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It was, Lucan had to admit, if only to himself, a stunning work of art. Most of the mingling dignitaries agreed, crowds drawn to the obelisk like a beacon in the middle of the sea of formally attired attendees.
Crowe took a sip of his champagne, surveying the reception he'd bought with what had to easily have been millions. He exhaled a beleaguered sigh and slowly shook his head. "A pity, really. This evening was supposed to have been a celebration of all the good things still to come. A recognition of all the promise the future holds. To have lost one of the world's most brilliant scientific minds and a respected statesman, both to violence in the same week . . ." Crowe clucked his tongue. "Well, it's unthinkable. Such a tragedy."
"Indeed," Lucan replied.
Crowe's gaze locked on him, as shrewd and sharp as a bird of prey. "And the Order must be in shock as well, not without its own losses this week. Terrible business, learning one of your flock has turned traitor. A former warrior, gone to the dark side to collude with the rebels . . . astounding." Crowe peeled his lips back in a cold smile. "I hope you'll forgive me for saying that's one death today for which I did find cause to celebrate."
Lucan gave a careless shrug, refusing to let the human goad him. "Apparently he wasn't the only one involved in conspiracy. Benson's murder by JUSTIS officers today obviously means the director had secret enemies of his own."
Crowe frowned as if to express regret, but the emotion didn't quite make it to his eyes. "We live in dangerous times, I'm sure you'd agree. And I have to say, I'm surprised at the lack of security response after the violence at today's hearing. I would've guessed the Order to come in tonight like a battalion on the march."
Lucan grunted, cool and unfazed. "This is a peace summit event, not a combat zone. Your men must've missed the memo."
Crowe chuckled, looking around at his uniformed guards who patrolled the party like a SWAT team.
"Makes me wonder whose interests you're protecting more," Lucan added. "The summit, the attendees . . . or your own."
Now the magnate's humor vanished, and his smile was anything but pleasant. "I happen to view those things in equal importance. Especially after the Order allowed someone like Jeremy Ackmeyer to be abducted under their watch - by one of their own fallen members, no less. I'm of the opinion we can't be too careful when it comes to protecting the interests of our future, Chairman Thorne."
"On that we are agreed," Lucan replied stiffly.
Crowe lifted his glass and drained it in one long swallow. He glanced to Gabrielle, gave her a gallant nod. "If you'll excuse me, I have guests to greet."
He didn't wait for a response. Spotting a Breed ambassador from South America arriving with his attractive blond mate, Crowe glided smoothly away, vanishing into the throng of tuxedos and evening gowns.
Gabrielle stared after him, then scoffed under her breath. "What an asshole."
Lucan grunted and drew her close to his side. "He is that, all right. And he's up to something. I can smell it on the son of a bitch."
He sent a glance to Tegan and Dante across the room, then a meaningful nod in Crowe's direction. They would be watching the human closely tonight.
And if any of the Order got so much as a whiff of cause to be concerned, the bastard was going to be taken down - whether the whole world was watching or not.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
KELLAN WAS DREAMING OF LILIES.
Their sweet fragrance wreathed his senses like a silken ribbon. Pulled him gently to the surface, out of a dark, heavy slumber.
He was alive.
He opened his eyes. Blinked slowly as he focused on his surroundings. He was in a bed. A hospital - no, the Order's D.C. headquarters infirmary. He knew this place, had landed there after combat more than once in his distant past. But never like this.
And never with Mira nestled against him.
A rush of emotion swamped him.
He was alive.
And yet he knew he'd been dead. He remembered the moment when the blackness closed in and he lost his grip on the corporeal world. He'd tried so hard to hold on. He hadn't wanted to go. Hadn't wanted to leave her. He could still feel the sense of panic, of marrow-deep loss, as his connection to Mira thinned and stretched . . . then snapped, sending him drifting away from her, unmoored, lost in a sea of darkness.
He had died.
He understood that.
Yet here he was, given another chance to live. Tess and Rafe, he realized now. It was their hands that healed him. Their voices that told him to hang on, to reach for the line they were throwing to him.
And then there was Mira.
