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at Jack. He swung around. Jack yelled at me to run then rushed Archimedes, placing himself between me and that madman. The guy just shot Jack in cold blood, in the head, then he turned to me...” Her voice broke. “I could see Archimedes smile, his mouth visible through the hole in the ski mask he wore. He held out his hand to me. ‘Come,’ he said. I ran.”
    Noah had never heard her version of that night. He wanted to drag her into his arms, out of the nightmare, but she’d locked herself in the past.
    “Lyssa,” he said, his voice soft.
    Her eyes snapped open.
    “Did he ever point the gun at you?”
    “Of course he did. Jack jumped in front of it.”
    “That’s not what you said. You said Archimedes swung around when you came in the room.”
    Her forehead furrowed. “I guess...what are you getting at?”
    “I think there’s a reason you’re still alive. Archimedes doesn’t want you dead. He wants you. We can use that to our advantage. If you’ll let us.
    Noah gripped her hand. “He’s dropping a twisted trail of bread crumbs, and you’re the prize he’s waiting for.”
    * * *
    C ANDLELIGHT FLICKERED AT the small corner table of the Italian restaurant, illuminating the face of the woman across from Archimedes. The fragrant spices of the exclusive D.C. eatery danced on the air.
    There was no name over the doorway—just another reason he frequented the place. Enough cash bought a table...and discretion.
    His companion was attractive enough, unassuming. Her eyelashes fluttered and she gazed at him, something akin to adoration.
    She wasn’t Alessandra, of course. Alessandra was perfection.
    He lifted the glass of red wine, letting the berries, vanilla, mocha and oak aroma tease his palate. “To our three-month anniversary.” He smiled at her. “You, Rose Wright, have placed my greatest desire within reach.”
    Her cheeks flushed and she bit her lip, taking a dainty sip of the Petrus as he, too, gifted his taste buds with the fifteen-hundred-dollar-a-bottle wine to celebrate his Chicago success. While the police and the feds scurried like rats, he waited, waited for Alessandra to prove her worth.
    “I’ve never met anyone like you.” Rose sighed.
    The waiter approached and placed their plates of pasta in front of them.
    Archimedes frowned, staring at his dish. Spots. He could see the spots. The side of his head began to throb and he pressed the heel of his hand against his temple.
    “Take them back,” he snapped. “We want clean china.”
    The waiter scowled and snatched the dinners. “Whatever.”
    Rose squirmed in her chair, her face going pale. He touched her cheek, forcing himself not to wince as his bare finger came into contact with her germ-infested skin.
    “Nothing but the best for you, my dearest Rose.”
    The waiter soon returned. “I—I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t realize who you were.” He practically bowed leaving them alone, perfectly pristine plates sitting in front of them.
    Rose smiled in awe. “How do they—?”
    “I have a variety of interests, my dear. The owner once assisted me and I helped him gain financing to open up the restaurant. Clearly, the waiter is new. He won’t make the same mistake again.”
    Archimedes studied the unspoiled fork and sampled the pasta. Perfect, as always. “How is work, my dear?”
    Rose frowned and leaned forward. “Terrible,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “My boss was almost killed yesterday.”
    “Almost?”
    The man should be dead. Archimedes had killed more than one with a blow with exactly that force and position...except, Reid Nichols had fought longer than most against the paralytic drug. He’d moved slightly, impacting the trajectory and pressure. Interesting. Just the slightest change had spared the man’s life.
    Luckily, the marshal’s survival wouldn’t alter Archimedes’s plans. His disguise would misdirect any inquiries.
    “He’s still alive, but he’s in a coma. They’ve clamped down tight on