Steele held up his hand.

Emma swallowed the rest of her rant and waited. Steele knew how harassment worked. Good old Uncle’s bureaucrats could hound St. Kilda to death. Literally.

“That’s the price of living in a society you can’t fit around a campfire,” Alara said to Emma. “Cooperation is required in reality if not in law. Ambassador Steele knows this. Why don’t you?”

Emma hoped her teeth weren’t leaving skid marks on her tongue. She really wanted to unload on the older woman.

Because Alara was right. “Reality is a bitch, and she is always in heat,” Alara said. “When all else fails, you can count on that.” She glanced at her watch. “In or out?”

Steele rolled his chair to face Emma. “You’re off the hook on this one. Be prepared to brief another St. Kilda employee in less than an hour.”

“No,” Emma said. “I’m in.”

“I don’t want someone whose head isn’t in the game,” Alara said.

“No worries.” Emma’s smile was thin as a knife. “I’ve learned to use my head, not my heart. I’m in unless Steele says otherwise.”

“You’re in,” Steele said.

“Seven days, which began counting down at midnight,” Alara said, coming to her feet. “When the time is up, be prepared for panic and chaos. If we’re lucky, the deaths will be under ten thousand.” She looked at Emma with cold black eyes. “Be smarter than your mouth.”

1

DAY ONE

SEATTLE

AFTERNOON

Emma Cross gripped the round chromed bars of the pitching Zodiac’s radar bridge as it raced over the Puget Sound, twenty miles beyond Elliott Bay. St. Kilda Consulting had assured her that the boat driver was capable. But Joe Faroe hadn’t mentioned that the dude called Josh didn’t look old enough to drink.

Was I that young once?

Yeah, I must have been. Scary thought. You can make some shockingly dumb, entirely legal decisions at that age.