“Repaying a debt,” Franco said with a nod.
Walt looked at Juliette, and her expression was cold, remote. She had no hold on him, but the reality was that she was a very powerful person. And he’d always figured that he would join the Trinity Masters like his brothers, which meant his fate, his marriage was at stake.
Juliette was silent, neither threatening him nor showing any level of acceptance.
Walt took a breath. “And after this, after I help Eric, I’ll come back and I’ll join—”
“A cult,” Oscar snarked.
“You don’t owe her that,” Eric said. When Juliette arched a brow at him, Eric shrugged. “He doesn’t.”
“I know I don’t,” Walt assured the Viking. “But I was going to do it anyway. This way she won’t torpedo my funding or something.”
“Yes, of course I’d yank funding for a medical clinic.” Juliette’s voice was perfectly calm and cool. “I’d also evict orphans on Christmas.”
“With their little frostbitten teddy bears!” Franco sang out.
Everyone looked at him for a long moment.
Oscar cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m gonna go. Let me know if you need data mining. Because if so, I’m in.”
“Eric, if I asked you to, would you rip Oscar’s head off?” Juliette asked, gaze narrowed.
“Yeah, but are you sure? Then the score would be even.”
“Score?” Juliette asked.
“The Hayden sibling game. You’re winning two to one right now.”
“Ah, yes, but now I have dibs on that one.” She pointed at Walt. “A replacement Hayden.”
“But he’s so cute. I like him.” Eric wrapped a possessive arm around Walt.
Juliette pursed her lips. “You’d make a cute couple. You know, Eric, I can think of several women who’d make a great third for you if you join the Trinity Masters.”
“Tempting.”
“Just think about it.”
“I can’t tell who’s fucking flirting with who right now.” Oscar crossed his arms.
“Should it be ‘whom’?” Franco asked no one in particular.
“Oscar, go. You are never helpful in meetings,” Devon said with a sigh.
Oscar grinned. “And that’s why I do it. Peace, fuckers.”
Walt looked back and forth between Juliette and Eric. He was pretty sure they were joking.
“Where in Europe are you going? We’ll organize your travel,” Devon said once Oscar closed the door behind himself.
“Frankfurt. That’s where my forensic psychologist is.”
Juliette looked at Walt and smiled, but her eyes were pinched with worry. “Please keep yourself safe, Walt. I’ll give you the names of some people you can reach out to in Europe if you need.”
“You have spies in my territory?” Eric’s voice was no longer teasing.
Juliette gestured with one hand. “No, there’s now a joint task force that Sophia and I created. Speaking of Sophia, I’m giving you a twenty-four-hour head start before I tell her I saw you.”
“Where’s the solidarity between secret society leaders?” Eric threw his hands in the air.
“And, I won’t tell her where you’ve gone, but I will tell her you’re doing an investigation.”
“They may have figured out what I’m doing by now, but thank you, Juliette.” Eric cleared his throat, then more formally said, “Thank you, Grand Master.”
Juliette grinned. “Don’t thank me, Fleet Admiral. You owe me another favor. I like having you in debt to me.”
Chapter Three
Dr. Annalise Fischer shook her head as she walked into her office and spotted Jakob sitting at her desk.
“You didn’t have to come,” she said, though she shouldn’t have bothered wasting the breath. She had known the second she’d told him about her afternoon meeting with the American doctor that he’d show up.
“I did.”
Jakob Bauer rose and stepped aside as she walked around her desk to claim the chair he’d just vacated. Jakob was a Ritter, a knight of the Masters’ Admiralty in their home territory of Germany. The Ritter were the society’s law enforcement—keeping the peace as well as enforcing the society’s rules. They were also bodyguards when needed.
Jakob had been her personal shadow on and off for over four years.
When she’d joined the Masters’ Admiralty fresh out of her doctoral program, a forensic psychologist about to embark on an exciting new career with the Kriminalpolizei, she hadn’t realized she would come to rely on the secret society, less for the incredible connections within both the government and academia, and more for protection.
During her tenure with the Kripo, she’d attracted the attention of a highly disturbed individual. She wouldn’t diagnose him without actually meeting him, though Jakob often referred to him as a psychopath.
Annalise had a stalker.
Even after years of work by the Kripo, herself, Jakob, and the Masters’ Admiralty, she didn’t know who he was or where they’d come into contact with one another. In a way, that was the worst aspect of the situation—with no idea how they’d met, she’d had nothing to give Jakob and the knights to aid in their investigation. No leads to help them track down the person who had destroyed her life.
Five years ago, she’d considered herself an independent, fearless woman. After all, she’d been recruited out of university, not only by the Kripo, but by the Masters’ Admiralty because of her intelligence and drive. She’d wanted to revolutionize the way law enforcement dealt with mental health issues via advanced psychological screening techniques and by embedding mental health professionals within police and legal systems.
When the first note arrived—a vaguely threatening letter left on her doorstep—she’d shrugged it off.
By the fourth letter, she was angry with only a few hints of fear.
The fifth letter hadn’t come alone.
When a box had arrived in the mail, bearing the logo of the cosmetics brand she preferred, she hadn’t hesitated to bring it inside. When she opened it, hundreds of winged cockroaches flew out. She’d screamed and dropped the box. Only later did they find the folded note at the bottom. A note warning her not to ignore him.
That was the night she’d met Jakob. He’d been the one to coax her out of the bathroom, where she’d fled from the bugs.
That was the night she’d started to take the stalker seriously. He knew far more about her than just her address. He knew her favorite cosmetics brand, had known she’d take a box with their logo inside. And knew something very few others did—she had a near phobia of flying bugs.
The Kripo had created a task force, as had the Ritter. She’d been sure they would figure it out, would find this person who was stalking her and stop him.
They hadn’t.
Her independence and bravery had been slowly chiseled away over the past four years, eroding with the passage of time, as her stalker continued to elude capture. Every lead—from some security camera footage that captured a hooded figure walking down her street after the fourth letter had been left, to tracking the bug package—had gone nowhere.