Page 5 of A Ballad of Blackbirds and Betrayal

It was then she noticed him.

He stood across the room in conversation with the hospital board president, but his dark gaze found hers over the man’s shoulder, as if he’d been tracking her movements all evening.Tall and broad shouldered, he filled out his tuxedo with the kind of muscular authority that suggested military training, not desk jobs and country clubs.Silver threaded his dark hair at the temples, and the lines around his eyes spoke of experience rather than age.His face was handsome in a hard, uncompromising way—all angles and planes like something carved from granite.

Atticus Cameron.CEO of Dynamis Security, the multibillion-dollar global private security firm whose elite contractors protected everything from heads of state to oil pipelines in conflict zones.Even those outside security circles recognized the Dynamis name—they were the invisible guardians of the wealthy and powerful, the company governments called when situations required expertise beyond conventional military solutions.Their half-million-dollar donation had created quite a stir among the organizing committee.

Their gazes locked across the room, and something electric passed between them—recognition, though they’d never met, an awareness that defied logic or explanation.Sabrina felt her pulse accelerate, her body’s instinctive response to a perceived threat.

Because that’s what he was, she realized.Dangerous in a way that went beyond physical.

The board president followed the direction of Cameron’s gaze, spotted Sabrina, and waved her over.Caught, she had no choice but to cross the room toward them, aware of Cameron’s eyes tracking her approach with the focused intensity of a predator.

“Dr.Wells!”The board president beamed.“I’ve been singing your praises to Mr.Cameron.He’s made quite a generous donation specifically for your trauma care initiatives.”

“That’s very kind,” Sabrina said, extending her hand.“We appreciate your support, Mr.Cameron.”

His hand engulfed hers, warm and calloused—not the manicured hand of someone who spent his days behind a desk.“The pleasure is mine, Dr.Wells.I’ve been following your work with great interest.”

His voice was a smooth baritone, the cadence measured and controlled.But it was his eyes that held her—dark, intelligent, and watchful.Too watchful.

Alarm bells chimed in Sabrina’s mind.No one “followed her work with great interest” unless they were trauma specialists or medical students.Certainly not private security contractors with no apparent connection to the medical field.The pressure of his hand on hers lingered just a fraction too long before releasing, the contact sending an unwelcome shiver up her spine.

“How flattering,” she said, keeping her tone light.“Though I’m afraid my research papers aren’t exactly bestsellers outside medical circles.”

“Your recent research into anomalous trauma presentations is particularly fascinating,” Cameron said, his expression revealing nothing.“Especially those cases that resemble radiation poisoning but don’t respond to standard treatments.”

The board president, clearly lost in this turn of conversation, excused himself to greet other donors, leaving Sabrina alone with Cameron.The noise of the gala faded to a dull roar in her ears as she processed his words.

He knew.Somehow, he knew exactly what she’d been investigating.

“You seem remarkably well informed about my research interests, Mr.Cameron,” she said, keeping her voice steady despite the adrenaline now coursing through her system.“Most people’s eyes glaze over when I mention anything more technical thanGrey’s Anatomy.”

“I’m not most people.”His mouth curved into something approximating a smile, though it never reached his eyes.“And neither are you, Dr.Wells.Perhaps we could find somewhere quieter to discuss your findings?”

Sabrina weighed her options.He knew something—perhaps even something that could help her make sense of what was happening.But meeting privately with a stranger who seemed to know too much about her work triggered every self-preservation instinct she possessed.

“I appreciate your interest, Mr.Cameron, but tonight is about raising funds, not discussing medical minutiae,” she demurred.“Perhaps you could call my office next week to schedule a proper meeting.”

A meeting she had no intention of keeping.

“Senator Mitchell’s name ever come up in your research?”Cameron asked, his voice so low she almost missed it over the orchestra’s crescendo.

Sabrina froze, her champagne flute halfway to her lips.Her eyes darted to his face, searching for some indication of his intent.

“Why would a senator’s name appear in my medical research?”she asked carefully.

“Because we both know it isn’t just medical research.”His eyes held hers, unflinching.“Four patients in three months, all with identical symptoms.All with connections, however tenuous, to BioGenix Laboratories.Which, coincidentally, receives substantial funding through a foundation chaired by Senator Mitchell’s wife.”

The crystal stem of the champagne flute felt suddenly fragile in Sabrina’s grip.No one knew about those connections.She’d been meticulously careful, using her home computer rather than hospital networks, making inquiries through former colleagues rather than official channels.

“Who are you?”she whispered.

“Someone who wants the same thing you do,” he answered.“The truth.”

Before she could respond, a commotion near the entrance drew their attention.A group of new arrivals was creating a stir—photographers’ flashes punctuating the ambient lighting as the crowd parted.

Senator Warren Mitchell had arrived, his silver hair gleaming under the chandelier lights, his wife elegant in crimson at his side.Sabrina had never met the senator in person, though his image was familiar enough from news coverage.Tall and distinguished, with the confident bearing of someone accustomed to wielding power, Mitchell moved through the crowd like royalty accepting tribute, smiling and shaking hands as he progressed.

Beside her, Atticus Cameron went utterly still.Had she not been standing so close, she might have missed the subtle shift in his demeanor—the slight tensing of his jaw, the almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes.But standing where she was, Sabrina felt the change like a drop in atmospheric pressure before a storm.

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