Tied With a Bow

expressions of the Navajo Council members as Rule attempted to convince them to give him what he wanted without restraint.
    It wasn’t working well at the moment because these were men who had something to hide. Something they feared the Breeds learning.
    The argument raged between Ray Martinez and Rule. The chief refused to listen, just as Rule refused to give up.
    “Young man, you seem to have a problem accepting the word ‘no.’” Ray stared back at Rule implacably as the Breed lowered his brows and met his gaze.
    Why the three Martinez men hadn’t yet figured out their DNA ran strong and deep in the commander, Malachi didn’t know. The resemblance to the Martinez family was damned strong, but the pure stubbornness and refusal to accept denial was identical.
    “There is no disrespect meant to you or to the people of the Navajo Nation, sir,” Rule assured him as he stared back at him from where on the other end of the conference table. He appeared at ease, relaxed and confident while the Martinez males were becoming irritated and weren’t bothering to hide it. “The situation is simply too delicate and of too much importance not to make you aware of every aspect of the consequences if this rogue isn’t found.”
    Ray grunted at that. “You say you have a rogue, yet you have no name, no identification, nor do you have, according to you, any idea who this rogue is, or exactly where he could be hiding on Navajo land. All you have is a genetic profile, that you refuse to share with the Council, or without our own genetic experts. Yet you expect me to give you unprecedented entrance into the records of our people and their ancestors in your search? Am I missing anything?”
    “That about sums it up, sir.”
    Malachi frowned at the screen, his attention held by the chief of the Navajo Nation and a subtle look of secretive knowledge that suddenly flashed between him and his father.
    The look was so subtle he almost missed it. If he hadn’t been watching for it, hadn’t kept his gaze locked on him rather than Rule as he spoke, then he would have missed it.
    Malachi sat down in the chair facing the three screens and began to watch them. Forcing himself to ignore his mate, which was one of the hardest things he had ever done, he concentrated instead on the three Martinez men. Ray and Terran Martinez, the two brothers, were careful not to look at each other at all. But Ray was unable to keep from glancing at his father, Orin, the Nation’s medicine man and spiritual advisor. And the look they exchanged, despite the brevity of it, was filled with concern.
    His hard-on was still there. The hunger for his mate was still there. But the training for exactly what he was doing was rising to the fore. He was a collaborative interrogator. At least, that was what they called him at the labs.
    There were the interrogators, who questioned suspects and persons of interest. Then there were the interrogation collaborators, trained to watch the interrogation process and pick up lies, anomalies and clues.
    Public relations meant more than just speaking to the public or preparing speeches to reduce the threat of propaganda against the Breeds, or to minimize it or better yet, spin their own version of lies. It was watching, gauging expressions and atmospheres and separating the lies from the truth. It was catching the small, subtle looks and shifts of muscles bunching beneath clothing designed to hide such reactions.
    Malachi’s specialty was public relations and propaganda warfare among Breeds. A vital area of warfare within the many Breed labs that had once existed. After all, someone had to know how to keep the packs and prides and various personalities at one another’s throats rather than giving them the chance to collaborate and escape.
    It had been his and his trainers’ jobs to filter through the information that came in from many different sources within and outside the labs, and use it to sabotage escape or rescue attempts, as well as gathering intel concerning knowledge of the Breeds.
    It was a gift he was created to have, and one he excelled at. That gift had also helped him and his trainers to plant the intel in the right places to ensure that groups that would be sympathetic to the Breeds would learn of them and stage their rescues.
    Protected in Russia, far enough away from the mainstream of the other labs within the Genetics Council network, Malachi, two other Coyotes and their trainers had pushed along the