He quickly went over what he’d been doing. Sebastian came over to the desk, examining the components and wires. The tablet was still facedown, though cocked at a drunk angle, thanks to laying on the wires and cords still hard-linked to its exposed components. He’d disconnected the other ends from both the laptop and external drive.
“You kept a complete copy of the bomber’s tablet for yourself?” the Grand Master asked coldly.
He’d known this was coming. “Yes.”
“And why would you do that?”
“Because the guy designed a backpack nuke. I thought maybe it would be a good idea to learn everything I could.” Oscar didn’t usually bother with sarcasm, but in this case it felt appropriate.
“You could.” The Grand Master arched a brow. “And what would you, a lone man with limited contacts, do with whatever information you discovered?”
Oscar’s back teeth ground together. He hated feeling stupid and useless, and right now he felt both.
She’s not wrong. Who, besides the Trinity Masters, could you go to with the information? You’re the dipshit now.
“How sure are you?” Sebastian asked, breaking the tight, silent tension.
“That the camera turned on? One hundred percent.”
“And that Luca Campisi was the one who did it?”
“Zero percent. I’d have to try to trace it back, and given that this fucker had a completely hidden backdoor, I wouldn’t attempt anything outside my lab.” Oscar took a breath, shoved his ego to the side, and added, “Or have someone more specialized than me look at it.”
Sebastian looked surprised at that statement.
Oscar raised his hands. “I know computer security, but only because cracking it is sometimes necessary in data mining. That’s my real specialty.”
Everyone fell silent, waiting.
The Grand Master’s face was turned away, so he couldn’t read her expression, but when she cleared her throat, they all stood a little straighter.
“We assume the worst-case scenario,” she said. “Luca knows you copied his tablet and has a way to actively seek out that copy. He was successful, and in doing so, was able to turn on the camera of this tablet. He has seen both of you and the hotel room. He could potentially identify each of you, and maybe even the hotel, via the decor.”
Oscar looked around the room and then at Selene. She might be in danger because of him.
“Dr. Tanaka, we will protect you until this situation is resolved,” the Grand Master finished.
Selene inclined her head, but then frowned. “What about Oscar?”
“While we appreciate Mr. Hayden’s help over the last week, we did not seek his assistance, and he is not a member.”
Oscar stared at her. Was she about to…?
“I would advise you not to return to your home,” the Grand Master went on. “We know Luca is aware of the location, given the fact he ransacked Langston’s lab while searching for his tablet. He was able to bypass your security.”
He ground his teeth again. Damn it, she was.
“Grand Master, surely we can protect Oscar, given—” Selene stopped talking when Sebastian reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. Oscar repressed the urge to tell him to get his fucking hands off her.
“I would suggest leaving the East Coast for some time. While we think Luca returned to Europe, we have no confirmation of that. I’d also suggest not contacting your family. You, and those you love, will be safest that way.”
“Just get to it,” Oscar snarled, furious with the thought of being forced to walk away from his own life by some asshole bomber. He’d do it, if he had to, but it would hurt the people he loved. They were safe. She hadn’t said it, but they both knew it. Sylvia and Langston were both already cult members, and Walt was half a world away.
The Grand Master smiled. It was cool and touched with a hint of satisfaction. “Or you could finally accept my invitation.”
Fucking fuck. If he’d just left well enough alone, hadn’t insisted on messing with this stupid shit, he wouldn’t be in this position. He glanced at Selene, whose eyes were wide with surprise. He didn’t know if she was shocked at the fact that he had a standing invitation to join or that the Grand Master would strong-arm him. Brilliant as she was, clearly Selene wasn’t manipulative enough to have seen this coming.
The Grand Master cleared her throat, pulling his attention back to her. Their gazes locked, and he knew his life was about to change.
“Become a member and we will protect you.”
Juliette tossed the jacket on the floor the moment she and Franco were inside. One of her now-extensive collection of black, hooded pieces, it was warm enough to serve as a snow coat in Boston, which also made it uncomfortably warm to wear inside, and by the time they left the hotel room, she’d been sweating, only to walk out into the chilly air of the Boston night.
The jacket landed half on top of a pair of polished dress shoes and a black briefcase that hadn’t been there when they’d left earlier.
“Devon?” Franco called out, even as he put his hand on her shoulder protectively.
“I’m here,” their husband called out, his voice floating down the stairs.
The Beacon Hill mansion they’d bought last year was light and airy during the day, thanks to being a corner lot. It had been their sanctuary, and until last week, she’d managed to keep the business of the Trinity Masters separate from their home, their trinity. The whole Langston debacle had resulted in her meeting with Sophia Starabba in her home. Sophia, a smart, fashionable Italian woman, appeared to be the acting leader of the Masters’ Admiralty, since Eric Ericsson, the fleet admiral, was missing.
Based on information from her sources—though calling Sylvia Hayden a “source” when the woman was woefully bad at subterfuge was laughable—Juliette was fairly certain there hadn’t been some sort of coup within the Masters’ Admiralty. Still, the longer she went without talking to Eric, the more suspicious she felt, even though she respected Sophia.
In fact, she and Sophia had innovated a new, collaborative endeavor, the MPF—Masters Protection Force—and based on tonight’s crisis, they’d gotten it off the ground just in time.
One night, she, Devon, and Franco had sat down in their pajamas on the living room floor with a bottle of wine to talk through the plan for the MPF, which Franco had started referring to as “The Plan” with capital letters. She’d tried to rope in Sebastian, but he’d made an aggravated noise and hung up on her when she’d called him at midnight to see if he wanted to be part of the discussion.
Sebastian had given up his job—well, jobs—after she’d assigned him to his trinity with Elle and Grant. Since he was permanently in the country now, he was able to serve as one of her counselors, a position that seemed to take up even more of his time than being an international aid worker and CIA asset had.
And speaking of the CIA…
Devon came down the stairs wearing nothing but a towel.
All thoughts of the Masters’ Admiralty, Sebastian, and the latest crisis fled when Franco walked over, kissed Devon, and yanked the towel away.
An hour later, lying naked on the foyer floor, their clothes and that one towel strewn around them, Juliette sighed in contentment. No matter what else happened in the world, she had this, had them. Their little family.