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“Answer me,” I demand, though. “We can’t just run people over,” I reason with her.

She shuts the door, but it doesn’t drown out the gale of laughter she lets out.

“What?” I ask as she plops down in the driver’s seat, gratified to see her hands are a little shaky. “What is so funny? We need to find him and get him help.”

“You’re talking to me like I’m one of your freshmen. ‘We can’t just run people over,’” she mimics.

“Are you for real right now?”

“I didn’t really run him over. I just bumped him a little.” Charlie shrugs, helping me buckle the seatbelt, which I’m grateful for. My own incessant shaking made it impossible to do myself.

“How can you be so calm about this?” I’m screeching. I take a deep breath, but it doesn’t really help.

“Probably all my years of training,” she says, buckling her own seatbelt. Seems a little late for safety first, but what do I know?

“Training?” I echo.

“Yeah, you know, liability training.”

I shake my head, dizzy with adrenaline, shaky and sick. While Charlie takes the most bizarre hit-and-runevercompletely in stride, and despite the odd strangled laughter bubbling out of her, she seems almost fine.

I’m not. Not by a longshot.

No grant, no search for theSantu Espiritu, and Charlie hit a man. Withmytruck.

“Fuck,” I finally say.

CHAPTER

TWO

DEAN

The binoculars are toosmall in my hands. I hate using other people’s equipment, and I make a mental note to budget for my company’s own supplies as soon as we collect on this job. I grunt, my elbows digging into the roof of the science building, where I lie sprawled on my stomach, sweating through my jeans.

At least at this height we can catch a bit of cool ocean breeze.

The ocean momentarily distracts me, glittering in the late afternoon sun. The siren call of the water, the ability to float, to forget. The ocean is the only perk of this job, and it’s the only place that feels free these days. Safe.

Feeling safe is a trick.

“She should be out here by now,” Pierce mutters.

“Yep,” I agree.

Angling the nocks lower, I sweep the parking lot. Some instinct nagging at me to keep watch. Maybe it’s training. Or, as my government appointed therapist likes to say, trauma response.

“I told you I don’t like this kind,” I mutter, flicking the binoculars’ magnification with unnecessary force, speeding past the setting I need.

Unnecessary force. That’s been my life to a tee lately.

“What’s not to like?” Pierce makes a small noise of disgust, barely shifting next to me. “Under nineteen ounces, easy to transport, military standard. You’re such a princess sometimes,” he snorts. “Would you rather have those fancy crystal ones?”

Yes. Swarovski.

“Nothing wrong with princesses.”

“If you say so.” Pierce shrugs, the derision in his voice clear.