“Fuck me,” she muttered, right before her eyes fell shut and she spiraled into darkness.
~*~
Zachariah’s eyes flew open the exact second the sun fell below the horizon. He was on his feet and halfway to the basement stairs before he realized he’d even been asleep. He paused as he rested his foot against the bottom step, trying to get his brain to catch up with his body. He focused his eyes on the door at the top of the stairs and listened carefully, trying to determine if there was any danger lurking on the other side of the door. Judging by the creak of floorboards above his head, someone was pacing, and he could hear low voices conversing, one male and the other female. The man sounded agitated, the woman soothing, but neither indicated any imminent danger. He drew in a deep breath and muttered, “Oh Lord, if there is only one thing You do for me in the rest of my miserable life, please give me good news when I get upstairs.” Then he climbed the steps to the door above and turned the knob, pushing it open to emerge into the kitchen.
The kitchen was decorated to within an inch of its life, Zachariah observed as he stepped out onto the tiled floor. Dark cherry wood cabinets, black granite countertops, and stainless steel industrial appliances spoke of a kitchen in which someone spent a lot of time. It was certainly a place he wouldn’t have minded spending time cooking in if the luxury had been afforded to him. Unfortunately, it was not, and that fact was hammered home once he got a look at the room’s occupants.
Henry was the one who had been pacing; the man had a look in his eyes that screamed out for murder and mayhem at the first available opportunity. Sitting at the dining table and worrying a cup of tea between her thin hands was Vanessa Ioannides. Vanessa’s presence made sense—she knew more about things going on in the Agency than even Henry did. She wore jeans and one of Henry’s shirts, an indicator that either Henry was a bigger gentleman than Zachariah ever gave him credit for or she had spent the night in his room.
Henry stopped his pacing and leaned against the dining table beside Vanessa, his arms folded over his chest. His eyes still read murder, so Zachariah paused just inside the kitchen and asked, “What happened?”
“Scott and Riley were on their way here with the box,” Henry said. “They never showed.”
“Wait, what?” Zachariah said.
“I was trying to track them down when they called me,” Henry explained. “They were supposed to be here hours ago, before dawn even, and they never showed.”
“And you think something happened to them,” Zachariah said.
“I know something happened to them,” Henry said. “Scott is nothing if not punctual. If he says he’ll do something, he’ll do it. And when I talked to him, he said he would be here in twenty minutes.”
“But how did someone find them? They were supposed to have gone to ground.”
“Maybe they didn’t go deep enough,” Vanessa said. “Or maybe they weren’t as careful as they should have been.”
“I can’t imagine Scott not being careful,” Zachariah muttered.
“It’s happened before,” Henry said. “He’s not as level-headed as people seem to think he is. He has a problem with his temper, and he occasionally gets over-confident. That’s when he messes up. And I can’t imagine Riley is having a very good influence on him either. Most likely, though, someone intercepted the call he made to my cell phone and traced the line he was using back to where he was.”
“So they have the box, and now they’re missing,” Zachariah said. He checked his watch. “And we’re supposed to be meeting with Asshole in forty-five minutes to make the trade for Ash. Can anything else go wrong today?”
“Don’t tempt the Fates,” Vanessa said. “It’s not worth it. They’re some vindictive bitches.”
“What are we going to do?” Zachariah asked. “I’m not letting Ashton go over a snag like this.”
“That’s what we were discussing, but we’re running out of time,” Henry said. “We need to get a move on if we expect to make it before the deadline. We can try to come up with something on the way, but I’m doubtful that anything we plan will be in any way usable.” He paused and then added, “I got your bike from outside the Agency, by the way. It’s in the garage.”
“Henry, you are a god among men,” Zachariah said. Maybe, with that one little thing having gone right, the scales of the evening would tip in their favor. He headed for the garage. “I’m going ahead to scope out the place. I’ll call you if I see anything that tells me we shouldn’t be walking in. I’m assuming Vanessa will be staying here?”
“Of course,” Henry confirmed.
“Maybe you should stay with her.”
Henry stared at him for a moment before asking, “You have a reason for asking me that, don’t you?”
“Other than the fact I’m about to break every rule in the Agency’s handbook?” Zachariah said. “Henry, you have a good career. You’re one of the best handlers in the Agency. You shouldn’t risk losing all of that by being party to what happens tonight.”
Henry stared at him for a moment longer and then he let out a heavy sigh. “You’re a good man, Zachariah. Don’t ever let anybody tell you differently.”
Zachariah nodded toward Vanessa. “You go take care of your woman. God willing, Ashton, Riley, and Scott will be walking in here before the night is over.”
“And yourself?”
He shrugged. “I don’t hold out much hope for me. So long as I get Ash out, that’s all that matters.” He merely slipped out of the kitchen and into the garage without waiting on Henry’s response.
His bike was parked next to a gunmetal gray Lexus. His helmet was missing, but that didn’t matter; wrecking his motorcycle while not wearing a helmet wasn’t exactly something that would kill him anymore. He slung a leg over it and settled down on the seat, gripping the handlebars and watching the garage door slide open. He thought over his game plan. There wasn’t much to it; it mainly involved a gun and his finger squeezing the trigger and a bullet in Brandon’s head once he saw that Ashton was okay.
He’d never been one to fool around with planning. He wasn’t about to start now.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Riley came awake with an anger so potent, she was sure it could be felt miles away. She was absolutely furious, her righteous anger burning through her veins with the fires of pure hatred. She was vibrating with the need to kill something.
She hated being drugged. It made her feel helpless and vulnerable, feelings that only served to infuriate her even more.
Just wait until I get my hands on the bastard who did this, she thought caustically. I’m going to tear his spleen out through his throat.
Riley shifted in her seat and opened her eyes. She was surprised to see that she was in Ashton and Zachariah’s office, tied to one of the desk chairs that had been behind their desks. The wall of security monitors behind Ashton’s desk was dark, and the papers that had been on the desk the last time Riley had been in there were scattered across the floor, as if someone had been tearing through them looking for information. The white door on the other side of the room that had been closed was thrown wide, and she could see what looked like a small apartment space behind it, as equally torn apart as the office. Oh, I bet Ashton isn’t going to like that at all.
Worst of all, her bag—Linus, the one thing that had never let her down—was missing.
Riley pushed thoughts of her bag aside, just for the moment, and turned her head to get a glimpse behind her, realizing that Scott was tied to a chair in a manner similar to her, his chair backed up against hers so that they sat, back to back, where they couldn’t see each other. She scowled and bent her leg back as best she could, kicking at his chair until he roused and lifted his head. He groaned and rolled his head from side to side.
“I feel like I’ve been kicked in the head by a mule,” he muttered.
“And how do you think I feel?” Riley snapped.
“I feel like I’m going to puke,” Scott replied.
“
Don’t you even dare.”
“What the hell’s going on?”
“We got tranq’ed, and I woke up and found us tied up like we’re in a fucking Indiana Jones movie,” Riley bit back, focusing on assessing how she was trussed up so she could try to devise a plan to get out of her predicament. Mainly so she could fulfill her personal promise involving spleens and throats, particularly on the assholes that had taken Linus.
“I call dibs on Indy,” Scott said, and Riley rolled her eyes.
“I don’t care who you call dibs on,” she said. “Just help me get us the hell out of this.”
Scott grunted, and Riley felt her chair move as he shifted in his. His fingers brushed against her hand, and then he muttered, “Our hands are tied together.”
“Yeah, I gathered that,” Riley said.
“No, I mean together,” Scott emphasized. “They tied our hands and then tied yours to mine.”
“Well, shit.” That was going to make getting loose a lot more difficult. Not only would Riley’s movements be restricted by her own bonds, she would be restricted by Scott’s too. “We’ve got to get out of this, Scott.”
“You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know,” Scott said. He growled again, and Riley felt him straining as he tried to pull their hands apart. “Fuck, what did they use?”
Riley tilted her head, trying to peek down at the bonds, and groaned. “Fucking duct tape,” she said. “We’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”
“I can’t get any damned leverage,” Scott complained. He sighed, the sound weary and exhausted. “Why the hell did they bring us back here anyway?”
“If I knew that, don’t you think I’d have said something by now?”
“I don’t know, Riley. Would you have?”
Riley closed her eyes and counted to twenty before replying. “Look, truce, okay? We’re in the same tight spot, and there’s no sense in us chewing each other’s heads off. Especially since we’re tied together, so it’s not like we can get away from each other.”
“Yeah, truce,” Scott grumbled in agreement. “So do you have any ideas on how to get out of this?”
“You can try shutting up for once,” a familiar voice said from the direction of the door. It was low and almost inaudible, and Riley tried to twist around to look at the door. Something moved beside her, and then Zachariah was there, pulling a knife from his leather jacket’s pocket and flipping the blade open.
“Where the hell did you come from?” Riley demanded.
“Around,” Zachariah said. “Now stay still.” He slipped the blade into the tape fastening her hands to Scott’s and cut through it.
“How the hell did you get in here?” Scott asked, pulling his hands free.
“Magic,” Zachariah said dryly. “In all seriousness, I’ve been hanging around for the past thirty minutes watching the place. I heard them talking and figured out where you were. Now where’s the box?”
“I don’t know. You tell me,” Riley said. At his warning look, she elaborated. “One of the douchebags who shot us with a tranq took my bag. Last I saw it, it was in it.”
“I need that box,” Zachariah said.
“We know,” Scott said. “And if we still had it, we’d give it to you.”
“Says you,” Riley muttered. She finished tearing the tape from her wrists and rubbed at the raw skin underneath. Then she wadded the tape up and tossed it onto the carpet with the rest of the mess. “What do you say we blow this popsicle stand?”
Scott and Zachariah ignored her, which made her grit her teeth in annoyance. “What’s the picture out there?” Scott asked, nodding his head toward the office door.
“Brandon’s men are out there,” Zachariah said. “A few heavies, the usual. The rest of the agents and researchers who are supposed to be here are mysteriously absent. I’m sure Brandon’s given them orders to clear out. Brandon himself should be here any minute.”
“What’s the plan when he gets here?” Riley asked.
Zachariah gave them both a grim look. “I’m going to introduce a bullet to his brainpan.”
“Well. That ought to take care of the problem,” Riley commented, watching as he went to his desk and pulled a drawer open. He found a pair of sunglasses and flipped the arms open, sliding them onto his face.
“We want to try to hide it from him that I’m a vampire, okay?” Zachariah said. “It’s about the only element of surprise that I’ve got. The minute he’s aware of what I am, there’s a chance he’ll know how to counter it, and then we’ll be up shit creek for certain. Whatever you guys do, follow my instructions implicitly, no questions, no arguments. Agreed?”
“Gotcha,” Riley said.
“Yeah, agreed,” Scott added.
Zachariah took a deep breath, as if he were attempting to fortify himself against whatever was coming, and then he beckoned to her and Scott. “Come on, follow me.”
“Won’t Brandon find it weird that we’re with you?” Scott asked.
“Not particularly,” Zachariah muttered. “He’d have to be a flaming idiot if he expected me to show up in here and leave you two tied up to my and Ashton’s desk chairs. As it is…” He trailed off and reached into his pockets again, pulling out two .22 caliber pistols. He flipped them around so he was holding them by the barrels and extended them to Riley and Scott, followed by two extra magazines each. “There’s already silver bullets in them,” he explained. Then he offered a plastic access card to Scott. “The second you get a clear line of approach to it, get into the armory cage and get anything you can get your hands on. Considering Brandon’s essentially controlling a vampire elder, I wouldn’t be surprised if he shows up here in force.” He paused and then added, “And I cannot stress enough, do not go after Brandon. Leave him to me.”
Riley scowled at the order. The last thing she wanted to do was let someone else take Brandon out when she was determined to get her own piece of him. But Zachariah was in charge here, and she couldn’t argue with his orders. So she merely gave him a slight nod and followed him and Scott to the door, her grip on the pistol Zachariah had given her tight and sure.
The warehouse that served as The Unnaturals headquarters was different than it’d been the last time Riley had been in there. That time, it had been bustling with activity, agents training and practicing in the corner, scientists talking to each other and working on their research, people bustling to and fro on personal missions of their own. Now, it was as silent as a tomb, each step they took echoing against the concrete floor. The R&D stations had been trashed, computer monitors lying broken on the floor, papers shredded and clipboards broken. Most disturbingly, the freestanding holding cell in the center of the room had been broken open, and the vampire that had been inside of it was nowhere in sight.
One of the heavies lurking near the front entry narrowed his eyes as he saw Zachariah approaching with Riley and Scott in tow, and he stepped toward them, followed by another. “What are they doing out?” he asked.
“I’m sure your boss left them for me as a present,” Zachariah snapped. “Level the playing field, as it were. The man’s nothing if not a paragon of fairness.” Even Riley could hear the heavy sarcasm in his voice. “Speaking of, the bastard’s late. Where the fuck is he?”
“He’ll be here,” the heavy said.
“He’s pulling up right now,” the second one added.
Zachariah took a step back, pushing Riley and Scott with him. Riley gripped her pistol tighter, waiting on Brandon to show his face through the doors. She was tempted to shoot him the second he stepped inside, but Zachariah had told her to follow his orders. She usually wasn’t one for actually doing what she was told, but in this case, she figured it was best to back off and let Zachariah handle the dirty work. He seemed to know what he was doing better than she did.
Besides, his anger was far more righteous than hers.
The wall behind the two heavies slid open, and they stepped aside to let Brandon enter, flanked by two more men, wit
h several more behind him. A tall, slim blond woman dressed in white was with them; she carried Riley’s backpack, something that seemed at odds with her wardrobe choice; Riley gritted her teeth and almost raced forward to snatch Linus back from her. Behind her, two more men dragged in a limp, nearly unconscious figure.
“Son of a bitch,” Riley heard Scott hiss as they got their first look at Ashton. The man looked like he’d been beaten to within an inch of his life, his face battered and bruised and bloodied. He was barely on his feet, and even Riley had to fight to not step up and kick ass on his behalf. She looked at Zachariah to see his reaction to Ashton’s condition and discovered that there was none. He hadn’t shown a flicker of emotion as Ashton was brought in. His face was as hard as stone.
“About time you showed up,” Zachariah said.
“Traffic was terrible,” Brandon replied. Riley stared at the man she’d once called mentor and lover and tried to imagine him capable of the brutal cruelty she’d learned about over the past few days. When she’d been told about it then, she hadn’t been quick to believe a word of it. Now, though, facing off against him and with the specter of Ashton’s beaten form just behind him, seeing the cold gleam in his eyes that suggested he’d do whatever it took to get his way, Riley found herself believing every action Scott had suggested Brandon was not only capable of but had done in the years past.
“Yeah, right,” Zachariah said. “The deal was Ashton for the box. You have the box. Now give me Ashton.”
“The deal was for you to give me the box,” Brandon snapped back. “You didn’t give it to me.”
“No, you took it by force,” Zachariah retorted. “A deal is a deal. Give him over now, or I’ll be forced to take drastic measures that I can assure you that you won’t like.”
“You men and your posturing,” Riley said. “I’m putting an end to this.” Before anyone could do anything, she lifted the pistol Zachariah had given her and fired a single shot. One of the men holding onto Ashton tumbled to the floor, a bullet hole in his head. Ashton fell on top of him with a groan.
The Unnaturals (The Unnaturals Series Book 1) Page 33