The Drafter by Kim Harrison

eventually find it. As for the list itself? She could knit herself a message tonight in the tail end of the scarf like a modern-day Madame Defarge.
    Needles clicking, she found the blue size 8. It was fairly large, and it was unlikely she’d lose it since a half-knitted scarf resided on the second needle of the pair. Fingers shaking, she wedged the cap off the blunt end and dropped the chip in. Unhappy, she gave it a shake until it wedged itself and was unmoving.
    â€œThere.” She recapped the needle and dropped it back into the bag. “Hard copy?”
    Jack said nothing as she reached for the lighter beside her candles, the quick whoosh of fluid igniting the only sound as she lit the scrap of paper and let it burn in his empty wineglass. The ribbon of smoke was sharp, the scent reminding her of the single memory she had of the last six weeks: her in Jack’s arms as they connected with the universe beside a fire gone to coals.
    Miserable, Peri sat on the edge of the couch, her elbows on her knees and her head hanging as she realized how deep in the crapper they were. Jack drew her close, holding her sideways as he took a sip from her wineglass and passed it to her.
    Fingers shaking, she drank the last swallow and set the glass down with a clink. It was as if she could feel her world realign as the enormity of what they were up against became real. They’d have to play a very dangerous game, and there was no one they could trust but each other.
    â€œI’m so sorry. This isn’t what I wanted to happen,” Jack said, and she saw the heartache in his eyes, his guilt that he hadn’t told her sooner.
    Her hand rose to touch his face, needing to reassure him. “We’ll get through it together,” she said, tilting her chin to find his lips with her own. They met with a soft passion that flashed hot, and need arced through her, more potent because of the danger they’d have to survive. His hands tightened on her, but he pulled away first, even as she reached for more.
    A heady emotion flickered over his face, reassuring her that they could do anything together. “We find the key players?” he said, and she nodded. They’d plumb the depths and find out how far the corruption went—or die trying.
    And if all else failed—she was a damned special ops agent. She knew how to lie.

CHAPTER
EIGHT
    â€œT he mic is at the thick end, see?” Matt said, his fraternity ring glinting on his chubby finger as he held the pliable wire out. Silas took it, slumping in the folding chair at the stupidity of it all. The SWAT-size van smelled like his first college apartment, and the snap of ozone, electronics, and locker-room BO curled his lips. He felt cramped even sitting in the oversize aisle, and the faint but insistent electronic whine of the floor-to-ceiling surveillance equipment went right through his head.
    It didn’t help that he was mentally exhausted after an afternoon of putting his life on a shelf for who knew how long. Despite everyone’s belief that it was a three-hour job, Silas knew better. Acquiring her might take one night, but to bring her back successfully would take longer.
    â€œOn its own, it has a reach of about four feet,” Matt was saying, and Silas tuned out the slightly overweight tech geek, almost embarrassed at his enthusiasm. “That’s why you need the phone, see? Just coil it up in a pocket out of sight, and the phone will boost it to me.”
    Just kill me now . Silas’s gaze slid to the white slab of plastic beside the duffel they’d prepped for him, the oversize phone looking out-of-date and clunky. “All the way out here to your van?” Silas said, but Matt didn’t recognize his sarcasm. The tech’s tie was loose about his neck,and the black pants and white shirt screamed off-the-rack. His index fingernail was notched to snap nicotine caps.
    â€œIt’s mostly one-way, but if we have something