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Abe Couzen’s building was squat and ugly. No sign, no mailbox, and in place of a traditional lock, a thumbprint scanner. Just as Vincent had described.

The only problem was that the door stood open.

“Get behind me,” Cooper said, and Ethan moved with alacrity.

Other than a delivery truck rumbling in a loading dock fifty yards away, the block was quiet. Still, it was hard to imagine positive circumstances in which the good doctor had left his secret lab open to the public.

One way to find out.

Cooper pushed the door the rest of the way. The sunlight was weak tea, and what illumination spilled in didn’t reveal much. Stepping lightly, he eased inside.

There was a faint hum in the background and an antiseptic smell. A bank of switches was on the wall. He debated for a moment, decided sight was better than surprise, and flipped them on. Fluorescent tubes clicked and buzzed to life.

The tables were lined with centrifuges and sensors and apparatuses whose function he could only guess at. A row of contamination suits hung like limp corpses. In the center of the room, one of the benches had been knocked over, the shiny equipment left where it had fallen. Broken glass sparkled. Glossy crimson was splashed in a line across one bench, onto the floor, then up the near wall, as though by the flick of a giant paintbrush. A bloodstained shirt and hoodie lay on the floor by a stainless steel refrigerator.

Dr. Abraham Couzen was nowhere to be seen.

Cooper put a finger to his lips, then gestured to Ethan to stay put. He moved to the far wall. The first door led to a small bathroom. There was half a roll of toilet paper on the tank, and the sink held toothpaste and a brush, a disposable razor and a can of shaving cream. The other room was a makeshift bedroom, little more than a supply closet with an army cot in it. No one inside, and nowhere to hide.

Shit.

In the center of the room, Ethan dipped a finger into the blood spray, held it up red and shining. Still wet. Cooper moved to the discarded clothing. Beside the hoodie lay most of a ham-and-cheese sandwich on cheap white bread. Several bites were missing. He was starting for a bank of servers when he heard the rumble of a truck engine.

Idiot. How did you miss that?

He turned to Ethan, just had time to say, “Doc, don’t do anything stupid,” before men burst in the door yelling.

They wore full body armor and headgear like motorcycle helmets. Their assault rifles swept the room in lethal arcs, a dance of clockwork precision, and Cooper knew that was partly a matter of endless training and partly because those helmets had a HUD that showed the position of every other teammate, as well as video feed, heat vision, weapon assessment protocols . . .

“Hands on your head! Do it, do it now!”

Very deliberately, he raised his hands and knit the fingers.

“On your knees! Down, down, down!”

He complied, thinking, That delivery truck was running, and the driver in it was too fit and too alert.

Thinking, A squad of Faceless. The most elite tactical units of the DAR. I wonder if they killed Abe?

Thinking, I wonder if you’re next?

The commanding officer wore the same gear, but carried a sidearm, rather than an assault rifle. He stepped in front of Cooper and stared down, his visor reflecting the room. “Surprise.”

Even modulated by the helmet’s speaker system, the voice was familiar. Cooper shook his head, said, “Hey, partner.”

Lifting one hand to his ear, Bobby Quinn pressed a button that retracted the shield, revealing a wolfish grin. “Hiya, Coop. Still trying to save the world?”

“Same as always.”

“How’s it going?”

“Same as always.”

Quinn glanced at a kneeling and very pale Ethan Park, then turned to his squad. “They’re friendlies. Secure the area.”

The Faceless shifted into action smoothly, each commando moving to a task. Cooper took Bobby’s hand and let the other man pull him up. “How are the nuts feeling?”

“Cracked.” Quinn took in the fight scene. “You do this?”

“Huh-uh. How we found it. How long have you been watching the place?”

“We haven’t.”

“So then how . . .” He paused, caught Quinn’s cat-with-a-canary grin. “Oh, you shit. You’ve been tracking us.”

“Just since this morning. Didn’t know you were in town before then. But when I saw you take off after Couzen, I thought to myself, ‘Well, Bobby old son, you can run around chasing ghosts, or you can lie here clutching your yarbles and let Coop do the work for you.’ PLR, baby. PLR.”

“Path of least resistance,” Cooper said automatically. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to kick your ass, though. Dr. Park, you can stand up now.”

Ethan rose, walked over hesitantly. “Agent Quinn.”

“Your ass I’m definitely going to kick.”

“I’m sorry about running. I was protecting my family.”

“Stow it. Where’s your boss?”