Page 7 of A Ballad of Blackbirds and Betrayal

Before she could press further, the French doors opened, spilling light and noise onto the terrace.A young woman in hospital administration uniform stepped out.

“Dr.Wells?You’re needed inside.The auction is about to begin.”

“Thank you, I’ll be right there,” Sabrina replied, grateful that the shadows concealed her face until she could compose her expression.She turned back to Atticus.“I should go.”

He nodded.“Be careful, Dr.Wells.Mitchell doesn’t leave loose ends.”

“What about you?”she asked, suddenly concerned about being seen with him.

“I’ll make my exit another way.”His mouth quirked in what might have been a genuine smile.“Not my first covert departure.”

Something told her that was true.As she turned to go, his hand caught hers briefly.

“Sabrina,” he said, using her first name for the first time, his voice dropping to a register that seemed to resonate directly with her nervous system.“Trust your instincts.They’ve kept you alive this long.”

Then he was gone, melting into the darkness at the edge of the terrace with a silence that should have been impossible for a man his size.

Sabrina stepped back into the gala, the thumb drive a heavy presence in her purse, Cameron’s warning echoing in her mind.Across the room, Senator Mitchell was laughing at something Richard Maitland had said, the picture of genial charm and respectability.

Their eyes met for the briefest moment, and Mitchell nodded politely in her direction, his politician’s smile never wavering.Yet something in that gaze—a coldness, a calculation—made her skin crawl.

Trust your instincts, Cameron had said.

Her instincts were screaming.

ChapterThree

Dynamis Security’s headquarters rose like a gleaming fortress against the Dallas skyline.Sabrina approached the entrance, each measured step at odds with her racing pulse.The thumb drive Atticus had given her last night weighed in her purse like a live grenade.

She’d spent until dawn reviewing its contents.Her medical training had allowed clinical detachment while analyzing the data, but the human part of her had recoiled at the implications.The evidence confirmed her worst suspicions: Mitchell wasn’t merely funding illegal research—he was orchestrating the development of a bioweapon with potential casualties rivaling the 1918 influenza pandemic.

The security screening rivaled anything she’d experienced at military installations.Biometric scanners, retinal verification, and guards who assessed her with the calculating precision of professionals who quantified threat levels as automatically as breathing.Sabrina met their scrutiny with the composure she’d perfected in emergency rooms where split-second decisions determined who lived and died.

She’d dressed strategically—a charcoal pantsuit over a burnished copper blouse, her dark hair secured at her nape, makeup minimal but deliberate.The professional armor of a woman who understood how easily men in power underestimated her.

Atticus waited in the lobby, his dark suit emphasizing broad shoulders and lean strength.The space seemed to reorganize itself around him, his quiet authority drawing glances from everyone nearby—including her own.

“Dr.Wells.”His voice carried that controlled power she’d recognized instantly at the gala.“Thank you for coming.”

“Your evidence was compelling,” she replied, extending her hand.

His grip was warm, firm, calloused in ways that contradicted his executive appearance.When their eyes met, that strange current passed between them again—a recognition that made her uncomfortably aware of him as something more than a temporary ally.

“You reviewed everything?”he asked, guiding her toward the elevator, his touch light at her elbow.

“Every file,” she confirmed as the doors closed, suddenly conscious of the confined space.“I assume your team has vetted me thoroughly enough to know I have clearance for this conversation.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.“Former Navy lieutenant, medical division.Honorable discharge after six years, including two deployments to conflict zones.Top of your class at Johns Hopkins.Board certified in trauma surgery with specializations in emergency medicine and disaster response.”He met her gaze directly.“Yes, Dr.Wells, we’ve vetted you.”

She felt a flicker of irritation at his thorough knowledge of her history.“And you neglected to mention this connection when we met last night because…?”

“Professional habit.”The elevator glided to a stop at the top floor.“I never reveal more information than necessary until I’ve confirmed alignment of interests.”

“And have you?”she asked, stepping into a sleek corridor.“Confirmed our alignment?”

His dark eyes assessed her with that unnerving intensity.“That’s what today is about.”

The conference room occupied the northwest corner of the building, floor-to-ceiling windows framing the Dallas skyline.Five people waited around a glass table—Dynamis Security’s inner circle.Their conversation ceased as she entered, their eyes carrying the silent evaluation of people accustomed to calculating threats.

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