Act of Surveillance

Chapter One

SPECIAL OPERATIVE and bear-shifter Rurik Romanov entered the bullpen area of Paranormal Security and Intelligence (PSI) Division B Headquarters. It was one of many headquarters throughout the world and had oddly become one of his favorites. As with most of them that were within the United States of America, it was larger and newer than most that were overseas. Some, especially the ones in Europe, made him feel claustrophobic.

That was part of what made this branch's headquarters nice to be stationed out of. As a supernatural male, he was large. Nearly all he knew were. That meant they took up more space than others. Hitting his head on doorframes and overhead light fixtures was a real issue. He'd given himself a monster of a headache at the London PSI facility once by way of a low-hanging archway. The ordeal had earned him more than one laugh from his fellow operatives.

He stared out at the exceptionally large bullpen, which seemed to have been bathed in shades of gray, housing most of the field operatives' desks and work areas. They were separated according to teams.

The building always smelled like a melting pot of supernaturals because that's what it was. Right now, his shifter side was picking up on the number of vampires that were in the room. More than made the bear in him comfortable.

The Crimson Sentinel Ops Division of PSI— or Fang Gang if you asked the right person, since it consisted of vampires—had their own off-shoot division headquarters scattered throughout the world, but as of late had been working closely with the main branches of PSI. That meant he was seeing more and more of the Fang Gang than normal. It also meant the bullpen tended to be crowded.

Such was the case now.

Rurik had half a mind to turn around and go back in the direction he'd only just come from— the lower-level holding area. So far, Rurik's team captain, Garth Ingersson, was going on a week of being locked away down there. Seven days of being chained while stuck in shifted form, full of nothing but rage. Seeing a man Rurik respected greatly and thought of as a brother chained like a wild animal was hard. As much as Rurik wanted to free Garth from the shackles holding him, he couldn't.

The captain was being restrained for everyone's safety but explaining as much to him wasn't possible. Not in his current state. Like the man in the cell adjacent to Garth's, he wasn't exactly himself. His shifter side was doing all the decision- making, and that never went as well as anyone might hope.

When not stuck in wolf form, Garth was a twelve-hundred-year-old shifter who came from the Viking age of Scandinavia and headed PSI- Ops Team Eight. And when Garth wasn't covered in fur and foaming at the mouth from sheer rage while walking on all fours, he was pushing seven feet tall, with a head of long blond hair that Rurik thought was a touch on the girlie side.

Not that Rurik had a ton of room to talk.

It wasn't as if he kept his hair short, but he didn't braid it like the captain. Sure, they were tiny braids hidden throughout Garth's hair and the practice dated back to the man's days of longboats and raiding villages, but they were braids all the same. It would be an extra-fucking-cold day in Siberia before Rurik braided anything, so there was no risk of them appearing in his hair.

A week prior, when Team Eight, along with members of the Fang Gang, had raided the estate of a man who ran drugs and guns for the enemy, they'd assumed it was an open-and-shut case. Rurik had thought the arms dealer was scum for more than one reason, so when he'd happened upon the man's taxidermy collection—bears and wolves included—he'd wanted to rip him into tiny pieces. To hunt the non-shifter variety of their species was too much. That alone warranted the man's death.

When an underground laboratory was discovered, containing test subjects who were all children, it had been all Rurik could do to temper his inner beast. Born a bear-shifter, he liked to think he had decent control over that side of himself. The incident a week ago told him otherwise.

It let him know that when children were involved, all bets were off.

Unlike humans, supernaturals didn't reproduce at high rates of speed. He was sure it was nature's way of balancing everything and keeping the supernatural population from exploding. Children were to be valued and protected at all costs.

Not experimented on.

Yet that's exactly what PSI had uncovered.

Sadly, that lab hadn't been the only one unearthed that day, or during the last week, for that matter. Rurik had lost track of the number of facilities that had been discovered and raided. All of which Garth had been absent from assisting with, since he'd lost control during the first of the raids. The enemy had been busy, and PSI had missed all the signs. Now they were stuck playing cleanup and being reactive instead of proactive.

Knowing the enemy's history and ties to World War II eugenics, Rurik highly doubted the current labs marked the re-start of the testing. His gut said the testing from the height of eugenics had never actually ended. That the enemy had just gotten better at hiding it from everyone.

Assholes.

He had to take a deep breath and count backward internally from ten to calm himself and the animal he shared his body with. The bear wanted a pound of flesh from every bastard involved with the testing facilities. Hell, the bear wanted more than simply a pound. It wanted to consume them all—to rip them to shreds and eat them, leaving no trace behind.

A line of Russian fell free from Rurik's lips as he grumbled about how much he hoped to get his hands on the bastards who had dared to hurt children.

The momentary loss of control and speaking out loud only served to gain him more attention in the bullpen. There were a decent number of men there, and all with their eyes on Rurik. Normally, very few paid him any attention when he entered a room. Right now, it seemed like everyone was paying attention. For a moment, he wondered if his zipper was down, seeing as how all eyes were on him.

He checked.

It wasn't.

Still, they all continued to stare.

Some began to snicker, while others averted their gazes quickly as he made eye contact with them, an unspoken challenge in the air. Not a shock, seeing as how his temper was somewhat notorious. It had once earned him a blender from his coworkers—though he still wasn't sure why the men thought he'd want one.

"What?" Rurik demanded of Miles "Boomer" Walsh, as he approached the desk the man was currently occupying. It wasn't Boomer's desk, but he'd clearly made himself comfortable in it all the same. He reclined in the office chair, with his feet propped on the edge of the desk as he toyed with some metal contraption that seemed as if it was made to hold paper clips.

Boomer, who always looked more like he was about to attend a vampire-themed nightclub rather than work for an off-the-books organization that fought against supernatural threats, pursed his lips and shrugged. He then ran his pierced tongue over his equally pierced lip. "Dude, I'm not getting involved in this. Don't look at me."

Rurik growled lightly.

Boomer had the nerve to laugh before he lowered his head. He began to hum what sounded a lot like the United States of America's national anthem. He then rocked his head back and forth to the beat.

The cat-shifter was bizarre, so Rurik ignored him and continued onward.

There were half-wall dividers with ten-inch glass panels at the tops in the bullpen that were built to give the illusion of privacy to the various team sections, but they didn't provide much in the way of actual seclusion. They did prevent anyone from having a clear line of sight of the entire bullpen though, unless they were in one of the upper offices.

As Rurik rounded the area to Team Eight's section, he did a double take as he spotted his desk. The second his eyes widened, laughter erupted around him. It was evident they'd all been waiting to see his reaction to what had been done to his workspace.

It looked as though a Fourth of July celebration had regurgitated all over the place.

There were small American flags covering his desk. Some were on sticks, some were like garlands, others were napkins, and some were just loose and strewn about the desktop. All of them sat on top of a tablecloth that had what looked to be firework explosions painted all over it.

There was also a child's stuffed brown bear that was wearing a T-shirt with "God Bless the U.S.A." on it. Next to the stuffed animal was a plastic Statue of Liberty figurine that stood about ten inches high. Its base had a small nickel plate with the words "Welcome to America, Jackass" engraved on it. A coffee mug that read "Proud to be an American" sat next to Rurik's computer. In the mug were red and blue pens and more flags on sticks. An apple pie completed the nightmarish scene. It was in the center of the desk with a lit sparkler sticking from the center of it.

Rurik would have asked who was responsible for the scene, but he noticed Duke Marlow leaning against one of the partitions with a cocksure grin on his face as he flicked a lighter in his hand, causing a flame to appear and disappear. In the man's other hand was a coffee mug that was identical to the one on Rurik's desk.

Duke began to whistle the same tune Boomer had been humming. He then sipped his coffee, his gaze never once leaving Rurik.

The natural-born American wolf-shifter was basically Rurik's workplace foe. The two butted heads as often as possible, each loyal to their country to a fault, each old enough to remember when their countries aligned against common enemies, only to then end up in an arms race that lasted decades.

Duke and Rurik had similar builds. That wasn't all. It had been pointed out more than once that they had similar features as well. Apparently, their personalities were close too—each being accused of having bad attitudes and hating everything.

Rurik would have protested, but he hadn't cared enough to bother. Plus, he did sort of hate everything.

Duke winked at him and flicked the lighter again. "Hey, Yankee Doodle Boris, you spent long enough in the shower that we were starting to wonder if you were jerking off—again."

Rurik made a move to go at the man, only to have Gram Campbell come rushing into the bullpen and jump in his path. Gram, a fellow teammate and operative born during the height of the Highlander era in Scotland, stood there looking anything but concerned with having a pissed-off werebear in his face. In truth, he almost seemed bored by it all.

Typical wolf-shifter.

They didn't have an ounce of self- preservation.

Rurik curled his lip, staring past Gram at Duke. "I will end you."

"Och, no killing Marlow," said the Scotsman. "I know it's hard to resist the urge. I struggle with it myself on a daily basis. And is it wrong to admit I'm pissed I dinnae see yer face when you saw yer desk? And, by the way, yer Russian is showing, Romanov."

Confused, Rurik's brows met. It was then he realized he'd spoken in Russian to Duke when threatening him. Like Rurik, Gram was fluent in a multitude of languages.

"You guid?" asked Gram, stepping back a tad.

Rurik jutted out his chin and gave a quick nod. "Da."

"Da?" Gram laughed slightly as he moved to Rurik's side. "Thought they took yer commie card from you when you defected."

"Says the Scotsman who sounds fresh off the boat despite having lived in this country far longer than me," reminded Rurik in a teasing manner, though he doubted that was reflected in his voice. "And I did not defect. Not officially or anything."

"Semantics." Gram flashed a wide smile. "And I do nae sound like I'm fresh off…never mind. I just heard myself. I do sound like I only just landed. It's okay though. The ladies here love a guy with an accent. You should see them when I wear my kilt. They cannae get enough of me."

Rurik slid the man a sideways annoyed glance. "Did you see the captain?"

"Aye," said Gram, concern flashing through his eyes. "No change, I see."

Rurik nodded.

"Auberi isnae faring any better," said Gram, speaking of the other operative who was also being held in the lower level.

Auberi Bouchard was a member of the Fang Gang. The Frenchman and Gram were close friends, though Rurik wasn't sure how or why that had happened. Gram was carefree and certainly full of himself, but he wasn't the level of cocky the vampire possessed.

Not many were.

Auberi had lost his shit the same time Garth had, leaving the two in cells that were side by side. It was somewhat amusing, considering how much Garth and Auberi did not get along.

"Vampires are pussies," said Duke.

It wasn't as if Rurik disagreed or anything. He merely lifted a brow.

Gram rolled his eyes. "Americans."

Duke snorted before wiping a hand over his face to hide a smile. "You love me, and you know it, Campbell."

"Yeah, well, you annoy the fuck out of me, Marlow," added Striker McCracken from behind the partition nearest to Duke, somehow managing to have a thicker brogue than Gram. The two were teammates and, if Rurik had to guess, he'd say they were best friends as well. One was rarely found without the other.

"Hey, Boris," said Duke with a half-grin, never taking his eyes from Rurik. "Heard it was your birthday. Figured it was time you had a proper celebration."

Was it?

Rurik had to think harder on it because he'd stopped keeping track over a century ago. As he thought about the date, he tensed and the sparkler fizzled out, leaving a small bit of black smoke rising toward one of the overhead air vents.

It was his birthday.

How in the hell had the American known that? Had he pulled Rurik's file? And why would he ever want to celebrate anything with Rurik? It wasn't like Duke was known for being overly warm or thoughtful; if he'd gone to this extreme, he had a reason. Knowing Duke, that reason was to finally rid himself of Rurik once and for all.

"How old are you now, Boris?" asked Duke, mocking Rurik's accent.

"I don't sound like that and my name is not Boris," said Rurik with a rather loud grunt.

Duke looked to be fighting another laugh. "So you claim. We all know you were tight with the KGB. Who the hell knows what your real name is? Could be Boris, for all we know."

"And yours could be Dickwad," returned Rurik.

"Who's to say it isn't?" asked another of the operatives, earning the man a sideways glance from Duke.

The man went back to typing what was no doubt a report.

Looking at the pie on his desk, Rurik arched a brow. "Did you poison it?"

Boomer approached, laughing boisterously. He patted Rurik's back. "He wanted to. That's why Corbin insisted on handling the apple pies."

Pies, as in there was more than one?

Corbin Jones was as British as could be, almost a poster child for the stiff-upper-lip mentality. He spoke the Queen's English and was only missing holding a Union Jack flag to really drive home just how British he was. As a lion-shifter, he was a very capable operative and stronger than his often-reserved personality hinted at. It was rare that he joined in the antics of the men who served under him.

Rurik glanced at Boomer, who was a member of Duke's team of operatives—Team Five. "Your captain had a hand in this?"

"Dude, be thankful he did. Duke would have so poisoned you. Hell, I even saw him on the internet looking up what foods bears can't have, and we all know what a luddite Duke is," added Boomer with another chuckle as he walked toward his team's area. "As it stands, the pie is safe to eat. Not only that, but Corbin arranged for more pies to be sent over. The break room is full of them. Happy birthday, Rurik."

Gram eased closer. "We managed to talk Duke out of red and blue glitter. He wanted to dump it all over yer desk and rig something to explode, covering you in even more of it. That would have been Asshole of the Week worthy. So you know, I wasnae opposed to this idea."

"Thanks," said Rurik snidely.

One of the halls off the bullpen area was dedicated to awards. There were legitimate ones for valor and so forth, but then there was the not- so-legit one the men awarded each other. Asshole of the Week kept up morale and often gave the men something to work toward together. The goal being to either create a scenario that left a fellow op in a hilarious predicament or catch one in the act of doing so naturally.

Rurik had won his fair share of them since joining the Russian Division of PSI and then moving to the American office. As far as divisions went, Russia was considered one of the newer ones, despite being in existence since the fall of the Soviet Union.

PSI had had a foothold in most countries for an exceptionally long time. But Russia had always proved somewhat elusive. No surprise that they'd had issues getting in the door—there was a time that Russians had issues getting out. His mother country wasn't exactly known for welcoming outsiders with open arms. And they were no stranger to secret police forces.

He could still recall the start of Okhrana back in the days of Tsar Nicholas II. Rurik had been young for a supernatural during that time, and he'd already had his dreams of following in his father's footsteps as far as science went dashed. His country wanted him trained to be a weapon and his country wasn't one to take no for an answer.

That was how Rurik had first been pulled into the secret police. Over the years the secret police had morphed and changed a number of times before becoming the Komitet Gosudarstvennoy Bezopasnosti (KGB). It was no real stretch for him, moving over to PSI. Though changing the side that he served had been a leap. One that he still wasn't entirely comfortable with, but it was what it was.

It didn't help that the American media liked to make his country out to be the villain in every story. While the Cold War may be over, certain prejudices were hard to dispel. Americans needed someone to rally against and to stand in direct opposition of. Russia had won that title. Were they guilty of everything they were accused of ? No. Were they guilty of at least some of it? Probably. Then again, America was no saint. It had its fair share of skeletons in the closet as well.

Every country had dirt on its hands, sometimes coated in the blood of others or its own. To think otherwise was naïve and foolish. Rurik had been alive too long to be either.

He'd seen men he thought of as brothers become hardened enemies who would just as soon kill you if they saw you again than talk to you. And he'd seen men he'd once stood in direct opposition of become family to him—such was the case with PSI.

"You all right there?" asked Gram, still standing next to Rurik. "You zoned out."

He nodded.

"He's probably contemplating taking his citizenship test," said someone from the back of the bullpen. "I know how much he longs to be one of us."

Rurik stifled a groan.

Duke thumbed toward the pie. "Eat up, Boris."

"Dick," said Rurik, in Duke's direction.

Duke put his lighter in his front jean pocket, took another sip of coffee, and continued to smirk. "Eat the pie. I dare you."

Duke had no doubt done something to it that would leave Rurik sick and in the bathroom for a week. That or a body bag.

Gram nudged Rurik. "It's safe. I promise."

"How did you know what I was thinking?" asked Rurik.

Gram snorted. "Because I'd be thinking the same thing if Duke gave me a pie."

Chapter Two

A TALL MAN with blond hair pulled back at the nape of his neck entered the bullpen with a pensive look upon his face, breaking up the moment. "The medical wing needs some assistance. Another bus full of children was brought in."

Rurik merely observed, remaining quiet for the time being.

Boomer was quick to get to his feet. "More? How many does this make, Corbin?"

Corbin shook his head. "I've lost count. This group isn't doing so well. Every operative with medical training is down there, but more hands are needed."

"No one wants me around small children," Duke said quickly. "I'm not a fan of them and they don't like me."

Rurik wasn't great with kids either, but he didn't have it in him to ignore the needs of the children. If this lot was anything like the others, the children would be underfed, with matted hair and other evident signs of neglect. In the last week, Rurik knew of at least three busloads full of rescued children that had arrived at division headquarters to utilize the medical facilities that catered to supernaturals. Additional buses were routed to other divisions across the United States and around the world as more labs were discovered.

PSI had taken to referring to the experiments as The Asia Project, seeing as how that had been where the majority of the testing facilities had been located. Rurik liked to call it the-sick-fucks- who-messed-with-children-and-who-deserved-to- die.

His way was better.

Rurik started toward Corbin at the same time Duke did.

Both men froze, their gazes sweeping to each other in a challenging manner.

Corbin rubbed his brow. "Am I going to have issues with the two of you? The children need our help, not us having to pull the two of you apart nonstop."

"I can behave myself if the communist can," said Duke.

Rurik entertained going at Duke but resisted, knowing it would feed into Corbin's fear. "I can behave as well."

Gram laughed softly on his way past Rurik. "Sure you can."

Rurik followed behind Gram, leaving him walking nearly shoulder to shoulder with Duke. He elbowed the man and was shoved back. Within seconds, they were pushing at one another much like they were children. Rurik didn't care. The man was a dick.

Boomer moved in between them, forcing them apart. "News flash, the Cold War is over. You two can really let it go."

"Fuck off," they said at the same time.

Boomer snorted. "Seriously, it's like you're twins."

They both stepped in closer to Boomer quickly, squishing the cat-shifter between them.

He grunted and then shot forward, causing Rurik to snicker.

Duke did the same.

Their laughter faded quickly as they turned the corner, entering the corridor to the medical wing. There were children sitting along the corridor wall, huddled together in small groups. As predicted, they were in much the same shape the others had been in.

There were no infants that Rurik could see, but there were children who looked to be as young as four, while others appeared to be in their early teens. So far, these were the first teen test subjects he'd seen. Fear radiated off the children in waves big enough to cause him to stagger.

Duke drew up short as well, sucking in a sharp breath before whispering, "They're scared shitless."

"Not cool," said Boomer, partially under his breath as he surveyed the situation. "Not cool at all. Captain, where are we needed?"

Corbin pointed to the kids in the hall. "We're arranging for temporary living situations for them all, but for now, we'll need to see to it they're clean and have some food in them. If any require additional medical attention, get them into the infirmary to be seen. We're assuming they're all fine… well, as fine as can be, but who knows what they've endured."

Duke grabbed for Rurik's forearm as he stared at his captain. "We are not supervising any children's bath time or shower time."

"We don't need you to," said a boy who didn't look much older than thirteen or fourteen at best. He stood and squared his shoulders, his green eyes ablaze with a challenge, and his black hair hanging just past his ears. "Show us where we can get cleaned up and we'll handle it ourselves. The older boys and girls can help the younger ones. We don't need or want any other help."

Rurik instantly liked the kid. He had a grit about him that was admirable, especially with all he'd been put through.

Corbin stared down at the boy. "We were told none of you have spoken a word since you were found. We weren't sure you even could talk."

The boy shot him a hard look. "We can. Well, most of us, anyway. We just didn't have anything we wanted to say to any of you—least not until we knew what your intentions were."

With a nod, Corbin bent some to be closer to the boy's level. "I assure you that our intentions are honorable. We want to help you all—not harm you."

The boy glanced back at the other children, staring for what felt like forever before several of the older ones each gave a slight nod. He then returned to looking at Corbin. "We'll accept the help, but we can still handle cleaning up ourselves."

"Understood," said Corbin, speaking in a soft tone.

The boy lowered his head and then curled one of his hands into a fist. "When can we see the other kids who came in with us?"

Corbin's expression remained unreadable. "If they aren't out here, in this hall, then they're being treated beyond the medical bay doors there. Right now, it's chaotic back there, but once the dust has settled, we can make sure you see your friends."

The boy's gaze darted to the bay doors briefly.

Rurik assumed the kid would make a run for them.

Evidently, so did Corbin, because he craftily planted himself in the boy's path. "Tell me, is there anyone in particular you want me to check on?"

"Yes," the boy said, his voice sounding small. He glanced at two little girls who were hugging each other, watching the operatives like they weren't sure trusting them was an option. The pair didn't look much older than five years old.

One of the girls had ink-black hair with vibrant green eyes and the other had hair that was nearly white as snow. She slid her crystal blue gaze to Rurik and then didn't so much as blink.

At the same second, it felt like a fly was buzzing around his head. He swatted at it and the feeling vanished.

"Our friend. We can't find her," said the boy. "She wasn't on the bus with us. I looked. I think she's hurt."

Corbin reached out and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Then know she is getting the best care possible right now and the best thing you can do is see to your needs. I can go in search of her myself."

The boy's shoulders slumped. "They were mean to her where we were. Really mean. I tried to keep her safe. I tried to keep them all safe."

"And you did a very good job," said Corbin. "Most wouldn't have survived what you've all lived through. You should be proud of yourself."

The boy teared up slightly. "Is she dead?"

The two girls who were clinging to each other made the smallest of gasps. The way the dark haired one tightened her hold on the blonde said she was protective.

Rurik nearly went to them both to reassure them he'd find their friend himself—come hell or high water. As he looked into the little one's blue eyes again, the buzzing around his head started once more, and the need to stop what he was doing now to go on the search for the missing child was so great he nearly rushed away to do so.

Just then a different little girl darted out from the group and wrapped her arms around Rurik's thigh, clinging to him. Her hair was a shade or so darker than the blonde girl's.

Rurik put his hands up, worried about touching her for fear of breaking her. She was so small—they all were really.

She tilted her head back, her hair matted to the sides of her face. The next Rurik knew, the girls who'd been clinging to one another hurried over toward him. They peeled the other child from his leg and pulled her back to the group with them. She looked anything but pleased. The dark- haired one didn't appear to care.

The matted-haired girl tried again to come for Rurik.

The boy tensed. "Olga, stop. We need to find Libs."

Olga narrowed her gaze and crossed her arms. "She's probably dead."

"Take it back!" shouted the girl with ink-black hair right before she tackled Olga. For as small as they were, they had might. It took several children to pull the little girls apart. Thankfully, none of the operatives needed to intervene.

Olga spit at the ink-haired girl and then stuck out her tongue.

The temperature in the hallway began to increase in a way that wasn't natural as the ink- haired girl lifted a hand, aiming it at the other child. Her green eyes swirled, and a flame appeared out of nowhere in the palm of her extended hand.

Boomer was fast to respond, rushing to the fire-wielding child and lifting her fast. "None of that now."

The flame died out as she glared over Boomer's shoulder at Olga. Boomer set her down, keeping his body before hers. "Captain?"

He was thinking what they were all thinking— the children could be dangerous if left unattended.

Note to selves, said Duke through the mental mind path the operatives shared. Don't piss off the one with black hair. She'll body slam you and then light your ass on fire.

The boy drew the ink-haired child away from Boomer and held her hand. He stared at Corbin, his eyes growing moist. "You can tell us the truth —if Libs is dead. We know what it means."

"Other children have died?" blurted Boomer.

The boy nodded.

Corbin cast a worried glance toward Boomer before patting the boy's shoulder. "I was not informed of there being any casualties. I'm sure Libs is fine."

Rurik growled at the knowledge of how poorly they'd been treated.

The next he knew, half of them screamed and huddled closer together.

He spun around, expecting to find a threat. When he realized he was what had scared them, he sighed and faced Corbin once more.

Corbin stood fully. "Children, you're safe. He wasn't growling at you, were you?"

"No," Rurik said louder than he'd meant, making the little ones nearest him start to cry. He cringed. He shouldn't be allowed around anyone, let alone children. "Enough."

They cried harder.

"Christ, stop helping," snapped Duke powerfully, causing more of them to join in the crying.

Gram shook his head. "Och, the two of you are gonna scare the life out of them. All right, children, show of hands. Who wants some food in their bellies?"

Little hands shot up right before some wiped their faces and noses with their arms.

Gram smiled. "Guid. Now, what do you say we get you cleaned, in some fresh clothes, and then something to eat?"

"Pie," said Rurik, still louder than he'd meant.

Several of the children flinched.

Gram eyed him. "What?"

"Boomer mentioned Corbin got more pies. We can give them to the children," he said gruffly before clearing his throat.

Corbin grinned and nodded. "Splendid idea. There are more than enough. I've already put a call in to have soup ready in the cafeteria. We'll handle getting the pies there as well. How does soup and pie sound?"

The boy, who was shaping up to be the children's spokesman, tipped his head as he continued to hold the little girl's hand. "What is pie?"

"'Tis a treat," said Striker, coming to stand near Rurik and Duke. "Something tasty. Have you had soup, lad?"

The boy shook his head. "But we know what it is. Some of the scientists and guards would eat it on their breaks. Sometimes, nicer ones would share their food with us. They felt bad about what we were given to eat."

"What is it you were fed?" asked Striker, his gaze going to the group of children nearest him. Compassion shone in his eyes.

"The guards called it slop," said the boy. "It had everything we needed nutrient-wise but didn't taste very good."

"No, I expect it would nae taste guid at all with a name like slop," returned Striker. "Well, yer nae at that vile place any longer, lad. Come. You need to get cleaned up and to change into some fresh clothing. Then pie. That's an order."

The boy's lips twitched, and he grinned. He then faced the other children, still holding hands with the little girl. He stared at the other kids but didn't speak a single word.

"Thank you," offered the boy.

The other children nodded in unison and stood, the older ones helping the younger and any frail ones.

Rurik stepped back, and Duke did so as well. They merely watched as the other men handled dividing the children into groups.

Boomer joined them, supervising as the children were paired off with various operatives. Some went in the direction of the workout facility's locker rooms, others went toward the shower facilities in the medical wing, and the rest went in the direction of the sleeping quarters.

Soon, there were no children left in need of supervision, and Rurik let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Thankfully, he'd not been needed after all.

Duke leaned slightly in Rurik's direction. "We dodged that bullet."

Rurik nodded.

They had.

Good thing, too; they'd have probably only scared the children again.

What he couldn't figure out was why Boomer had avoided taking a group of children. He seemed decent enough at dealing with them. A hell of a lot better than Rurik and Duke had been.

"All right, Yankee Doodle and Punk Rock Kitty," said Duke. "Let's grab the extra pies and start taking them down to the cafeteria. It'll keep us away from little people."

Boomer nodded but didn't budge. He stared at the spot the children had been huddled in, looking far away in thought.

Rurik and Duke shared a look, but neither said a word as they stood by their fellow operative, letting him work out his own demons in silence.

Blaise Regnier came rushing through the bay doors that led into the medical area. He was part of the Fang Gang and looked like he shopped wherever Boomer did for clothing. The two could be mistaken for brothers or members of the same goth boy band.

Blaise stopped quickly and sniffed the air. He stiffened and then looked to them. "Did a little girl about this high just run through here?" Blaise asked, holding a hand to his mid-thigh.

Boomer snapped out of his trance-like state. "You're going to need to be more specific. There were a lot of little girls that size here a minute ago."

Blaise watched them all for a long moment. "She would have just been here in the last minute or so. I turned my back for a minute to get what I needed to suture her face, and she was gone. Maybe she joined the others out here, blending?"

"Anyone else want to know why he's in there playing doctor?" asked Boomer.

Rurik had seen the vampire in action with the children Team Eight had helped rescue a week prior. Blaise had seemed very capable of dealing with little ones and like he had a great deal of medical knowledge. He had an exceptionally long and extensive past. One that clearly consisted of medical training.

"You said her face needed tending to?" asked Duke.

Blaise nodded, touching his left cheek and drawing a line from his mouth to his ear with his fingers. "She was clawed by a shifter during the raid Team Thirteen was part of. The field medic butterfly-taped the slashes shut after cleaning them as best he could. But the area needs to be addressed. She may even require reconstructive surgery. I'm not sure. I wasn't able to get a good enough look before she vanished."

Rurik's bear side stirred. "Which of our people harmed her?"

"None," said Blaise. "The enemy did it. From the little bit of details that I could gather, it was a bear-shifter. The damage is extensive and if the records recovered at the scene are correct, she, like most of the children here now, was given the same toxic chemical combination we encountered a week ago. Some of the children have been given heavy doses for years, causing their supernatural healing abilities to be slowed considerably. Some completely. I think she's one of those children. The injury wasn't showing any signs of closing on its own."

Boomer's shoulders slumped. "None of the kids who were here had cut-open faces. I didn't smell blood on any of them either. Either of you?"

Rurik shook his head. "No."

"Nope," said Duke, his voice tight. "I don't think the kid was part of the group that was here."

Blaise stepped farther into the hall. "She needs medical attention. They need me back in there. Can you three search for her?"

"Yes, of course," said Boomer.

"I'll check the other exit points from the medical area. She might have taken one of them," said Duke, hurrying off.

Boomer went right for the medical bay doors. "I'll recheck the med wing. Rurik, can you check the bullpen and the office side of things? I don't see how she could have gotten that far without anyone noticing her, but who knows what any of the kids are capable of."