By Paths Coincident

Chapter 4

Eve was calculating possible outcomes. How was this situation likely to play out? There was no doubt that the four of them were outmatched, but Stone, as Spencer's cousin, was likely safe, and he would protect Cassandra. Ezekiel, as always, would escape. That left her with three opponents.

She spared a fragment of her attention to evaluate the two unknown factors in her equation—the young man and woman who accompanied Spencer.

Here, her analysis hit a snag. If they were his backup, why weren't they focused on the perceived threat? The two of them had, instead, closed ranks, moving near to Spencer, the young woman hovering at his back, the young man actually laying a supportive hand on his shoulder—as though they were a comfort rather than a defense. Their eyes were on him, not her.

And Spencer himself, while his tension was palpable, made no move that she could construe as aggressive. His body language was almost deliberately non-threatening—as though he was projecting reassurance.

She did not trust that reassurance, but perhaps she might hope that some combination of factors, whether the presence of his cousin or the other customers, might be constraining him from any extreme action.

As an experiment, testing that theory, she relaxed her stance slightly. The relief in Spencer's eyes when she did stunned her.

Ezekiel was the first to break the silence. "So, I'm taking it you two have met before?"

"Yes—and no," Spencer said finally, his voice sounding tired. "We've never been introduced."

Stone, who had been looking thoroughly disturbed by the turn of events, rallied and resumed his social duty. "Eliot, this is Eve Baird. She's security for the archive."

Spencer did not offer his hand, nor did Eve offer hers. She was grateful. She did not think she could have let him touch her.

The last time Eliot Spencer had laid a hand on her, she had spent two and a half weeks in a coma, two years in rehab, and a third year in therapy. The last time she had met him with a team, people she considered closer than family with whom she'd been through the hell of combat and for whose lives she was responsible, she had come home with nothing but a handful of dog tags.

* * * * *

11 Years Earlier

NATO Headquarters, Brussels, Belgium

Captain Eve Baird stood at attention as General Deschamps finished arranging the papers on his desk with mathematical precision. Folding his hands carefully on top of a file folder, he looked up at her.

"At ease, Captain," he said. "Thank you for responding to my request so promptly. Please, be seated."

Eve had not thought the message she had received had sounded like a request, but she simply nodded and complied. "Yes, sir."

"I am sending your team to Spain," the General said without further preamble. "We have a situation at the Port of Algeciras Bay. One of the companies financed by Damien Moreau will be shipping nuclear materials through APM Terminals at Juan Carlos I Dock within the week. Your mission will be to insure that cargo does not fall into the hands of Moreau's customers, likely the Iranians, and to extract our informant who is seeking asylum and protection from Moreau's retaliation."

At the mention of Damien Moreau's name, Eve felt her pulse pick up and her breath grow short. Everyone knew that no one touched Moreau. His reputation for clean, untraceable operations was nearly mythical. There were never more than rumours about Moreau's activities, and one could not arrest a rumour. Equally formidable was his reputation for swift, effective, and deadly reprisal when any of his empire was threatened.