Page 28 of Conall (The Sunburst Pack #3)

T HE NEXT MORNING IN the security station, Nadine kept her eyes fixed on the computer screen, determined not to look at Conall as he entered the busy room, carrying coffee. Yesterday’s kiss had been an error—nothing more.

Coffee, Conall said, setting a cup beside her workstation. His voice carried the same deliberate distance she was trying to maintain.

Except every brush of contact as he leaned over to check her screen made her wolf restless.

Across the room, Quinton’s back stiffened at the sound of his brother’s voice.

So things between the twins hadn’t gotten any better overnight.

The Blue Stone Pack attack, Conall said, sitting next to her and pulling up files on his own screen. You mentioned coordinated assault patterns. What made you certain it wasn’t rogue shifters?

Tactical precision, she replied, grateful for work that didn’t require examining her poor judgment in kissing Conall or the repercussions between the brothers.

Rogue shifters generally attack in a frenzy.

This was planned—specific targets eliminated, others left as witnesses. Someone wanted to send a message.

Same methodology as the Creek Bend murders, Conall observed. Precision kills, psychological impact.

Someone’s using these attacks to destabilize pack alliances through fear. Hit the visible leaders, leave survivors to spread word about what happens to packs that resist.

Resist what though?

Maybe Chimera’s offering packs a choice? Cooperation or elimination.

Dr. Chen looked up from his schematics. Behavioral modification protocols could make resistance psychologically impossible. The subject would genuinely believe they were making free choices.

Which means some packs might be cooperating because they literally can’t conceive of refusing, Nadine concluded. They’re not traitors—they’re victims.

And then…what? Some secret ninja group is coming in and wiping out packs they see as collaborators?

A sick feeling twisted in Nadine’s gut.

We need to visit the site, she said slowly. Where Gregory died. If Chimera was involved, there might be evidence I missed. I’d like another set of eyes on it.

That’s a significant risk, Conall said. Going back to a crime scene that’s probably under surveillance.

Everything we’re doing is a risk. But if we’re going to prove someone else killed him, we need more than circumstantial evidence.

I’ll coordinate backup, Anders said, arrange for perimeter security, extraction protocols.

Surveillance teams? Quinton’s voice cut across the office, his tone suspicious. For what’s supposed to be an evidence gathering mission?

Given recent events, I think it’s necessary, Anders said, a hint of steel beneath his voice.

Quinton’s expression tightened, but he returned to his computer without any further comment.

Dr. Chen, Conall said, ignoring his brother’s comments, I’d like for you to join us with the neurotracker you’ve been working on.

The doctor shook his head. It’s just a prototype—nowhere near the accuracy we ought to have for something like that.

When do we leave? Nadine asked.

This afternoon, Conall decided. Gives us time to review the site layout and coordinate with backup.

The meeting dispersed. As they gathered materials for their trip, Conall spoke quietly.

About last night—

Nothing to discuss. The words came out rougher than Nadine intended, and she tried to soften it. That was a professional mistake. It won’t happen again.

Something flickered across his face—hurt, maybe, or relief?

Right, he agreed softly. Professional mistake.

Except it hadn’t felt like a mistake.

It had felt inevitable.

But as they headed toward the briefing room, she couldn’t ignore how his presence calmed her wolf. The sense of rightness that flooded through her when they moved together.

This damned mate bond kept insisting that they belonged together.

Even though every logical bone in her body screamed at her that their connection was impossible.

T HE ABANDONED MINE WHERE Gregory Torrance had died looked exactly like what it was—a place forgotten by time. A lonely site with a tumbledown shack atop a deep mineshaft, where secrets could be buried alongside broken dreams.

Nadine stood at the edge of the excavated area, the afternoon sun casting harsh shadows. Weeks had passed since she’d found the site of her father’s death, but the scene remained engraved in her memory.

Show me, Conall said quietly.

He fell here, she said, pointing to a bloodstained stone near the mine entrance. The blood pattern indicated he was struck from behind first, then fought back. Got to the ridge before they cornered him.

What happened to his body?

I never found it. But the blood trail led down the mineshaft. His blood—I could tell by the scent. Nadine’s mouth tightened, and her voice went soft. I followed it as far down as I could. There’s no way he came out of that.

Okay. Conall drew the word out as if thinking. How many attackers did you scent?

Three, maybe four? Professional. They knew his movement patterns, his likely escape routes.

Inside knowledge.

I thought so. Gregory was too good to be taken by strangers.

Dr. Chen approached, his electromagnetic detection equipment—a round dish like a small satellite attached to a handle with a readout—held out before him, his expression one of grim satisfaction.

I found definite technological residue, he announced. Neural interface signatures, approximately three weeks old.

Nadine’s stomach dropped. Gregory had an interface?

Advanced technology, I’d guess. Your father wasn’t just killed here—he was activated here sometime earlier.

Activated? As in—

Remote triggering of behavioral modification protocols. From what I can tell, someone turned on his interface, probably to compel specific actions. Chen’s voice carried clinical precision. He may not have been acting under his own free will when he died.

The implications slammed into her. Gregory’s final communications to her, his investigation—all potentially the result of remote neural manipulation.

He was a puppet, Nadine said. Everything he did, everything he told me—it was all programmed.

Not everything, Chen said gently. If your father cared about you, that was genuine.

Maybe .

They spent the next hour examining the site. Chen’s scanners revealed multiple electromagnetic signatures—several people with neural interfaces had been present during Gregory’s final hours.

A meeting, not just a murder.

I have a theory, Conall said. Gregory was called here for a final briefing. His handlers wanted to debrief him, maybe assign new targets.

But something went wrong, Nadine added, nodding. He resisted somehow, or they decided he was no longer useful.

So they eliminated him and planted evidence pointing toward Sunburst.

There’s something else, Chen said, following his equipment’s readout as it led him across the site toward the mineshaft. Some of these interface signatures are too fresh. Someone’s been back recently. Within the last few days.

The scientist spun around, frowning as he checked the readout again.

We need to leave, Nadine said, her instincts suddenly screaming they were in danger. Now.

The first shot rang out as they loaded the last equipment.

The bullet sparked off a stone inches from Nadine’s head. She rolled behind the nearest boulder, drawing her sidearm as Conall moved to cover.

Three shooters, he called. Elevated positions, professional spacing.

These guys aren’t trying to capture us, Nadine pointed out.

I definitely got that impression, Conall called out.

Aren’t we supposed to have backup? Dr. Chen asked.

They’re not responding. Stress threaded through Conall’s voice—and Nadine wasn’t surprised. The situation was deteriorating rapidly.

Three attackers with elevated positions, minimal cover, no support.

Movement, Nadine reported. They’re trying to flank us.

Their current position was untenable—and Conall’s recognition of that fact echoed through their bond.

They needed to move, but any attempt would expose them to crossfire.

Can you reach that outcropping? he asked, indicating a position that would give her an angle on the shooter positions.

If you can keep them busy.

Chen?

I think so.

Count of three.

She met his gaze, seeing her own determination reflected there.

Partnership , her inner wolf murmured. Trust .

One, Conall called.

Nadine inhaled.

Two.

She tensed, preparing to run.

Three.

Conall broke cover in a burst of motion, laying down suppressing fire. In that moment of safety, Nadine sprinted for the outcropping, covering ground with lupine speed.

She reached cover as return fire began, bullets throwing up puffs of dirt where she’d been running.

But now she had angles.

The first shooter never knew what hit him. Professional precision, center mass. The second tried to relocate and caught her follow-up shot in the shoulder. The third found himself pinned by follow-up shots while Conall advanced.

Clear, he called after checking positions.

Three professional operatives, neutralized in under five minutes through perfect coordination.

Everyone alive? Chen asked as they regrouped.

Breathing, Nadine confirmed. What about the backup teams?

Conall checked his radio, his expression darkening. Compromised or jammed. Either way, we’re on our own.

We gathered new evidence, Chen noted. Objectives complete. I say we leave.

Agreed, Nadine said.

As they prepared to evacuate, Nadine looked back at the site where her father had died. Where he’d been activated one final time before his handlers decided he was no longer useful.

I’m sorry, Conall said quietly. For what you learned about Gregory.

He was still my father, she said finally. Interface or no interface—he still chose to take me in when I had nowhere else to go.

That was real.

That was real, she agreed.

On the drive back, though, she couldn’t quit thinking about her father.

Had Gregory truly been Chimera’s asset, not their enemy? If so, his death had been corporate housekeeping, not pack justice.