“We’re not,” he said. “I made sure of it. I also checked this car for bugs. There aren’t any. Where should we meet?”
“Hang on.” She lowered the phone, covered the mouthpiece, and gave Scott a quick rundown. “What do we do?” she asked.
Scott looked around like he was lost then stared at the opening of the alley for a moment before saying, “Jackson Square. Tell them to meet us in Jackson Square. It’s nice, wide-open territory. Afterward, we’ll take them to our hotel.” Riley nodded and lifted the phone to her ear again, and he added, “Ask them what we’re dealing with. Do they know?”
She waved a hand at him, acknowledging his questions but not responding as she spoke to her brother. “You two meet us in Jackson Square,” she said. “And give us a heads up. What are we dealing with?”
“Werewolves,” he said. “Werewolves and something else.”
“What sort of something else?”
“I’m not sure,” he replied. “We had a run in with her, and Ash was really shaken afterward. He won’t talk about it, which tells me that whoever or whatever that something was, she’s bad news.”
“Okay, so avoid any woman who looks like she’s bad news,” she said. “You realize that involves me trying to avoid myself, right?”
“You’re not bad news, Ri,” Zachariah said. “Not like this woman is. She didn’t feel right. And I don’t know if it’s significant, but she was dressed in this awful red pantsuit thing and heels. Like some demented secretary in a power suit.”
Riley bit back a laugh at the description. “In the meantime, what do we do about the werewolves?” she asked. “Because if I’m not mistaken, we might already have one here.”
“What do you mean?” he asked. The urgency returned to his voice.
Riley gave him a quick summary of the body that had been found on Bourbon Street that morning, describing the scene and the wounds on the body, and when she fell silent, Zachariah let out a string of swear words. She raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to finish his impressively creative tirade, before asking, “I take it this isn’t good news?”
“Not at all,” he said. “If you come across a werewolf, do not approach it. They’re dangerous, and we haven’t taught you what to do yet. They’re vicious and volatile. Believe me, I’d know.”
“You’ll have to share that story when you get here,” she said. “Be careful. Call us when you get to town, and we’ll make sure the square is secure.” She hung up, stuffed the phone back into her pocket, and looked at Scott. “We need to get back to the hotel,” she said. “We have a meet up to plan.”
“What exactly is going on?” he asked, leading her to the alleyway’s entrance.
“Come on,” she said, starting down the street. “I’ll fill you in once we get there.”
After seeing Ashton and Zachariah off for their journey to New Orleans, Damon decided to go to headquarters and check out the lay of the land, so to speak. He was furious; there was no other word for it. His son—and his son’s lover, who practically felt like one of his own children—had been attacked, viciously so, and their home had been destroyed.
The ferocity of his anger surprised him. He hadn’t felt this angry since…well, since Mary—Riley and Zachariah’s mother—had been killed. Then, it had been a fight to not hunt down the person who’d pulled the trigger and tear their heads off with his bare hands. Unfortunately, he’d never been able to find the person who’d done it, not even with all the tools at his disposal.
That lingering fury over Mary’s death fed into his anger over the attack against Zachariah and Ashton, and they fueled each other, stirring Damon into wanting to do something he knew would be rash: confront Brandon. He resisted the urge and instead diverted himself to Henry Cage’s office.
Scott’s handler and his secretary were, thankfully, in their shared office, talking in hushed, urgent voices behind Henry’s desk. They looked up as Damon entered, Henry’s expression worried and Vanessa’s relieved. Damon shut the door, twisted the lock, and collapsed onto one of Henry’s visitor chairs.
“Is this room bugged?” he asked, slouching in his seat.
Vanessa shook her head. “I just checked thirty minutes ago, and no one else has been in here since.”
“Good.” He shifted in the chair again, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his thighs and bury his head in his hands.
“Are you okay?” Henry asked.
Damon blew out a breath. “Zachariah and Ashton almost died tonight.”
“What?” Henry exploded, and Vanessa took in a sharp, startled breath.
“They’re okay,” he said. “Neither of them was hurt, and I managed to get them what they needed to get out of town. They’re on their way to meet Riley and Scott now.” He shook his head and added, “Zachariah’s apartment is toast, though. Literally. Whoever orchestrated the attack blew it up, so expect to see it on the news.”
“Jesus,” Vanessa murmured.
“Yeah,” he said. “Obviously, whoever she was, she was damned determined to make sure they died.”
“She?” Henry repeated.
“Yeah. No idea who she is. Neither of them had apparently seen her before.” He scrubbed at his face with both hands before adding, “She was working with werewolves, though, which makes me wonder if she is one.” Henry opened his mouth to speak, but Damon cut him off. “Have you heard from Scott?”
“No, not at all,” Henry admitted. “We were just talking about that. I’m worried.”
“Don’t be,” he said. “He’s following my orders. I told him not to contact anyone. Hell, you’re not even supposed to know he’s gone, though I figure it doesn’t take a genius to guess that.
“Things are about to get really rough around here,” he warned, barely taking a moment between the change of topics. “The Committee’s been called up. Because of me.”
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Henry said.
“Sadly, I’m not. It looks like I went out in the field a few too many times,” he said. “It’s also no coincidence that this is happening after Brandon was appointed deputy director. I never thought he’d go this far. I thought that, despite everything he’s been doing, there was enough of him left in there to not pull this sort of shit.”
“Why did you promote him, anyway?” Vanessa asked.
“You’re not supposed to know this, but I didn’t,” he said. “My vote was overridden by someone higher on the chain than me. I picked Henry.” He nodded to the man. “Suffice to say, though, I won’t be around here much longer. I doubt they’ll let me keep my position when I’ve been violating the rules over and over again these past several years.”
“What can we do?” Vanessa asked.
“Keep up the fight,” he told her. “Both of you. But be careful. Brandon has eyes and ears everywhere. If you have to address anything sensitive, take it out of the building.”
“Understood,” Henry agreed. “What are you planning to do?”
“Me? I’m going to do what any good agent would do when facing down his almost certain death,” Damon said. “I’m going to run.”
It hadn’t taken long for Brandon to arrive in New Orleans—the drive from Baton Rouge hadn’t been particularly lengthy or arduous—and as he coasted his rental car along Royal Street, he debated between going ahead and getting a hotel room or starting to search for Riley and Scott. There was a tall white building not far ahead, and Brandon recognized it as one of those upscale, expensive deals that were frequented by tourists and businessmen that had more money than the average visitor. Maybe he could get a room there. He wasn’t exactly concerned with his budget.
He was just about to cave and go in when the sight of a young couple walking toward its entrance caught his attention. He couldn’t put his finger on what had drawn his notice, because Heaven knew there were plenty of young couples on the sidewalks, but once he’d seen them, he couldn’t unsee them.
It was Riley and Scott. He was one hundred percent positive of it
; he would have known the swish of that woman’s hips anywhere. He’d studied her one too many times to not recognize her, from any distance, from any angle. It was obsessive, really, how much focus he’d put on her, but who could blame him?
He wondered if he could go in and rescue her, get her away from that bastard Scott, and squirrel her away somewhere before Ahm made her grand appearance on the scene. It was a ridiculous thought. Even if he managed to pull it off—and there was no guarantee of that, as Riley wouldn’t go anywhere she didn’t want to go unless she was kicking and screaming in the process—Ahm would know immediately what he’d done. And considering who they both worked for, he wouldn’t come out of that in one piece.
Riley and Scott disappeared inside the hotel’s front entryway. Brandon glanced up at the name on the sign above the door. Monteleone. He slapped his hand against the leather-wrapped steering wheel and shouted, “Fuck!” to himself in the otherwise empty car before pressing his foot on the gas pedal to pull away from the building.
He was going to have to call Ahm and tell her he’d found them. That was the last thing he wanted to do, at least when it came to Riley, but if he tried to hide it, if he attempted to deal with this himself, then he’d get into even worse trouble than anything he could predict. Still scowling, he fumbled for his phone and, after a second’s hesitation, dialed the number that Ahm had last called him from.
When he heard the woman’s voice on the other end of the line, Brandon almost changed his mind and hung up the phone. Instead, he simply sighed and said, “I know where they are.”
Once Scott and Riley were in the hotel’s bar nursing a couple of drinks, it didn’t take long for Riley to give him the run down of what Zachariah had told her on the phone. When she’d finished, Scott stared into his glass, slowly shaking his head and processing what he’d been told. It was nearly impossible; he’d only just fully grappled with the existence of vampires and demons, and now that his suspicions had been confirmed, he had to add werewolves to that list. Not to mention the woman Zachariah had described to Riley. Who was she? Or, more importantly, what was she?
If they didn’t find that out, Scott had a feeling they’d be in for a world of hurt.
“What do we do?” he finally asked. He turned his glass in a slow circle, pondering the amber-colored liquid in it.
“You act like that’s a difficult question to answer,” Riley replied. Despite the almost cheerful tone of her voice, she too was staring at her glass, which was full of some fruity, mixed-drink concoction with a weird name that Scott couldn’t remember. “What do the urban legends about werewolves say?”
Scott scrunched his forehead as he thought it over. “Silver bullets, right?” He bolted down the remains of his drink and added, “In case you haven’t noticed, we’re fresh out of silver bullets.”
“Then I guess we’ll have to get some more.”
He snorted. “Yeah, I’ll get right on that. I’ll just head on over to the nearest gun store and tell them I need to buy an assload of silver-coated bullets to kill werewolves with. I’m sure that will go over well.”
Riley glared at him. “You think you’re being funny, don’t you?”
“What, I wasn’t?” He swore he saw her face flush red with irritation in the bar’s dim lighting, and he grinned. It was too easy to needle her into losing that snappy, sarcastic demeanor and light that fire in her eyes that got his insides all twisted up. He picked his glass up, remembered it was empty, and set it back down again. He wished he hadn’t committed to a one-drink limit. All this thinking about Riley made him want to drink enough to take the edge off that vague sense of want that hummed low in his gut.
“You look like something is on your mind,” Riley said.
He glanced up at her again, and his breath tried to catch in his throat. She stared at him, her head canted to the side, her long dark hair falling around her shoulders. Something about the way the light hit her in that moment made his attraction to her rear its head again. He’d thought he had buried that magnetic pull after her rejection of him during the demon mess in Alabama, but it appeared he was wrong.
Damn it, he really needed that second drink now.
“Scott?” she said.
He realized he hadn’t answered her yet. He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat, trying to come up with something plausible to tell her that she’d actually believe. He settled on, “Sorry. I think I’m starting to wind down for the day. A lot happened, and I’m zoning out trying to get it all situated in my head.”
Riley, to his surprise, nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, it’s been a long day,” she agreed. “Why don’t you head upstairs and get some sleep? I’m going to finish my drink, and then I’ll be up to hit the sack myself.”
Scott nodded and pushed away from the table. “Be careful,” he told her. “And don’t take too long. I don’t want us separated for an extended period of time, considering everything that’s going on.”
“With everything going on, I don’t want us separated too long, and that should say something.”
Scott chuckled. “Charge the drinks to our room. I’ll see you upstairs.”
He left the bar and headed to the closest elevator. He was the only person on board, so he leaned against the railing that lined the back of the car, taking out his cell phone to check for important messages. Just before the doors fully closed, an arm thrust in through the narrow gap, triggering the doors to reopen and admit another occupant. In the time it took Scott to look up from his phone, the blond man who’d boarded the elevator had already jabbed both the “door close” button and the button for the fourth floor; as the doors slid closed, he realized the man was the same one who’d been following him and Riley on the street back to their hotel. He tensed, debating going for his gun, a temptation that only escalated when he heard the words the man spoke.
“You need to keep a better eye on your partner,” he said. “She’s in an incredible amount of danger.”
“From you?” Scott asked. His fingers twitched, and he fought the urge to grab for his pistol. This man hadn’t made any threatening motions toward him—yet—and the last thing he wanted to do was unnecessarily antagonize someone and cause a public scene.
The blond man laughed. “Don’t be so ridiculous. From Brandon Hall. His reach is absurdly long. It’s my understanding that he might already be in the city looking for both of you. Hell, he might already have some of his people in this hotel.”
“Like you?”
“Oh no,” the man said. “There’s no love lost between me and Hall. Suffice to say, I’m not your enemy.”
“What are you, then?”
The man smiled. “Consider me an ally.” The elevator drew to a stop, and the doors slid open. The hallway beyond was empty. “Watch your back, Mr. Hunter,” the man added before leaving the elevator and walking down the hall at a rapid pace.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. He contemplated going after the man, but he didn’t relish the idea of getting ambushed in a random hotel hallway and his murdered body stuffed in a vending machine alcove for some unfortunate tourist to find. It was one potential fight that he was just going to have to let go. For now, anyway.
As he disembarked the elevator and walked toward their hotel suite, he took his phone back out of his pocket and dialed Riley’s number. It rang several times before she answered, and when she did, she was laughing.
“Hey, what’s up?” she asked. “You change your mind about going back to the room?”
“No, I need you to come up here,” he said. “We’ve got to talk.”
“About what? I haven’t even finished my drink yet.”
“Riley, now,” he insisted. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
“Wait, did something happen?” she asked. “Did something actually happen in the few minutes you’ve been gone from the bar?”
“Yeah, and I need you to get your ass to our room five minutes ago,” he said. He fumbled for his card key, pulling
it free from his back pocket as he stopped at their door. “I just got approached by a man warning me to keep an eye on you. I think—”
Scott didn’t get the chance to tell Riley what he thought. As he pushed their suite’s door open, a hard body dove from the darkness inside the room and slammed into him, propelling him back into the wall opposite the door. He collided with the sheetrock, and it cracked underneath him. As he tried to register what had bulldozed into him, a low, dangerous growl reached his ears.
Images of the dead man on Bourbon Street rattled through his mind. He swung out, and his fist collided with fur and hot skin and unyielding muscle. Acting on instinct and reflex, he kicked out, planting his foot into the beast’s gut and, with as much force as he could muster, shoving it away from him.
The beast rebounded off the suite’s doorframe and launched itself at him again, its mouth wide open. Scott flung his right arm up to block the blow, and the animal bit down on his cast, crushing the hard split and sending daggers of pain through his arm. He let out a snarl of his own, his of pain and fury, and strained to hold the heavy animal off while he fumbled for his pistol. He got a foot underneath the animal’s back legs and swept it hard to the side. The beast toppled to the carpet, dragging him down with it; he twisted, wrenching his arm free from the animal’s maw. He scrambled into the hotel suite and kicked the door shut behind him, collapsing flat on his back, breathing heavily, trying to shunt aside the pain his right arm.
Thankfully, when he’d dropped his phone, it had bounced and tumbled into the suite, and as he lay there, he could hear Riley’s tinny voice calling his name. He snagged the phone from the carpet and bit back a groan as his aches started making themselves known. His right arm hurt like hell, trying to drag his focus away from what Riley was saying.
“Are you okay? What’s going on? Scott? Scott!”
“I’m here,” he said, and her cries immediately ceased. “Don’t come up to our floor. It’s not safe. I’m in our room, but there’s a damn werewolf right outside the door.” As he spoke, the animal in question flung itself against the door, rattling it in its frame.
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