiet in their off hours. Some went to a monkish extreme like Xander, but Chase took it to the opposite degree. Adam shrugged in response to Xander’s comment. He had his own head to wade through without delving into Chase’s too.

  “Where are you two lovebirds headed?” A shout came from the pool deck. “Get your butts over here. We have many beers with your names on them.”

  Xander ignored the catcalls and continued next to him in silence. Adam felt his responsibility as team leader. He was a model f
or both missions and downtime.

  “Going to spar,” he called back, but did not slow down his gait. He hoped the others would take the hint and give them privacy. Impromptu matches often became rowdy competitions with money thrown down. He wasn’t in the mood. He sought quiet and concentration for sparring with Xander. His hint didn’t take. He heard the sluice of water and the slaps of wet feet on concrete as Chase and crew exited the pool. “Shit, we got company,” he muttered to Xander.

  “Let them watch.” Xander shrugged. “Unless you’re scared of losing your authority when they see me wipe the floor with your pretty face?”

  “My money’s on Adam.” Someone’s voice carried through the night air.

  He continued walking toward the gym. He was anxious to feel the cool bite of air-conditioning and get started before the audience grew larger.

  “Adam’s good, but Xander could best him,” Gavin said.

  “No shit?” Amazed murmurs filled the air. It sounded like some of the college-aged kids were home visiting for the summer.

  He wasn’t surprised. Xander kept to himself and rarely fought. He stayed in shape running the trails alongside the Potomac. If he ever left the Program, he could open his own martial arts training studio. Most of his cohort knew of Xander’s prodigious and mad-scary skills. They took one look at his blank, icy-blue eyes and knew to stay back at least fifty feet. Only Adam got close and caught rare glimpses of Xander’s emotions and offbeat sense of humor.

  When necessity forced Adam to leave his mom and move back into the Beltsville compound at age fifteen, he’d met Xander, who had arrived two weeks later, escorted by his heavy-handed, demanding father. They’d been stuck together as dorm mates, both outsiders. The room remained as quiet as a morning following a snowstorm for the first three months of living together. The two boys spoke only when necessary. Adam hadn’t been sure Xander even knew his name.

  But then his quiet roommate had done the unexpected. Xander had covered for him when he’d taken an unauthorized off-campus jaunt to visit his younger brother and mother. But he’d been caught and both boys had been slapped with kitchen duty and an extra five-mile daily run as punishment for lying. One morning while up to their armpits in carrot peelings, a strong bond of friendship formed. Sure, they’d never gone girly and shared their innermost thoughts. Xander didn’t know Adam had a younger brother. No one did. And he only had hints of Xander’s early life with his dad. They operated on more of a need-to-know basis.