Excerpt:

Alexander never liked that lamp.

To find it in pieces next to the door when he keyed in his apartment should have filled him with some sort of sadistic glee.

It was ugly, to be blunt. The base was ceramic job, a fat panda with a dopey smile wielding a flower like some sort of limp weapon, painted by someone’s granddaughter, possibly for a birthday present. The recipient, obviously not an electrician, added the electrical innards to turn it into a lamp and apparently grew tired of it, selling it in one of the many garage sales lining the streets during the spring cleaning months.

Well, it was cheap, his roommate bought it and it wasn’t like Alexander had a whole lot of spare cash to contribute to the décor of a home that he didn’t use much.

The blood smears on the wall right above it took care of that, right quick.

His first instinct was to run. It was a good instinct to have and it saved his ass on more than one occasion. Something kept him rooted to the spot and battled with his better sense.

Curiosity.

There was no clear body present, or pieces, he thought wryly. Nor was there blood anywhere else that he could see. Why would someone trash his apartment, and was that his roommate’s blood on the wall?

Good sense fled in the face of these questions and he stepped in, shutting the door behind him.

To Alexander’s practiced eye, there were no signs of forced entry. The living room, blood and lamp aside, was not in any way out of order. He toured quickly through the rest of the apartment and other than some disarray in Stuart’s normally tidy room, no sign of trouble at all.

At the front door, there was a sharp knock.

Alexander jerked from his inspection. He didn’t really have friends. There was never enough time for them. He had acquaintances, to be sure. Drinking buddies and the like but no one Alexander could really call ‘friend’ except his roommate.

Through the peephole he spied two men in very neat suits. They looked like normal law enforcement, except for the lack of flak jackets beneath their shirts that the local detectives normally wore. Nor did they have the sharp, black uniform of ATAR, which put his mind at ease. Better local, than ATAR, if that’s who they were. “Who is it?”

“Alexander Dane? The Director sent us.”

The Director. That was the only name Alexander knew his boss by. He wasn’t sure if anyone really knew the man’s real name. But what did The Director want with him? His gut instinct warned him it had to do with Stuart.

Twice within the span of half an hour, Alexander went against his better judgment. He opened the door.

The two men stepped into the living room, advancing no further than the door. They were much larger than they appeared through the peep hole and their presence filled the room. Enforcers. Only their arrogant air could choke someone just by standing next to them.

“I have a job to get ready for. What do you want?” Alexander crossed his arms over his chest and mimicked their wide stance.

This was worse than some cheesy B movie. In unison, they scanned the room and one took note of the lamp pieces, walking over to toe at one with his shoe. “The Director,” the other one still facing off with Alexander said, “wishes to talk to you about your roommate.”

“He’s not here. Don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“We’re not here for him.”

“Telekinetic.” The voice came from behind them, out in the hallway. It had a thick, heavy Germanic accent.

Alexander thought it sounded kind of sexy, in that foreign kind of way. Born in the deep south, he had little contact with foreign people so any accent not southern sounded sexy.

How did he know what Alexander’s talent was?

“This is Johann. You will turn over all the details of your job to him, and then you will come with us down to the office to answer a few questions.”

A man stepped into view and leaned causally against the door jamb. He was tall, with a long reach and longer legs and red hair Alexander was positive had to be natural because you can’t get that color from a bottle. Must be a telepath. All telepaths had a look to them. That superior I-can-fuck-your-world-up-and-make-you-enjoy-it kind of look. Alexander hated him already.

“Yes,” Johann said, smiling. “It’s natural.”

Alexander rolled his shoulder. “It’s my job. The Director gave it to me.”

“And now The Director needs you to come talk to him about your missing roommate.”

A visit downtown. Now that was cliché and more than a little irritating. Usually the Director contacted him directly about jobs. To send goons after him was a sign the Director anticipated trouble.

Alexander almost made it out of arms reach. He almost got his shield up to full strength. The man was faster and stronger than he appeared and when his hand clamped down on Alexander’s shoulder, he felt his legs give way. On his knees with a painful thump, the Enforcer’s simple touch held Alexander rigid.

Which was why, a voice in his head chided, you never let an Enforcer touch you.

The Enforcer was so close now Alexander could feel his breath against his cheek, smell his expensive cologne. A second set of hands were on him now. Every time he tried to garner the energy to repel the hand, he felt the burn along his nerves, racing to stay ahead of him and neutralize his own talent to nothing.

“Sleep,” in that same, previously-thought-sexy, foreign accent.

Alexander’s world went black.