Page 61 of The Diamond in the Rough

Mason nodded, taking control of the computer. “Of course.”

“Sloppy is good,” Hart said, his voice serious. “It means that sometime, somehow, they’re gonna fuck up.” He bared his teeth. “And then we’ve got their asses.”

“Not to rain on the parade,” Raj said, breaking the silence that followed Hart’s pronouncement. “But is itpossiblethat they’ve restarted the practice in a different location?”

Hart’s scowl was furious. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he asked the shifter.

Raj spread his hands. “We have to coverallpossibilities, Hart,” he replied, his voice gentle, but firm. “And, right now, that remains a possibility. One I would very much prefer not be the case, but itispossible that there is a facility or practice in Hampton Roads that has been revived by someone.”

Hard leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. “Fine. So how do we find out?”

Raj smiled, slow and predatory. “We try to have someone committed.”

The personwe were committing was—fortunately—not me. Raj had managed to convince one of their team to come out of retirement and pretend to be the father over thephone, and then he’d gotten someone else who wasn’t an agent, but did work for the FBI, to be the person they were trying to commit.

His name was Izzy, and I was supposed to talk to him, although I wasn’t really sure what about or why. Hart had picked me up from Beyond the Veil, and we’d just pulled into the FBI building parking lot.

I followed Hart into the building, where he signed me in, then led me to an elevator, then down a hallway and into a conference room, where Raj and Cass were already sitting. I sat stiff-backed in the chair, my gloved hands in my lap, trying very hard not to touch anything.

A few minutes later, a man about my age with extremely bright purple hair and a silver hoop in his nose slid into the room. His eyes were a light grey, his skin almost as white as mine—although neither of us was as pale as Hart. He sat in the chair across the table from me, looking slightly nervous, although he flashed me a crooked-toothed grin.

“Hi,” he said softly, leaning forward over the table. “Izzy. Izzy Zizek.”

“Rayn Alverno,” I replied, just as softly.

“Nice to meetcha,” he said, flashing another grin. He didn’t offer me his hand, though, so someone must have told him I didn’t like touching people.

I didn’t know if it was nice to meet him or not, but I offered him a weak smile in return.

“Where the hell’s Kurtz?” Hart asked.

Cass looked down at her phone. “ETA in five,” she replied, then snickered. “Had to park in the civvie lot.” She grinned. “Lucky bastard.”

Drew Shao appeared a few moments later, carrying a tray in one hand of paper cups, tea bags, sugar and creamerpackets, and a couple carafes, and a couple six-packs of soda in the other.

“Thanks, Drew,” Raj said without looking up as Drew set the beverages on the table.

People started grabbing cups, pouring coffee, mixing, making tea, or cracking open soda bottle lids.

“You want anything, Rayn?” Cass asked, leaning forward.

“No, thank you,” I told her.

“You bring your bottle, kid?” Hart asked me.

I nodded.

“You want something in there?”

“No, thanks,” I repeated. I appreciated the offer, but I was already on edge and didn’t want to add anything more to complicate things.

“Suit yourself,” Hart replied with a shrug, then made himself a cup of coffee.

A few minutes later, a grey-haired faun came clomping into the room to a bunch of delighted greetings, hugs, and laughter. Even Izzy was grinning, showing those crooked teeth. Kurtz came and sat next to him, ruffling his purple hair. “Heya, Izzy.”

“Heya Kurtz,” he replied. “How’s retirement?”

“Fantastic. But I can’t leave my kitty-cat hanging.” He bared his big teeth in a grin over at Raj, who rolled his gold-brown eyes. Then he looked over at me. “Hey there,” he said. “John Kurtzweil. Everybody calls me Kurtz.”