The air in the subterranean facility was thick with the scent of wet iron, damp concrete, and the acrid stench of terrified animals.

"Drop the bag," Marcus commanded, stepping around Damien with his tactical rifle raised. "Keep your hands where we can see them. One wrong move and you don't leave these woods."

Clara didn't drop the bag. She slowly raised her hands, keeping them visible in the harsh glare of the security spotlights, but her eyes weren't on the guns. They were on Lily.

Lily was looking at Clara, then at Titan, who had shifted his position to stand directly between Clara and the armed guards. The giant mastiff lowered his head and let out a deep, rumble of a growl—not directed at Clara, but at Marcus’s rifle.

"Stand down, Marcus," Damien said softly. His eyes were cold, scanning Clara from her mud-stained boots to her night-vision gear. "Who are you? Who sent you? The Valentis?"

"I don't work for the Valentis," Clara said, her voice shaking slightly but holding firm. "They're the ones who killed my father. And if you don't listen to me right now, they're going to kill you and your daughter next."

Damien didn't move an inch. "You're trespassing on private property with military-grade gear. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't let Marcus throw you into the harbor."

"Because that dog doesn't belong to an auction house," Clara replied, looking Damien straight in the eye. "His name is Titan. He was trained in my father's lab at the Northeastern Neurological Institute. And he is the reason your wife died four years ago."

The air on the south lawn seemed to drop ten degrees.

Marcus froze, his finger tightening on his trigger. Damien’s face turned to stone, his grey eyes narrowing until they were like slits of ice.

"Say that again," Damien whispered.

"The car bomb in Newton," Clara said quickly, her words tumbling out as the guards moved closer. "It wasn't a random hit by a street syndicate. It was a targeted assassination executed using an internal security code provided by someone inside your own organization. My father’s lab was used to intercept your family’s security route using advanced tracking technology. When my father found out what his research was being used for, he tried to go to the federal authorities. They killed him and burned the lab."

Damien stood motionless for three long seconds. The only sound was the distant crashing of waves against the rocks below the property.

He looked down at Lily. She couldn't hear the conversation, but she could feel the tension radiating through the air. She reached out and grabbed Titan’s collar, her small face filled with confusion and fear.

Damien lowered his gun slightly. "Bring her inside."

Ten minutes later, Clara was sitting in a leather armchair in Damien’s massive, wood-paneled library. Two armed guards stood at the door, while Marcus stood by the fireplace, his face pale and tight.

Lily sat on the rug near the hearth, her head resting against Titan’s ribs. The dog had refused to leave the room, lying down right beside Clara’s chair, his head resting near her shoe.

Clara pulled a small handheld medical scanner from her pocket and looked at Damien. "May I?"

Damien nodded once.

Clara knelt down beside Titan. She carefully slid her fingers into the thick fur along his left shoulder blade until she felt the raised, faint scar tissue. She pressed the scanner against the hide. A soft blue light swept over the area, and a high-pitched tone sounded as a small digital readout illuminated on the device.

"It's a military-grade micro-encryption drive," Clara explained, showing the readout to Damien. "It’s housed in a biocompatible titanium casing implanted deep within the muscular tissue. Standard X-rays can't pick it up because it matches the density of bone. My father put it in him the night the lab was attacked."

"What's on it?" Damien demanded.

"Everything," Clara said. "The entire communication log between the Valenti syndicate and their insider in Boston. The financial transactions that paid for the explosive components used in the Newton bombing. And the precise GPS logs from the night your wife died."

Damien stepped forward, his boots heavy on the Persian rug. "Who?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper, yet carrying a weight that made Clara’s breath catch. "Who gave them the security codes?"

Clara looked up from the dog, her eyes shifting slowly from Damien to the man standing by the fireplace.

"The data packet sent to the Valentis came from an encrypted satellite phone registered to an internal security account," Clara said softly. "Serial number VX-9902."

Damien didn't turn his head, but his entire body went rigid.

VX-9902 was the private, non-traceable line issued exclusively to the chief of security for Cross Enterprises.