The mockery was instantly wiped from Bas’s face as he screwed down his emotions so tight it was a wonder he didn’t crack beneath the strain.
Reaching into the glove compartment, he pulled out a tattered stuffed animal, shoving it over the seat.
“Here.”
Serra took the small hippo that was a faded green with flowers painted on the fur. One eye was missing and the tail was unraveled, but it was soft and squishy and just right for a young child to cuddle beneath the covers.
Instinctively she lifted it to her nose, breathing deep of the sweet scent of little girl. She couldn’t use her sense of smell like a Sentinel to track, but it helped her to connect with the mind she was searching for.
Bas watched her with a gaze that held the soul-deep pain that burned deep inside him.
“Do you need to keep it with you?” he asked, his voice thick.
Serra carefully pulled the fragile ribbon from around the neck of the animal, tucking it in her pocket with the photo.
“This should do.”
Bas reached beneath the jacket of his uniform and pulled out a gold bracelet with a small charm.
“Here.”
Serra took the piece of jewelry with a lift of her brows. “What’s this?”
“A panic button,” he said. “If you need help just touch the charm—”
Fane plucked the bracelet from her fingers, shoving open the door to toss it into the nearby hedge.
“She won’t.”
Fane climbed out of the car, turning to help her crawl out before slamming shut the door and leading her toward the wide steps of the back terrace.
“And you call me stubborn?” she muttered.
“The bracelet wasn’t just a panic button, it held a tracking device,” he said, the tension in his body revealing the effort it cost him to allow her to walk into the brothel. Together they climbed the stairs, then as Serra reached to pull open the door, he laid a hand on her arm. “You concentrate on trying to connect with the girl. I’ll deal with getting us in and out.”
Chapter Eight
Fane slid easily into his role of guardian Sentinel.
It was more than what he was trained to do.
It was who he was.
But for once he wasn’t able to detach his emotions as Fane angled himself in front of Serra, his hand resting at his lower back where Fane could grab the handgun tucked into the waistband of his camo pants.
This wasn’t a job.
This was Serra.
And his world would end if anything happened to her.
Still, no one would be able to detect anything but grim purpose as they entered the lobby that looked like a Victorian sitting room.
There were low sofas with red velvet cushions and curlicue designs on the arms arranged around a floral rug. The walls were covered by a damask paper with a pattern of white flowers edged with gold and framed with crown molding. There were several small tables that held freshly cut flowers and tiny Dresden figurines.
Exactly what you would expect in a local B&B if you wandered in off the street.
Or if you worked in Vice and were searching for a whorehouse.
A clever disguise.
They’d reached the middle of the room when a door was opened and a young woman stepped inside dressed in a black skirt and white top, her blond hair pulled into a smooth bun at her nape.
She was either the receptionist or she serviced those men who had a schoolmarm fetish.
Probably both.
“Welcome.” Her practiced smile faltered as she caught sight of Fane, her eyes widening in appreciation as she took in his hard body revealed by his muscle shirt. A blush of arousal stained her cheeks, her tongue peeking out to wet her too-puffy lips. “Do you have a reservation?”
Fane ignored Serra’s sound of disgust at the female’s reaction. His only interest in her blatant flirtation was the realization that she didn’t recognize him as a Sentinel despite his tattoos. A pain in the ass.
Usually his reputation opened doors without him having to play the heavy.
“Call for your manager,” he said, his voice flat.
“I’m afraid she’s unavailable.” Another lick of the chemically enhanced lips, her hand skimming down her skirt in invitation. “Perhaps, I can help?”
“The Mave sent us.” He pulled out the figurative big guns. No need for real guns. Yet. “Stand in our path and you’ll feel the wrath of Valhalla.”
The blue eyes widened, her brain at last putting together his larger-than-normal size and the intricate markings that covered him from head to toe.
“Oh.” She held up a hand as she hastily backed out of the lobby. “Wait here.”
There was the sound of her scurrying footsteps, before Serra turned to send him a mocking smile.
“The wrath of Valhalla?”
“It’s what the norms expect.” He studied her distracted expression, knowing she was using her psychic powers to try to connect with the child. “Do you sense anything?”
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
“Keep your thoughts open,” he murmured, picking his words carefully in case the assassin had wired the place. They might be forced to play by Bas’s rules for now, but Fane had every intention of gaining the upper hand. But to do that, he needed information. “Who knows what you might pick up while we’re here.”
Serra arched a brow, easily deciphering his hint to search the minds of the whores. Someone had to have some connection to Bas for them to seek his help.
“I know how to do my job, thank you very much,” she said, the tart edge in her voice making him smile.
There was no one else in the world who could stand toe to toe with him. Except Wolfe. And the Tagos didn’t count.
Not when his renegade thoughts were turning toward hot, erotic nights tangled in ivory arms and the scent of chamomile filling his senses.
The painfully vivid fantasy was abruptly interrupted as a tall, middle-aged woman with short brunette hair and shrewd brown eyes stepped into the lobby. She was wearing a tailored pantsuit in a slate gray that should have made her appear businesslike, but instead made him think of whips and chains and men on their knees in submission.
“I’m Madame Wagner,” she said, her smile not quite hiding her unease as her gaze flitted toward Serra before returning to Fane. “Lily said you’re here from Valhalla?”
Fane gave a dip of his head. “We are.”
“How can I help?”
“We’re searching for a missing high-blood.”
Fane didn’t have to be a psychic to read the woman’s genuine confusion. “What does that have to do with me?”
“We received word that she was working here.”
The madam was shaking her head before he finished speaking. “Impossible.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“I would know if one of my staff were not—”
“Normal?” he helpfully supplied.
“Yes.”
“How?” he pressed, deliberately attempting to lead her to thoughts of her interaction with Bas. “Have you had any contact with high-bloods?”
“No.” The denial was too quick, too fierce to be genuine. “Why would I?”
“Then you won’t object if we take a tour of your establishment?”
Her spine stiffened as she realized her highly profitable business might be in danger. “Of course I damn well care.”
Fane folded his arms over his chest. “So you have something to hide?”
“I . . .” She bit her bottom lip, her gaze shifting to Serra. “Are you a psychic?”
“Yes.”
“Then you already know this isn’t a traditional B&B.”
“We aren’t here to investigate any illegal activities,” Fane said, regaining command of the woman’s attention. He wanted Serra free to concentrate on searching for the child. “Once we’re certain that the high-blood we’re searching for isn’t here we’ll leave.”
Logic batt
led against greed as the woman glanced toward a door behind them where a guard was no doubt waiting for her order to have them escorted off the premises.
Logic won, but she remained determined to protect her cash cow.
“There’s a matter of privacy,” she said. “My customers expect discretion.”
“I don’t need to enter every room,” Serra assured the woman. “Just take me to each floor.”
Fane stepped forward as the madam gave another glance toward the unseen guard. “Is there a problem?” he growled. “Do you want to personally speak with the Mave?”
“There’s no problem.” Genuine horror touched the woman’s face as she hastily turned on her heel and headed toward the inner door. The Mave had an even more ruthless reputation than he did. “Follow me.”
Stepping out of the outer lobby they entered a long reception room that destroyed any hint of a cozy B&B.
Gone was chintz and wainscoting and in its place were mirrored walls that reflected the nearly naked young girls that sprawled on black leather sofas and the white fake fur rug. The light was muted, but Fane was easily able to determine that the females were all beautiful and all dangerously young. It was little wonder that Madame Wagner was able to lure an elite clientele.
Ignoring their curious gazes, the older woman led them toward the staircase that led to the upper floor. They stepped onto the landing and Fane glanced down the paneled hallway to make sure the doors were tightly closed.
He wasn’t concerned about Serra’s modesty. She might be an innocent in many ways, but she wasn’t naive. Her gifts had been used to track children before and far too often it meant walking through the seedier parts of human nature.
No, he was worried one of the male patrons might be stupid enough to think she was available for their pleasure. One untimely grope and the male would be missing his arm.
He didn’t particularly care if he hurt a norm, but the paperwork was always a bitch.
In silence they walked to the end of the hall, Serra instinctively pressing close to his side as she depended on him to keep her safe while she shut out the physical world to focus on the psychic clamor that filled her world.
“Anything?” he asked softly.
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
Fane glanced toward the silent Madame Wagner, jerking his head toward the door at the end of the hall.
“Let’s go.”
With a sour frown, the older woman stiffly led them up the narrow steps and into the hallway above.
Once again they walked slowly down the corridor, Fane blocking out the sounds of moans and soft cries as they hit the end hallway.
Serra came out of her light trance, frowning as she realized they had run out of real estate. Fane put a protective arm around her shoulder as he studied their companion.
“This is all of the rooms?”
“Yes.”
“No,” Serra abruptly said. “There are rooms above us.”
Fane shifted Serra behind him, his face hard with warning. “Do you think this is a game?”
The older woman swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, trying to stand her ground.
“The upper floor is for administrative offices.”
In no mood to squabble, Fane brought an end to the argument by reaching behind his back and pulling out his gun.
“Show us.”
Madame Wagner gave a small gasp of shock, her hands shaking as she pulled a key ring from her jacket pocket and moved toward a nearby door.
Shoving the key in the old-fashioned lock, the woman pulled open the door, glancing over her shoulder to reveal a face pale with fear.
“Please try to be—”
Fane lifted his brows, forcing her to say the word. “What?”
“Discreet,” she muttered.
Serra gave a short laugh, meeting Fane’s wry glance. He was many things. Ruthless, deadly, and utterly loyal to name a few. But under no circumstances was he discreet.
With a shrug, he followed the woman over the threshold, on full alert as they moved down the secret corridor that had chairs set next to the wall. He grimaced as they bypassed a man sitting in one of the chairs, peeking into a hole that had been drilled through the wall.
There were always those pervs who preferred to get off by watching others.
Angling his body to protect Serra from the john, he kept his arm tightly around her shoulders as they came to the end of the passageway and Madame Wagner used her keys to open a door that led to another staircase.
A few minutes later they were standing in a cramped attic that had been converted to an office complete with several monitors that were hastily shut down by the male guard as they entered the room.
No doubt they were surveillance cameras to keep track of their workers.
Which begged the question as to how one of the girls had managed to hide a camera in her room without anyone’s knowledge.
Was one of the guards in on her scam?
It would be easy for the man to secretly record the action and then convince one of the girls to act as a front to blackmail the men.
Fane gave a mental shrug. He didn’t really give a shit. All that mattered was whether the child was being held in the house.
Madame Wagner matched his sentiment, her lips tight as she glared at Fane. “Are you satisfied?”
“Serra?” he prompted.
She shook her head. “Let’s go.”
Without waiting for their irritated escort, Fane grasped her elbow and swiftly retraced their steps. He kept the gun held loosely at his side. A redundant threat, of course. His grim expression was enough to make people scurry away in fear.
Stepping out the back door, he brought Serra to a halt in the shadows of the terrace, just out of sight of the parking lot.
“Well?” he asked softly.
Serra knew exactly what he was asking. “When we spoke of high-bloods Madame Wagner visualized a short, gray-haired man I assume was Bas wrapped in illusion. There was something . . .” She wrinkled her nose. “Familiar about him.”
Fane nodded. The more she was exposed to Bas, the easier it would be for her to strip away the illusion.
“Was he alone?”
“No. Kaede was with him.”
“Did you get anything new about him?”
“They met at a small office building,” she said, proving just why she was so successful as a psychic. It wasn’t just her power, but her perception that made her so dangerous. “There was something painted on the window.”
“What?”
“Hall . . .” She faltered as she tried to recall the memory. “No wait, it was Hull. Hull and Sons Insurance Company.” She gave a small frown as he yanked out his phone and swiftly punched in a message. “What are you doing?”
“Sending a text to Wolfe to check out the company.”
She instinctively glanced toward the trellis that hid them from Bas’s watchful gaze. “How much does the Tagos know?”
“He’s not stupid,” Fane said, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “He knows something is wrong, but he’ll wait for my signal before sending in the Sentinels he has spread throughout town.”
Serra didn’t know why she was surprised that there were Sentinels hidden throughout the city.
Once Fane had trailed her to the Cavrilo International Building he would instantly have sent word to Valhalla. Which meant Wolfe would have sent warriors by portal to the nearest monastery as soon as Fane called. The Tagos knew better than anyone that Fane would never ask for backup.
Still, she had to admit there was a sense of comfort in knowing her friends were out there keeping a watch on them.
Even if they couldn’t actually help.
Wiping her face of all expression, she left the protection of the terrace and crossed toward the waiting Mercedes. Instantly Bas was out of the car to pull open the back door.
“Nothing?” he muttered as she settled on the seat.
“Molly isn’t here.”
/> His face tightened with disappointment, but ignoring Fane who pushed past him to join Serra, the assassin returned to the driver’s seat and put the car in motion.
Bas was obviously a man who didn’t waste time on regrets.
“You could have easily bypassed security and checked for yourself,” Fane said, as they left the parking lot and headed for the nearby Mississippi River.
“I couldn’t sense Molly if she was being hidden in a secret room,” Bas argued. “Besides, if the kidnapper suspects I’m searching for Molly . . .” He was forced to halt and clear his throat. “I’m not willing to take the risk.”
Serra turned her head to watch the passing scenery. Not that she actually cared about the brick warehouses and rows of cargo trailers waiting to be loaded on the next available barge. She just didn’t want to see Bas’s fear for his daughter.
He was the enemy.
She wasn’t about to feel sorry for the bastard.
“Now where?” she muttered, her frustration abruptly bubbling to the surface.
“The terminal.”
She turned back to meet his glance in the rearview mirror, her eyes wide with a faux confusion.
“We’re going to travel by bus?”
“The river terminal.”
“Oh goodie. We’re going to travel by boat?”
The bronze eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
She smiled. Busted.
“I doubt it takes much effort to piss off a murderous bastard,” she said sweetly.
“Not today,” he agreed.
Fane reached to grasp her hand, giving her fingers a small squeeze of warning. She grimaced, but bit back her mocking response. He was right. Baiting Bas might give her a childish sense of satisfaction, but it was a waste of energy.
“Why the terminal?” she asked, trapping her raw emotions back behind her wall of brutal determination.
She was going to survive this.
Dammit.
“Two weeks ago my necro traveled there to read the memories of a recently murdered member of a prominent family,” Bas said, his own face wiped smooth of his brief irritation.
His necro?
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Of course he had a diviner on the payroll. He seemed to have every other type of high-blood working for him.