Chains of Fire Read Free

sender, too, probably part of your gift. And I don’t know why, but . . . if I listen, I can hear your thoughts. Sometimes. Lately my abilities seem to have expanded.
    Samuel knew what was going on, and that comprehension made him want to thump his head against the stainless-steel walls of the elevator. He would have, too, except he knew the guards who observed him on the cameras would flag that behavior and escort him back down to the lobby and out the door.
    Dina was not only one of the Others, the enemy of the Chosen Ones. She also shared a past with Irving. A pretty intense past, if the way those two acted proved anything. So she might be wicked. She might be cruel. She might have been stalking every single Chosen for the past two and a half years, delivering cryptic warnings into their minds and scaring the crap out of them. But because of the prophecy that affected the Chosen Ones—when a Chosen sacrificed his or her greatest fear for true love, that love expanded his or her gifts in ways no one could have foreseen—her talents had expanded.
    Not that she was Chosen. Quite the opposite. But the Chosen Ones and the Others were flip sides of the same coin. All had been abandoned as infants. All had been given gifts. Some used them for good. Some for evil.
    If Samuel needed proof that Dina loved Irving, this assistance was it.
    But still it didn’t mean she wasn’t going to betray Samuel. Women had a history of betraying him.
    Or rather . . . one woman.
    Never mind her, Dina said in his mind. You can worry about her later.
    If I live through this.
    There is that.
    He grinned.
    If Dina wasn’t a lying, cheating, treacherous minion of the devil, he would almost like her.
    She reminded him of himself: rude, conflicted . . . and tainted. Tainted by birth, tainted by living, tainted by dark blemishes on their souls.
    No matter what they did, no matter what reparations they made, how honorably they behaved . . . they could never escape themselves.

Chapter 2

    T he elevator doors opened and a man stood there, six-foot-six, fit, fair and blond, with long arms, broad shoulders, and no neck. Adelbrecht Wagner, bank president, looked like a billboard advertising the Aryan Nations.
    Two guards stood behind him.
    Samuel didn’t know what purpose they accomplished. He wasn’t going to attack Wagner. The guy looked like he could crush Samuel with one fist.
    Wagner extended his hand. In precise, German-accented English, he said, “Mr. Faa, how good to meet you. I’m Adelbrecht Wagner. We haven’t seen anyone from the Gypsy Travel Agency for several years. In fact, we had heard reports that an explosion at their headquarters had killed everyone on their board.”
    Samuel shook hands, did the male dominance thing by squeezing too hard and making sure his hand remained on top, and put on his solemn face. “Did you? The explosion was a tragedy that deeply affected our organization.” It was a nonanswer, one worked out ahead of time and given Irving’s nod of approval.
    Samuel had learned a few things about one-upmanship, and he understood Irving’s position about this operation.
    Just in case he didn’t remember, Dina repeated the instructions. Say as little as possible. Don’t explain yourself. Don’t defend yourself. Make it clear from the beginning you are the man in charge.
    Yeah, thanks.
    Samuel strode beside Wagner down the short corridor to his office and was ushered inside. The place was immense, luxurious, and windowless.
    The guards took up their positions at the sides of the entrance. Wagner closed the doors, and they gave a thunk that all too clearly proved they were reinforced with metal.
    Wagner’s office was a vault, protecting the bank president, everything he represented and everything he knew.
    Samuel would either succeed here or die in prison.
    No pressure.
    Samuel didn’t even know who thought it first.
    Pulling a two-by-two slip of yellow paper out of his inside pocket, he placed it on the desk in