Mr. X's pale face was furious. "You've been keeping a pet, haven't you?"

O considered his plausible denials while he measured the distance between them. "She's valuable. I use her in my interrogations."

"How?"

"Males of the species don't like to see a female hurt. She's an inducement."

Mr. X's eyes narrowed. "Why didn't you tell me about her?"

"This is my center. You gave it to me to run as I want." And when he found the fucker who'd squealed, he was going to peel the bastard's skin off in strips. "I take care of business here, and you know it. How I do the job shouldn't matter to you."

"I should have been told." Abruptly, Mr. X went still. "You thinking of doing something with that knife in your hand, son?"

Yeah, Dad, as a matter of fact I am. "Am I in charge here or not?"

As Mr. X shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet, O primed for a collision.

Except his cell phone went off. The first ring was shrill in the tense air, like a scream. The second seemed less of an intrusion. The third was no BFD.

As their head-on got derailed, it dawned on O that he wasn't thinking clearly. He was a big guy and a damn good fighter, but he was no match for Mr. X's tricks. And if O got himself injured or killed, who would take care of his wife?

"Answer it," Mr. X commanded. "And put it on speaker-phone."

The news was from another Prime. Three lessers had been eliminated at the side of the road only two miles away. Their car had been found wrapped around a tree trunk, and the burn spots of their disintegrations had scorched the snow.