Brandon stepped into the room, followed by two heavies—men employed by the Agency due to their brute strength, usually used during interrogations with the more difficult suspects. Their presences did not bode well for Ashton. Brandon paused just inside the door and scanned the room, raising an eyebrow. “She didn’t eat you,” he said. “How unfortunate for you.” He snapped his fingers, and the two heavies moved past him into the room, going straight to him and grabbing him by his biceps, hauling him off the floor. “Bring him,” he ordered. “I’ve got a few questions I want to ask him.”
~*~
Henry had just finished bolting his front door and arming the house’s security system so he and Vanessa could get some rest when a hammering on the other side of the door brought him back around to it. “What the hell?” he murmured. He glanced back toward the stairs, where Vanessa lurked almost halfway up the flight, her eyes wide as she stared at the front door. “Nessa, go upstairs. Don’t come down unless I tell you to.” She nodded and hurried up the stairs, her footsteps muffled against the carpeted stairs.
Once he heard a door shut and was assured of Vanessa’s relative safety, Henry turned his focus back to the door. Whoever was on the other side had started to get a pretty good rhythm to their hammering, and he could practically hear the impatience of the knocker through the wood. Shaking his head, he grabbed a pistol that was on the slim table beside the door and held it in his right hand as he unlocked the door with his left. Flinging it open, pistol raised, he found himself face to face with Zachariah.
“Geez, Zachariah, a little warning that you’re coming by next time?” Henry said as he lowered his weapon. Zachariah stalked inside like a panther on the prowl, his expression half shielded by the sunglasses he wore but his jaw tight with barely concealed anger.
“Sorry,” Zachariah said. He sounded anything but. He strode through the foyer and into the living room, and Henry followed, wondering where he thought he was going.
“Have you heard from Ashton yet?” Henry asked. Zachariah shook his head, and in that one movement, Henry understood why Zachariah looked like he was about to come off the rails. “So why are you here?”
Zachariah stopped in the middle of Henry’s living room and whirled around to look at him. “I need to know everything you know,” he said. “And I needed to know it yesterday, but I’ll excuse the delay and chalk it up to both of us being busy.”
“Brandon Hall has falsified the records of twenty-six different assignments to cover the fact that he was involved in them,” Henry said.
“I bet I know which one number twenty-seven was,” Zachariah said. “I’ve got evidence that he was trying to frame Riley for responsibility in the murders.”
“I guessed as much myself, but I didn’t have anything to back it up,” Henry admitted. “He’s also our new Deputy Director. I’m sure he thinks that that makes him untouchable.”
“Not to me, it doesn’t,” Zachariah said. “I don’t fall under their jurisdiction anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Henry asked. Zachariah slid his sunglasses down his nose, and when Henry saw the man’s golden eyes over the top of them, he drew in a breath. “Oh,” he murmured. “I see.”
“It wasn’t by choice, believe me, but I have every intention of using it to my advantage to get Ashton back,” Zachariah said. He pushed his sunglasses back up and clenched his hands into fists. Henry could see the veins in the backs of his hands standing out with the force of his grips. He could feel the man’s stubborn determination all the way across the room. “When I get my hands on that bastard, I’m going to tear him apart.”
“Not that I blame you, but the first problem is actually finding him,” Henry said. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and held it up so Zachariah could see his call log. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with him all evening, but he’s not answering his phone.”
As if some higher power was listening—or as if someone had planted a bug somewhere in Henry’s living room—Henry’s phone started to ring. Henry glanced at the screen, and his lip curled in repugnance before he said, “It’s Brandon.”
“Let me answer it,” Zachariah demanded, holding his hand out. Henry passed the phone to him, and Zachariah punched two buttons, answering the phone and activating the speakerphone at the same time.
“Henry, I see you’ve been calling,” Brandon’s voice said from the phone. “What did you need?”
“You in a body bag,” Zachariah replied, his voice as cold and hard as marble. The man on the other end of the line fell silent at the unexpected answer. “Where is Ashton?”
“Oh, hello, Zachariah,” Brandon said, recovering from his obvious surprise. “Fancy finding you with Henry. I was just about to call you.”
“Unless you’re calling me to tell me where you stashed Ashton, then I have no interest in talking to you,” Zachariah said.
“You have something I want,” Brandon said. “And I have something you want. So I propose a trade. The box for Ashton’s life.”
Zachariah’s jaw clenched, and the fury that crossed his face was so potent that Henry almost took a step back. “How do I even know you have him?” he demanded. “You could be pulling one over on me to get your hands on something that doesn’t belong to you.”
The sound of hard-soled shoes against a concrete floor filtered through the speaker, followed by a door’s hinges squeaking. What sounded like a fight going on followed that, the distinctive noise of fists hitting flesh, but Henry tensed in horror as he realized that it wasn’t a fight so much as a beating when Brandon said, “That’s enough, guys. Hold off for a minute.” There was a grunt, and then Brandon barked, “Speak.”
“Zach?” Ashton’s voice said. It sounded weak but somehow strong and determined at the same time. Henry saw Zachariah stiffen, and he imagined that the man was struggling to rationalize why he shouldn’t rip Brandon’s head off the moment he saw him.
“Ash, are you okay?” Zachariah asked, the worry in his voice overriding every appearance of anger he had.
“Whatever he wants, don’t give it to him,” Ashton said. “He killed those agents. He’s going to kill me too. You’ve got to get the box and get out—”
“Shut up,” Brandon’s voice snarled. “Lawrence, you’re going to bring me the box. We will meet at the Unnaturals headquarters one hour after sunset tonight. If you’re not there, I will put a bullet in Ashton’s skull.”
“What if I don’t have the box?” Zachariah countered.
“Then I suggest you get to looking for it,” he replied. He hung up before either of them could say anything else.
“Son of a bitch!” Zachariah exploded. He almost threw the phone, but Henry snatched it from him before he could and stuffed it back into his pocket. So instead, he tore his sunglasses off and threw those. They crashed against the wall before disappearing behind the couch. “I don’t have the box, Henry. I don’t know where it is now.” The desperation in his eyes was almost heartbreaking.
“We’ll find it, Zachariah, I promise,” Henry said, trying to reassure him. He suspected he was failing miserably. “Where was the last place you saw it?”
“In Riley’s backpack, which was on her back while she was running in the opposite direction as me.”
“So Riley and Scott have it,” Henry said. “I can work with that.” He checked his watch. “Okay, it’s coming up on dawn, and if you are what I think you are, you can’t go outside during the day or you’ll fry like a hunk of bacon over a spit.” He motioned to Zachariah and started to walk toward the kitchen, making sure he was following him as he led him to the basement door. “You can stay in my basement today. It’s fully furnished, and there are no windows. You should be safe enough there.”
Zachariah nodded and started to go down the basement stairs, but he paused and looked back at Henry. “For the love of everything holy, please, please get the box,” he said, his words pleading. “If there’s nothing else that you ever do for me again, please just let it be
that one thing.”
“Trust me, Zachariah, I’m going to get the box for you,” Henry assured him. “Ashton was one of my agents. I’m not going to let anything happen to him.”
Once Zachariah was safely ensconced in the basement and the door was shut behind him, Henry let out a heavy breath and sagged against it. He could feel a headache coming on, a slight pounding at his temples, and he massaged them with the heels of his hands before pushing away from the door. He went straight to the stairs and up them, searching for Vanessa; he was definitely going to need her help tracking Scott down. The woman seemed to have a supernatural ability to locate anyone and anything he needed, and he was going to use that ability to the fullest.
Henry found Vanessa in his bedroom, sitting on the end of the bed with one of his pistols aimed at the door. He smiled a little as he stepped inside, and she let out a relieved breath and dropped the gun to the mattress beside her. “Is everything okay down there?” she asked.
“It was Zachariah,” Henry said.
“I know. I heard him talking.”
Henry raised an eyebrow. “And yet you kept the gun?”
Vanessa shrugged and picked it back up, offering it to him. “Never hurts to be prepared,” she said. “I didn’t know why he was here. I figured it was better to keep the gun ready to fire rather than not do so and regret it.”
“Wise,” Henry commented. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and started clicking through his extensive list of contacts. “I need your help with something.”
“Name it. It’s yours.”
“We need to find Scott and Riley,” Henry said. “And we need to find them fast. They have something that Zachariah needs, and we have to either get them to bring it to us or to meet us at UHQ. Ashton Miller’s life depends on it.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Riley sat in the chair Scott had abandoned an hour earlier, Linus resting in her lap, her fingers curled around the zipper. She’d been sitting that way for almost the entire hour since she’d relieved Scott of watch, trying to decide if she should risk taking the box out of the backpack to look at it. Knowing her luck, she’d put her hands on it at the same time something crazy would go down, and she’d lose the box. But curiosity was starting to get the better of her; she could feel the tingles of anxiety in her fingertips, the same ones she got whenever her eyes caught sight of the blood red of an assignment folder.
She forced herself to let go of the zipper.
Riley heaved a sigh and set the bag down beside her chair, then twisted sideways, slinging both legs over the arm of it, trying to get comfortable. Her ass was starting to go numb—the perfect end to a miserable evening—and her side was sore from the wounds she’d gotten just two nights before. Had it only been such a short time ago? It felt like it’d been an eternity.
She traced her fingertips along the barrel of the pistol she carried everywhere she went, idly running her hand over it as she turned to look at Scott. He lay on his back on the ugly bedspread, an arm slung over his eyes, which served to drag his t-shirt up to reveal a few inches of toned abs. He wasn’t asleep; his breathing was too irregular. It seemed like he was in some peaceful, meditative state that made her jealous. She hadn’t been able to sleep when she’d gotten her rest, and she was tempted to go over to him and poke him fully awake. If she had to suffer, so did he.
“I feel like I’m waiting for an executioner,” Scott said, breaking the silence and almost causing Riley to startle at the suddenness of it.
“Oh, you too?” she said.
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat and dropped his arm away from his eyes. “I hate waiting.”
Riley raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?” She smiled and shifted to get more comfortable, draping an arm across the back of the chair. “I remember the first time I saw you. You were waiting in the lobby outside the handlers’ offices for that meeting where we were dragged into this mess. You looked totally relaxed. I was so jealous.”
“I was anything but relaxed,” Scott admitted. “I’ve spent years cultivating that relaxed appearance, though. I’m glad to know I’m not out of practice.” He sighed and pushed himself up, propping back against his hands as he looked at her. “We’ve got to do something. I’m going stir-crazy.”
“What do you have in mind?” Riley asked, just as eager to get moving as he seemed to be.
“Ashton’s missing. We can see what we can do to help find him,” Scott suggested. “Especially since he’s the one who’s supposed to be in charge of all this mess. We can’t really function coherently if the snake’s head’s been cut off.”
“Well, what do you propose we do then?” Riley asked. She slipped out of her chair and went to the bedside table, where she’d left the candy bars he’d bought her. Grabbing the already opened one, she tore into it, taking a huge bite and chewing as he answered.
“I think our first step should be to call Henry,” he said. “I figure there’s a chance the pieces on the board have changed while we’ve been holed up here the past six hours. We can get an update from him and then go from there.”
“Pay phone then?” Riley asked.
Scott nodded. “Pay phone,” he confirmed. He slid off the bed and added, “Got any spare change?”
Riley raised an eyebrow. “What, you can’t pay for your own phone call?” she asked.
“I would, but I used up the last of my loose change buying that thing you’re eating right now,” Scott pointed out. “An assist would be welcome.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Riley muttered. She stuck the remains of the candy bar into her mouth and grabbed her backpack, rooting around in it until she found the small bag of coins she kept inside. She transferred it to her pocket and then put Linus onto her back again. “Come on, let’s go,” she said, starting to tear into the second bar as Scott brushed past her to the door.
Riley was content to let Scott lead the way from the motel room to the pay phone in its concrete alcove, and as he dropped the coins she gave him into the slot and dialed Henry’s number, she eyed the junk food inside the vending machines beside him. She forced her eyes away from the machines and to their surroundings, guarding Scott’s back as he murmured to Henry in a voice low enough that she could only hear a steady drone of sound but couldn’t make out any words. She trusted that Scott would give her the rundown as soon as he hung up the phone.
But when he hung up and immediately picked the receiver back up, shoving more change into the slot, Riley jabbed him in the ribs to get his attention.
“What’s going on?” she demanded.
“We’re going to Henry’s,” Scott said, dialing a number. After a short pause, he said into the receiver, “Yes, I need a taxi to pick me and my wife up at the Windwood Motel, please.” He finished arranging the details and hung up, turning to her with a heavy sigh. “Zachariah’s at Henry’s house. Brandon called about an hour ago and issued an ultimatum: the box for Ashton’s life. We’ll be doing a trade an hour after the sun sets this evening.”
Riley gave him a steely look. “We can’t very well be actually handing the box over to him, can we?”
“According to Henry, we are,” Scott said.
“That’s bullshit!”
“Zachariah won’t let any other option be considered,” Scott said, interrupting anything else she might have said. “Ashton’s in a bad spot, and Zachariah wants him out of it. I think we’re at the point where he’s going to do anything it takes to make that happen.”
“But we can’t give that asshole the box!” Riley said. “That’s just…no. We can’t do it. Ashton told us to not hand it over to the vampires, and that’s exactly what instructions we’re going to follow.”
“Riley, we have to,” Scott replied. “We’re following Zachariah’s orders right now, not Ashton’s. Ashton would be considered compromised right now. I’m sure Zachariah’s got a plan, and we’ll find out what it is as soon as we get to Henry’s house.”
“But Scott—”
“Enough, Ril
ey,” Scott interrupted, and she glared at him, curling her hand into a fist and wishing she could smack him in the face with it and not get a retaliatory strike in return. “We’re going with Zachariah’s plan, whatever it happens to be.”
“And if it’s one that’s going to get one or both of us killed?” Riley asked.
“If it’s looking like it’s something that’ll get either of us killed, we’re out,” Scott said, “because I’m in total agreement with you on that.” Headlights washed across the parking lot, and Riley squinted in their direction, realizing it was the taxi that Scott had called. “Damn, they got here fast, didn’t they?” he commented as it pulled to a stop beside them. Riley hitched her backpack up higher onto her shoulder and followed him as he went to the back of the car and opened the door. He let her crawl in first before he joined her a moment later. Scott rattled the address to Henry’s house out to the driver and sat back. Riley tried to get comfortable as the taxi pulled away from the curb, but something about it was bothering her, though she couldn’t place what it was. She stared at the driver for a long moment, trying to guess if she’d met him before, but he didn’t look familiar. She flopped back in her seat and folded her arms over her chest, ignoring the way Linus dug into her back.
Then it hit her like a lightning bolt: there was no protective Plexiglas barrier between the front and back seats, something that was standard for the cab company that Scott had called.
“Son of a bitch, I think there’s something wrong,” Riley whispered to Scott. “We need to get out of this taxi.”
No sooner were the words out of her mouth than a previously unseen passenger in the front seat popped up from the floorboard with a gun pointed at Scott. Riley tried to shout out a warning, but the man fired, and Scott gasped and tried to grab the gun before he slumped over in his seat. Riley’s sense of self-preservation kicking in, she lunged for the door beside her, intending on throwing it open and flinging herself out of the car before she could get shot, but someone had removed the back door handle and the manual window crank. All she could do was paw at it in a frantic search for a way out before something slammed into her side.
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