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which of this data comes from that storage area. I feel like it’s going to be the most satisfying in trying to work out a strategy.”
    Again, silence.
    “Shit.” Colonel Grant had come around the table so he could get a better look at what I was pointing to.
    I angled towards Mr. Spencer.
    “Thank you, Lynx, Striker. We need to investigate the wall, and we’ll get back to you with our findings.” Red rose like an old-fashioned thermometer on Mr. Spencer’s face. “I wish you hadn’t been gone so long. We really could have used this information earlier – time and money are in short supply.”
    His words were dismissive and a little mystifying. Striker and I stood and left.
    Striker physically pushed me through the reception area with his hand on my back, out through the massive wooden doors. When the door swung shut behind us, Striker laughed out loud, head thrown back, hand against the wall for support. I stood there, uncomfortably shifting my weight back and forth between my feet, until Striker wiped the tears out of his eyes and started me down the hall again.
    “Are you laughing at me, Striker?” I asked, rubbing my thumb into my palm.
    “Hell no, Lynx. I’m laughing because you’re so damned smart that you make everyone around you look like idiots. Do you know how long they’ve been working on that case, trying to find any evidence? A year. You sashay in, watch a little video, point out what looks so damned obvious. You make everyone look like asses for not spotting it themselves, and do it with such ease. Really, Chica, you should at least try to make it look a little harder. It’s impolitic to make everyone around you into buffoons.”
    “I didn’t sashay.” I pouted, and that got Striker laughing again.
    Okay, good. Maybe my brain was in better shape than I thought. Now if I could pinpoint the flaw in the operation Strike Force was undertaking, I’d celebrate. And that something wrong with this scenario…argh, it seemed just out of reach. I was surprised smoke didn’t shoot out of my head, the gears were rubbing so hard. But still nothing.
    As we moved toward his office, I grabbed Striker’s arm, pulling him to a stop. “Please call the mission off.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know. I’ve got a feeling. . .”
    “Heebie-jeebies?”
    “No. Something else. Danger.” I wrapped my fingers into the fabric of his sleeve. “Please, don’t go.”
    “Lynx, it’s our job to be in danger. Did you figure out what we’re missing?”
    “No. I didn’t.” I pursed my lips tightly together.
    “If you don’t have anything concrete, then we have to move forward. This mission is a big deal. And not just for the lives at stake.”
    “Does that tie into Spencer saying time and money are in short supply?” I asked.
    Striker’s mouth pulled into a grim line. “It does.”
    Adrenaline pulled the blood from my fingers and toes, making them pinprick. “Are you going to explain that?”
    “Yes. But not here and not now. Tonight. I promise.” He checked his watch. “Go time.” He scanned the hall for onlookers, then pushed me into a doorframe, where he kissed me breathless. I wanted to freeze this moment in time, to stay here for eternity. Striker had a magical way of making me feel safe, whole, and connected – but all too soon he broke away.
    “Tonight, Chica, I promise.”
    As I watched him stride away, every cell in my body screamed at me to drag him back and make him stay.

Three
     
    T he elevator doors closed and whisked Striker away. I needed to solve this puzzle before my team moved into place. Mission fails can be lethal no matter how skilled the operatives. So if there was a flaw, I needed to expose it quickly. Maybe walking would help my brain sift through this morning’s mission pieces. I had to find the hole and plug it. Now.
    I found myself wandering the Iniquus hallways. Pulling up the “knowing” that rocked me this morning, I wondered how the nursery rhyme could serve me –