“Maybe you should stop bringing up the past and concentrate on the future.”
“Didn’t I tell you to butt out of that part of my life?”
“And I told you that was impossible.” His grin was decidedly unrepentant. “Who was on the phone?”
“Baker.” I paused and motioned to the other room. “Are you sure they’re gone?”
“Yep. Heard a van and a car start up. Why?”
“Because we have to get to Keilor Park stat.” I grabbed my jeans and pulled them on. “They’ve found Rinaldo.”
“And you didn’t tell Sam that? Your ass is grass when he finds out.”
I snorted. “Baker didn’t give me an option—either we do this his way, or we miss out on the action.”
“And that is something I have no intention of doing.” Jackson finished getting dressed. “I take it the rats are involved in this showdown?”
“Yes. It was at their request that Baker rang us—no doubt in an effort to stave off any possible reprisals if this all goes ass up.”
“Or because he wants our firepower as backup just to ensure the bastards don’t get away again.” Jackson grunted and grabbed the keys. “Let’s hope PIT isn’t tailing us.”
“There’s nothing we can do about it if it is.” I followed him out the door. “Oh, and Sam informed me that the chief inspector wants to see us at nine tomorrow.”
“Does she now?” He climbed into the car, then said, “If we survive the upcoming encounter, I might just consider it. Or I might not. Depends on what she wants.”
“Apparently to castigate us over our usage of the badges.”
“Hey, she’s more than welcome to have them back.” He motioned to the GPS. “You want to type in where we have to go?”
I did so. “What do we have in the way of weapons?”
He gave me the raised eyebrows “Did you really just say that?” sort of look. “Fire isn’t enough for you these days?”
“When we don’t know who or what we’re dealing with beyond Rinaldo, no, it’s not,” I said. “He won’t be alone. Not after that near miss at the warehouse. Hell, for all we know, the rats suddenly locating him is nothing more than a setup.”
Besides, that instinctive part of me was suggesting I’d have to reserve every scrap of fire I had if I wanted to get us through this—not something I was about to ignore.
“I’m sure Radcliffe and Baker will be more than aware of that prospect,” Jackson said.
I hoped so, because otherwise, it could get ugly.
It didn’t take us long to reach Keilor Park. Jackson turned off the headlights as we cruised into Lambeck Drive and headed for the café about midway down. Baker stepped out of the shadows as we pulled into one of the parking spots in front of the place.
I climbed out of the SUV and closed the door as softly as I could. “Where’s Radcliffe?” I asked him.
“At the location, keeping an eye on things. Between my men and the rats, we’ve got the building surrounded.”
I frowned. “Frederick’s a vampire—he’s going to sense the heartbeats.”
“We’re well aware of that, and we are, currently, out of sensing distance,” Baker said.
“And you’re sure this isn’t a trap?” Jackson moved around to the rear of the SUV and retrieved a number of guns from the trunk. He handed me one and kept the other two, plus a knife, for himself.
“No, we’re not,” Baker said, “but he’s definitely inside.”
“Meaning just one of the twins is inside?”
“That is something we’re unsure of. We think both are in there, but we haven’t sighted the second brother.”
“I guess that would be hard to confirm since they appear to be in the habit of wearing identical clothes,” Jackson said. “What do you want us to do?”
“We’re going in through the front door. Radcliffe is looking after the rear and the sewers. We want you to handle the roof access.”
I raised my eyebrows. “How many stories does this place have?”
“Three in the office section. The warehouse is an unknown at this stage, but there’s no roof exit there from what we can see.”
“So we’re nothing more than backup?” Jackson said. “Because I’m seriously not happy about that. You’re not the only one who lost someone, Baker, and I have no intention of being sidelined on this.”
“You’re not. There’s no way in hell Rinaldo would trap himself inside any building without having an escape route ready,” Baker said. “Something you learned the hard way at the previous warehouse.”
“Not the same thing—he was gone before we got there,” Jackson bit back. “And you’ve no guarantee the same thing hasn’t happened here.”
“Yeah, we have, because we’ve been watching all the exits for several hours now—not just the building’s exits but all sewer outlets and the roof. One of the Rinaldos went in. No one has come out.”
“Then don’t expect me to sit on that roof and wait for one of them to head my way,” Jackson said, “because it’s not going to happen.”
“Nor do I want that. The plan is to attack from all possible angles. Hopefully, we’ll trap the bastard somewhere in the middle of us all.” He glanced at his watch. “You have eighteen minutes to get in place.”
“And how do you expect us to get onto the roof without Rinaldo or anyone else spotting us?” Jackson said.
“You won’t, but that’s the whole point. While they’re readying for an attack from above, we’ll hit them from the sides.” He pulled a roughly drawn map out of his pocket and placed it on the hood of the SUV. “This is our target building here. On the corner of Lambert and this street, there are several large trees that reach past roof height. It should be easy enough to shimmy up them and drop onto the roof.”
“Do I look like the type that shimmies up trees to you?” I asked mildly.
“I don’t know about trees, but Radcliffe’s told me you do a rather mean fire shimmy.” His grin flashed. “And he’s had firsthand experience, apparently.”
That he did.
“We do have people watching the roof,” Baker continued, “just in case the bastards attempt an escape before you get up there.”
“Nothing personal, Baker,” Jackson said, “but I really hope the bastard does head our way. I want to watch his face as I pound every ounce of life from his body.”
Baker raised his eyebrows. “I had no idea fae could be so damn brutal.”
Jackson’s grin flashed, but it was a dangerous thing. “That’s because most people are sensible enough not to get on our bad side. We are called dark fae for a reason, you know.”
“I guess so.” Baker folded up his map and shoved it back into his pocket. “Zero hour is six on the dot. Time now is five forty-five.”
We adjusted our watches to match his and then all headed down the street, keeping on the opposite sidewalk to our target building in an effort to stop any vamp guards from sensing our heartbeats.
But vamps were blessed with night sight that was very familiar to infrared, so even if they couldn’t hear the pulse of life through our bodies, they’d most certainly see us, darkness or not, if they happened to be looking our way.
And I was damn sure that after Rinaldo’s previous close call, he wouldn’t be foolish enough to camp somewhere without guards.
Tension crawled through me. I flexed my fingers, but I couldn’t quite ignore the growing certainty that this was a trap—and one that was going to go to hell in a handbasket all too soon.
Baker crossed the road and disappeared into the shadows of the building next to our target. Jackson and I continued on, crossing over a grassy divide before slipping into the parking lot of the building on the other side of the road. There were several cars and a van parked there; we used the van as cover.
I pressed back against the va
n, then carefully peered around its side. Our target building was T-shaped, with the three-story office portion being the top piece to the warehouse’s stem. The office section was a long, three-story, concrete and glass building. There were no lights shining in any of the windows and no sign of anyone either around the perimeter or on the roof. I couldn’t even see the rats or the wolves.
I really don’t like the feel of this, Jackson.
No. He paused. But if Rinaldo is inside—and Baker saw him go in—then fuck the trap. This might be our one and only chance to grab the bastards, and I’m not going to step away from it.
Neither was I, even if that precognitive part of me was beginning to whisper all sorts of dire consequences if we didn’t.
Of course, that could have been fueled by fear; by the knowledge that Rinaldo was never going to go down without causing as much mayhem and carnage as possible. He had the vamps in there to do it, but my real concern was, what else—and whom else—did he have?
My gaze drifted to the empty building behind us. Intuition stirred, but it gave me squat as to why. There was no sign of movement, no sense of heat coming from within. The place was empty, and yet . . .
I frowned and glanced at my watch. Three minutes to go. I returned my attention back to our target building. I wonder why they chose six o’clock as an attack time. Hanging about here is only increasing the chances of discovery.
Jackson pointed skyward. Faint drifts of pink and gold were beginning to touch the black. I suspect it has something to do with the sunrise. Vamps are sluggish in the brief time between night and sunset or sunrise.
I snorted. Says who? Certainly no vampire I’ve ever come across has exhibited said sluggishness during those times.
It’s a common belief.
Just like the belief that all fae are small and winged?
His grin flashed. Humans have always gotten fairies and fae mixed up.
I’ve never seen a fairy, not in all the long years I’ve been alive.
Sure you have. They’re those small yellow flowering weeds that form a white parachute-like seedpod.
I lightly slapped his arm. Idiot.
He glanced down at his watch, and his amusement fled. Time to go.
I hope the rats and the wolves don’t waste too much time attacking. I slipped around the corner of the van and ran toward the nearest climbable tree. And I seriously hope we’re not being hung out to dry here.
Baker wouldn’t. He wants revenge too badly.
I agree, but Radcliffe is also involved, and he certainly would.
We’re less a threat to him than Rinaldo. He needs to take that bastard down and regain the respect of his mischief.
A smile touched my lips. I always found that to be a rather incongruous name for a group of rats.
We reached the tree. I lifted one leg so Jackson could boost me up, then grabbed the nearest branch and climbed onto it. The old eucalyptus had obviously been here even before the area had become an industrial estate, and the thick branches were very easy to climb. I reached the one that stretched out over the building’s rooftop and made my way down its length. In very little time, I was on the roof, my fingers lightly brushing the concrete as I steadied myself. Jackson joined me a few seconds later.
Where the fuck is the attack from the— He cut the question off as a gigantic whoosh of debris and heat came from the front of the building. About time. Let’s find the exit.
We padded through the sea of cooling towers, antennas, and other paraphernalia, eventually finding a stairwell entrance toward the rear of the building, to the right of the edge of where the warehouse met the office portion.
Jackson tested the handle. Unsurprisingly, it was locked, but a quick burst of fire soon fixed that. He opened the door carefully; darkness greeted us, but not silence. All hell had broken loose somewhere down below.
He opened the door wider and peered inside. No fist or gunshot greeted him, so he moved farther into the stairwell. I followed but paused at the edge of the railing and peered down into the darkness. The ongoing noise of the battle below was all-encompassing, but I nevertheless had the vague suspicion someone was headed our way.
Jackson got out one of his guns and flicked the safety off. I did the same. My fire might be my best weapon, but that earlier intuition about reserving my fire was getting stronger.
And I really, really didn’t want to know the reason behind it. I might just run if I did.
We edged carefully down the stairs, keeping our backs to the wall and our guns trained on the stairs below. The sensation that we weren’t alone was growing, but I couldn’t hear any breathing or steps.
Could be vamps, Jackson said.
Possibly. But even if they’d wrapped the shadows around their bodies, that wouldn’t explain why I couldn’t hear their steps.
If Rinaldo has been hiring from the Coalition, it’s possible he’s gotten a few ex-military types, Jackson said. Could explain the lack of noise.
We reached the next landing and the door to the third floor. I glanced down, the hairs at the back of my neck rising. Whoever—whatever—was down there, that instinctive part of me did not like it.
Do you want to check this level while I keep an eye on the stairwell?
He hesitated. I’m not entirely sure it’s a good idea to split up.
It’s not like we have any other option. We can’t risk whoever’s below getting past us.
His frustration slipped through me, but I was right and he knew it. Shout if you need help.
As long as you remember to do the same.
Always. He opened the door and silently slipped through.
I caught the edge of the door to stop it from closing again. Jackson made no sound as he disappeared down the hall, but I could tell his location by the whereabouts of his body heat.
I wished I could do the same with whoever was creeping up from below. They were still weirdly quiet, and I was getting very little in the way of heat. Which meant that either they didn’t have any—and even vampires had detectable body heat, even if it was lower than that of a human—or there was some kind of magic involved.
If it was the latter, it might just be Rinaldo. Who else would bother?
I flexed my free hand; heat burned at my fingertips, but it wasn’t showing. Not yet, anyway. From down the far end of the hallway came an odd scrape of sound, almost like a body hitting the ground.
Unease flicked through me. Jackson?
He didn’t respond. The unease sharpened. Damn it, Jackson, don’t play games. Answer me!
Still no response.
Fuck.
I thrust a hand through my hair, then glanced down the stairs again as the sense of something approaching also sharpened. I took a deep breath, then released the heat burning at my fingertips and flung it up the stairs, creating a thick, fiery barrier only the foolish would attempt to get through. It also had a secondary benefit—if someone were foolish enough, I’d know about it.
I cast another look down the stairs, but even though my fire had burned away the shadows, it still didn’t reveal the threat I was sensing.
I spun and raced down the hallway, my gaze sweeping each office as I passed, but there was nothing more than basic furniture and dust. This floor obviously hadn’t been used in a while.
Behind me, the stairwell door shut with a soft clang, the sound echoing ominously across the shadows. I reached the end of the building, but there was no Jackson, and no sign of where he might have gone.
Fear swirled through me, but I clamped down on it. If he were dead, I’d know about it. I’d feel the emptiness in that part of my brain that could hear his thoughts and emotions. That part might be silent, but it wasn’t severed. He was alive but unconscious.
But who the fuck had attacked him, and where the hell had they gone?
Though dawn was rapidly ga
ining accession over the night outside, darkness still reigned supreme inside. I cast a small ball of fire into the air, then glanced back down the hall. The door was still closed, and no one had made an attempt to get through my flames. And yet . . . and yet, something had changed. The air felt different.
Alive.
I frowned, studying the doorway for a second longer before pulling my gaze back to my immediate surroundings. And that was when I spotted it—blood.
My gut twisted as I strode over and bent down. It was fresh. Jackson’s, that inner voice whispered. I closed my eyes and tried to remain calm. He’s hurt, not dead. Hold on to that and just find him.
As I rose, I spotted another droplet of blood, then another. The minuscule trail led me directly to a blank wall.
Or was it?
I ran my hand along the plaster and felt a slight indent. I pressed it, and the wall to my right slid aside, revealing a dark square space and cables that ran down into a deeper darkness. A dumbwaiter, I presumed. I leaned forward a little, but as I did, that sense of wrongness sharpened abruptly.
I threw myself sideways, hitting the carpet with a grunt but somehow managing to keep hold of my gun. I raised it, my finger on the trigger. But there was nothing there.
Was there?
I narrowed my gaze, and saw it—the faintest shimmer of air.
Someone was there all right. They were just using a glamor—and not the type that altered their form, but rather one that hid it completely.
I pulled the trigger. The shot rang out like the boom of a cannon, but whoever was behind the glamor was quicker than a rattlesnake.
A body hit the ground to my left, the sound almost but not quite smothered. I fired again. This time there was a grunt as the bullet hit home.
I scrambled to my feet, only to be knocked down again as my unseen assailant threw himself at me. As we went down in a tangle of arms and legs, he reached for the gun, trying to tear it from my grip. I swore and became flame, and he screamed as his body went up in a whoosh of fire. I clenched a fist, made it flesh again, and smashed it into his jaw as hard as I could. As he went limp, I threw him from me, then recalled my flames and fully regained human form.