by L Ann
“Maybe, but don’t buy it.” Taz continued their conversation as they moved down the deserted corridor. “Call it a gut hunch, but I get the feeling he was blowing smoke up our asses. I don’t know – something – I get the feeling that if he could’ve killed us, he would have.”
“A fraction more pressure when he cut you and he would have killed you, so we know that physically he can, which leaves one reason – he was instructed not to. And that would mean he’s working with or for someone else,” Morgan countered.
“Shoes!” Taz halted, snapping his fingers. “Son of a bitch, that’s it!”
“He’s working for someone’s shoes?” Morgan laughed.
“The housekeeping employee we just passed.” Taz jerked his thumb in the direction they had come from. “He was wearing Versace’s. One of the most expensive brands on the –“
Both froze at the sounds of muffled gunshots and it all came together in Taz’s mind.
“Fucking back-up man,” he growled as they both drew their weapons. “Go on, I’ll catch up,” he told Morgan, pausing only long enough to watch her sprint down the hall toward the gunfire.
Ten, fifteen feet at most was all that separated Taz from the sharp left-handed corner at the corridor’s end and the elevator alcove where he knew the other person – the assumed backup for whoever had fired the shots at the hallway’s opposite end – waited.
Assume? Taz knew better. All his instincts told him that a ‘hit’ had been played out, and that the man he and Morgan had passed – in coveralls and nine hundred-dollar Versace’s – stood out of sight, waiting. Actually, covering the opening to the corridors of the East and West wings and the elevator alcove. Taz could feel him. Hear the scrape of his neck flesh against the coverall collar as his head swivelled back and forth. Smell his sweat and the scent of the gun oil.
There was only one way to play this, Taz knew. Head-on.
This one was nervous, and an amateur. His senses were in chaos and Taz planned to make things much worse.
At seven feet away, Taz moved against the rightward wall, took a deep, steadying breath and readied his Beretta.
“Hey, asshole! You picked the wrong day to play with the big kids,” he called out, then took off at full speed. Just before reaching the corner, he launched himself into the air, twisting as he soared and cocked the Beretta’s hammer. As planned, his target lost what little composure he had and fired at the hallway opening. Growling as he fired, his rounds impacted the wall a scant six inches below Taz, who hit the floor on his back and put five 9mm silver nitrate rounds into the man’s chest.
Years of painful first-hand experience brought him to his feet, all his senses and his Beretta focused on his downed adversary as he moved in a converging spiral, leftward, toward the body's gun hand. Dead? You never knew. And he made certain, putting another round in the shooter’s head before moving in to kick the gun away.
One elevator opened behind him, its occupants reeling backwards in a flurry of gasps and startled curses as Taz whirled on them. It took only a moment to confirm that there were no threats amongst them and he confiscated the dead shooter’s gun.
“Get security up here. Now!” he barked and took off down the corridor at a dead run, knowing in his gut what was waiting for him at his destination.
~*~
Morgan had reached the suite where her father and Zuron waited for them in record speed. The door was ajar and she could hear the alarm in the voices before she entered. Pushing the door open, she swept her eyes across the room, taking in the situation at a quick glance.
Her mother was on her knees beside her father, face pale and tears streaking her cheeks. Zuron’s aide – Jean Paul – was also on his knees beside the still form of his employer and friend. Focusing on the latter, Morgan strode across the room, her movement bringing Jean Paul’s head up.
“He went through there,” he told her, nodding toward the open window leading to the fire escape. “Black suit, buzz cut, pale blonde hair, grey shirt, around six feet. One shot took down both men.” He paused and glanced toward Hamish. “It went through Hamish and into Zuron.”
Morgan nodded, keeping her thoughts away from her father’s still figure. She moved toward the window and headed out. She could see a figure running down the street in the distance and took off after him.
Being early evening, the streets were still busy with people coming home late from work or heading out with friends for drinks and that worked to Morgan’s advantage, making her target slow down as he hit crowds – not wanting to attract too much attention.
Unfortunately for him, he’d come to that conclusion too late. She had made visual contact and had him in her sights now, and nothing beyond her own death would have taken Morgan from his trail. Thankful for the years of gruelling training she had put in to keep her body at its peak, she kept up a steady jog, slowly but surely reducing the distance between them. Even as she followed, she considered options – what if he took a car, hailed a cab, or had someone waiting for him? What if he stayed in public areas, how would she take him down?
Her questions were answered when he swerved left and headed toward the docks. Checking around her, Morgan noted that the crowds had thinned and picked up her pace until she was running. Keeping one eye on her surroundings she waited until they hit a secluded area, surrounded by trees and launched herself forwards to kick him in the back and sent him to his knees.
He recovered quickly, rolling to the side and back to his feet, spinning around to face the unexpected attack. His eyes widened in surprise before dodging to avoid the fist flying toward his face. At first, he tried simply to defend himself and back away, but Morgan’s methodical, ferocious and silent approach soon put paid to that.
A spinning kick connected with his stomach, sending him staggering back a few steps and Morgan pressed the advantage, moving in close to follow the kick with a well-timed right hook to the kidneys. Swearing beneath his breath, the man retaliated with a punch of his own – his fist connecting with a satisfying crack against her jaw.
With a sharp intake of breath and a quick headshake, Morgan sent her fist blurring toward his face with the full weight of her body propelling it. He barely avoided the hit which, had it connected, would have broken his nose. Irritation flared in her eyes and the man was left with the distinct impression she did not like to miss. Morgan came at him with speed, throwing punches with left and right fists and he backpedaled hastily to avoid them hitting their mark. He was so focused on her hands, he failed to notice when she twisted and spun into another spinning kick which he managed to block with his forearm. Morgan didn’t even pause at the block, one move flowing into another, each one aimed with such professional accuracy that the man could do no more than defend each attack as it came at him.
Morgan swung into a roundhouse kick, only to find he’d been expecting it when his hand curled around her ankle and pulled hard, sending her crashing onto the ground. He followed her down, pinning her arms above her head, using his body weight to hold her legs. Morgan burst into movement, trying every trick she knew to throw him off, but nothing worked. He rolled with her, his grip vice-like, until she paused for breath.
Think, Morgan told herself, eyeing the grin that had spread over his face. She knew that his height and weight would outdo her in close quarters, so she had to use that against him. Think! Then she relaxed as the answer came to her.
“Okay,” she breathed. “You win.”
The grin turned into a full-blown leer as the man pressed the lower half of his body against her. A leer that became a groan of lust when she shifted, her breasts brushing against his chest and she watched as his eyes darkened. Works every time, she mused as she felt his hands loosen their grip on her wrists. Her retaliation was instant, throwing her head forward to connect with his, while twisting her hips and throwing his much larger body to one side. She rolled her own body with his until their positions were reversed and she sat straddling his hips, one hand bringing her gun up to
press against his forehead.
“It was at that point Taz arrived, his own gun in hand, making a scan of their surroundings for all additional threats or witnesses. Taking in the scene at a glance, his immediate focus was the look in Morgan’s eyes, the muzzle of her gun at the downed shooter’s forehead and her finger on the trigger.
“MORGAN! Anna, don’t! We need him alive,” Taz shouted, knowing the man beneath her was only seconds away from a 9mm lobotomy.
Morgan flicked a quick cold-eyed glance toward his shout, her finger never leaving the trigger and then leaned forward until her face was millimetres from the man who had shot her father.
“If you so much as breath loudly, I’ll kill you,” she told him and rose to her feet. “Get up.”
When he didn’t comply straight away, she swung a kick at his ribs. “Get your ass off the ground or I’ll pull the trigger.” The gun remained steady in her hand, levelled at his head.
“You won’t shoot me.”
Morgan didn’t waste time with words, she shifted her aim to his shoulder and pulled the trigger.
“Guess again.”
“Jeez! You… shit!” the shooter yelped, almost curling up in an effort to avoid a second wound and to grab his injured shoulder.
“Let me give you a piece of good advice, you fuck,” Taz knelt beside the now groaning and quivering turnblood. “You left two people bleeding back there. People very important to both of us. And I’m itching to let her ventilate your fucking skull. But we need answers. Give us what we need and you live. Fuck with us…” Taz left the rest of the sentence hanging.
Morgan crouched down and pushed one jean-clad knee into his wounded shoulder and covered his mouth with her hand to muffle his whimpers. “This pain you’re feeling is nothing… nothing… to what I’m going to do to you,” she told him.
Eyes wide, both in agony and fear, the shooter nodded jerkily, prompting Morgan to lift her hand.
“Okay… okay, I’m dead either way.” He took a hissing breath. “This… this guy, ancient blood. He shows up from outta nowhere, in my club over in Queen Anne. In my office. He says he’s got a job he needs done. A hit on someone big. Says price is no object – money, which I can take or leave, or a steady supply of virgin blood – high schoolers…”
“Jesus, a fucking Vultur Pui,” Taz spat out the Old tongue term for a modern day human chicken hawk – vampires who operated dens and dark side parlours populated by abducted mortal children – pre-teens and young adolescents to be toyed with and fed upon by a perverse clientele who craved virgin blood.
“Hey! Not all of us were born privileged,” the shooter fired back defensively.
“I may shoot the son of a bitch myself,” Taz muttered.
“You have no idea how rough it is out there, man. You’re a Pure. We’re barely scrapin’ by, and the fuckin’ brotherhood takes a whoppin’ sixty percent cut right off the top every month.”
“Spare me the sob story or I’ll shoot you now,” Morgan cut in.
The shooter nodded and resumed. “A two-man job, he says. We get into Shadowfall. Which worries me at first. Man, nobody fucks around in Kane’s territory. But he claims he can take care of Kane and, man, well I believed him. So, I take my best man, Jules, and we take out a maintenance guy and a room service waiter and you know the rest.”
“No, we don’t know the rest,” Morgan denied. “I’m still waiting on a name.”
“I’ve told you everything I’ve got,” the shooter argued, pushing himself up on one arm.
Morgan put a bullet through his other shoulder. “I never said you could move.”
“Fuck!” He collapsed back to the pavement.
“If that’s all you have, then you’re of no further use to me,” she continued, raising her gun to his head.
“No… no… wait!” He raised his hands in front of his face. “He’s supposed to come back at midnight tomorrow. To my club. He paid half upfront and the rest on completion.”
Morgan tapped her gun against her lips. “Name of your club?”
“The Ajax.” His gaze jumped between Taz and Morgan. “That’s valuable information, right? Something you can use?”
“I want a description of the man who hired you,” Morgan replied.
The shooter launched into an accurate description of the man who had attacked them at the Rroma Queen’s home.
Taz glanced at Morgan, who said nothing, and shrugged. “Good enough.”
“I can go? You’re not going to kill me?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Morgan before Taz could respond and let loose a final shot between his eyes. Sliding the gun back into its holster, she turned and set off back toward Shadowfall, not waiting to watch the decomposition of the now-deceased vampire.
Taz looked down at the body, then up at Morgan’s fast-retreating back while reaching for his cell phone. He made the call for a clean-up operation, then set off at a jog to catch up to Morgan.
“You know he’s not going to show up tomorrow night, don’t you?” he said, once he’d caught up to her.
Morgan nodded. “I would say that’s a given.”
“I’d say it’s a lot more than that,” Taz said, all but jogging to keep up with Morgan’s swift strides. “He said the guy – the Master – claimed he could,” he flashed the traditional curled fingers quotation gesture, “take care of Kane. As if! But he did it to give them false confidence because he knew those two clowns wouldn’t survive the hit. He knew that we would take them out. This whole thing was staged for us. Just like the massacre at Kizzy’s.”
Morgan gave another nod, her pace not slowing. “What is the situation at Shadowfall?” she asked, her voice giving no indication that the ‘situation’ involved her father.
“The Old Man was the primary target,” Taz explained. “Hamish saw the gun first and moved in to protect Zuron. The shooter got off two rounds. The first one missed, the second one went through both Hamish and the Old Man. They were both still,” Taz stumbled over the words, took a breath and continued, “both still alive when I left. But your dad is in pretty bad shape.”
Not even a flicker of emotion showed on her face at the news. “Kane needs to know his security has been breached. I doubt those were the only ones inside.”
“Maybe not. But if there are more, they won’t be able to do more than watch. If I know Pantera, she’s got the place locked up tighter than a politician’s liquor cabinet by now,” Taz quipped, knowing his attempt to lighten the mood would be as effective as a spitball on Kevlar. Morgan was in her ‘work mode’ and there she would stay – at least for the time being – and the rest of their walk back to Shadowfall was made in silence.
~*~
It was strange turning into the circular side street leading to the club, not only to find it deserved – devoid of the nearly block-long queue which populated its front walk nightly – but its grand lobby equally as empty, not counting the security team.
Pantera Rydell, Shadowfall’s Head of Security, broke away from the residential Registration and Information counter as they entered and strode out to meet them.
“As you can see, we’re closed up and locked down,” she told them. “A few hardcore regulars are still on-site in the bars and restaurants, in the basement and upper floors. My people are holding them for questioning. Never know what someone might’ve seen – and the shooters may still have confederates inside.”
“Hamish? Zuron?” Taz queried, angling a concerned look toward the silent Morgan.
“Both with Doc Chambeau,” Pantera nodded in the general direction of the club’s med station. “I’m not sure what’s happening there, exactly, but rumour says Chambeau had Kane alert a couple of our on-payroll specialists from the University of Washington Med Centre.”
“To do what?” Morgan broke her lengthy silence.
Pantera faltered, clearly reluctant to continue. Her gaze touched Taz, then swung to focus on Morgan. “Like I said, I’m not sure but from what I hear the bullet i
s very close to Hamish’s heart. The specialists are supposed to be two of the best in their field.”
Morgan spun on her heel and headed toward the med station, taking Pantera and Taz by surprise. She’d moved so fast that Taz had to jog to catch up to her.
“Anna, wait.” He curved a hand around her forearm, pulling her to an abrupt stop.
“You have three seconds to let me go or I’ll shoot you.”
“If they wanted us in there, they’d have left word with Pantera,” Taz ignored her threat.
“One.”
“I know you’re worried, but we need to let them concentrate,” he tried again.
“Two.”
Taz threw up his hands in exasperation, releasing her arm.” Fine! Go.”
~*~
Taz had been right. Jean-Paul had met them at the door and refused them entry. He told them to go back to their suite, have a drink, talk, read, or do something else; do anything but stay away from the med station. Morgan had tried to argue, but Taz had known Jean-Paul a lot longer than she had and knew how implacable the man was.
Eventually Morgan had stopped arguing, instead opting to work out her frustrations in the gym located in the basement of Shadowfall and had stalked off before Taz could offer to keep her company.
Morgan knew Taz was only trying to help, but she couldn’t stop her instinctual response to something outside of her control – and that was to lash out at whatever or whoever was closest. To avoid making their situation even worse than it already was, as much as she didn’t want to admit it to herself, she’d run away.
After a couple of hours working out, she ended up in front of the punchbag. She didn’t feel any less frustrated or angry and was contemplating finishing up with a swim when she realised she wasn’t alone.
“Your concentration is shot.” Taz’s voice cut through the silence of the empty gym. “I’ve been standing here for at least twenty minutes.”