Allegiance (The Penton Vampire Legacy) (26 page)

  
CHAPTER 29
  

M
atthias drove with the window rolled down all the way, relishing the cool night air on his fevered cheeks. He hated the South, but tonight even the godforsaken pine-scented mountains of south-central Georgia smelled like freedom.

The trip had gone more smoothly than expected, even though Frank’s grand promises of walking in daylight and eating food hadn’t panned out. At least Matthias could live on vaccinated blood, even though it tasted like shit.

Oh, he was still angry. He was still starving. The aromas of food still spurred the hunger to rage and beckon, making his fury more bitter. But his strength was returning a little more each day, and he’d adapt. He’d always been good at adapting.

And once he took care of tonight’s order from Frank, delivering the deathblow to Penton, he’d return to Europe and show Frank Greisser how effectively one of his genetically enhanced monsters could kill.

Matthias had arrived in Atlanta at dawn and spent daysleep in a space arranged by the oh-so-clever Herr Greisser, who had a rental car waiting for him at dusk.

In the trunk was a high-powered sniper rifle and directions to a private range where he could get used to the feel of the weapon, gather his strength, and wait for tomorrow night’s phone call that all the plans were in place.

The fine people of Penton wouldn’t know what hit them.

  
CHAPTER 30
  

O
ne look at Aidan’s face, and Mirren knew more shit was about to rain all over their heads. The man had gotten back from Atlanta with only a half hour to spare before daysleep, barely enough to be filled in on the situation with Shawn and Fen.

As usual, Aidan blamed himself for not figuring out what was going on. Like anyone could have foreseen what that sick freak Frank Greisser was up to. They didn’t have proof he was behind these genetically impaired abominations, as Shawn had called herself, but Mirren knew it as well as he knew his own name.

Matthias Ludlam, as it turned out, seemed to be the least of their worries. Though whether or not he was involved in this mess was anyone’s guess. For all they knew, he could be the mad scientist doing these experiments under Frank’s orders.

The sun had set less than fifteen minutes ago—they hadn’t even left the lieutenants’ quarters yet—and here Aidan was, in Mirren’s room, with that restless, angry expression he got when major shit had gone down.

How much could possibly have happened in fifteen minutes?

“Go ahead and tell me. Glory’s going to help Krys with Britta tonight.” Britta, whom they’d apparently all misjudged, was still unconscious, but Krys hoped they could wake her up tonight and ask her some questions. Like if she had any clue where Fen Patrick might be hiding.

“We wait on Cage; he’s coming.” Aidan placed his cell phone on the coffee table in the suite’s sitting area, parked his ass on one of the armchairs, and stewed.

It had to be bad.

Cage arrived less than a minute later, and Glory left the three of them alone. Mirren glimpsed Krys in the hallway waiting for her, looking scared as hell, so she’d probably fill his mate in on whatever had happened.

Three days until Aidan joined the Tribunal. Three fucking days, and Mirren wasn’t sure they were going to survive it. Rob Thomas was dead, Frank Greisser was creating monsters in the basement, Hannah had withdrawn into her shell after saying death was coming to Penton, a mutant shifter-vampire was locked in a silver-lined room in the Omega facility, and now . . . something else.

“Better sit down.” Aidan pointed to his cell phone. “I’m putting it on speaker. You can listen to the six messages I had waiting when I woke from daysleep. The first is from Meg Lindstrom’s familiar, Gary.”

Aidan, I have to be quick. Someone was waiting for Meg when she rose tonight. She’s . . . she’s dead. I’m hiding upstairs in her closet, but they know I’m in the house. Two men. No idea where—

The call ended with shouts, a plea for mercy, gunfire, and silence.

Aidan reached out to hit the next “Play” button. “This one is from Caroline Pressman.”

Shit.
Mirren had a sinking suspicion as to where this was going. From the way Cage had clenched the arm of the chair, so did he.

The voice on the message was a whisper.

Mr. Murphy, this is Edward Simmons’s business manager, Caroline. Edward was killed in a car bomb just after sunset last evening, and his staff has gone into hiding. He’d left instructions to contact you if anything happened to him and to pass the word to Cage Reynolds.

Cage flinched and looked at the floor.

The next three were the same. Canada, Japan, Australia. Along with the UK and the US, they made up the five biggest blocs supporting Aidan—all with leaders who’d been assassinated just after rising. It was Meg Lindstrom’s seat Aidan was due to take in three days.

They sat in silence for several minutes, trying to comprehend what had happened. Mirren didn’t like the Tribunal. Its members caused as many problems as they solved, and the organization was rife with corruption—and yet some of them were good people who genuinely had the best interests of the vampire population at heart.

Five of the best were dead.

“You said there were six messages.” Cage’s voice was subdued; Edward Simmons had not only been his scathe leader in London, he’d been his friend. Chances were good that if Cage hadn’t come back to Penton, he’d be dead alongside Edward or in hiding.

“This one doesn’t need an introduction.” Aidan pressed the “Play” arrow on his phone again.

Frank Greisser here. Mr. Murphy, you’ve no doubt heard the tragic news about some of our most-valued colleagues. Such a sad situation. As you were set to take Ms. Lindstrom’s place in a few days, please be in Atlanta this evening for an emergency strategy meeting. The bar at the Marriott downtown, at ten p.m., please.

Aidan picked up the phone, reset it, and stuck it in his pocket. “I’ll be leaving in forty-five minutes. Cage, I’d like you to go with me.”

He had to be joking. Mirren leaned forward, getting in his face. “No fucking way you’re going to that meeting. It’s a setup, and you know it.”

“You’re right. I do know it’s a setup, and I don’t have any delusions about talking strategy. We’re beyond that. I’m going to take Frank Greisser out. The Tribunal’s beyond saving as long as he’s in power.”

Mirren didn’t like it. “If you’re going after Greisser, then there’s no way I’m staying here.”

Aidan gave him that pigheaded Irish-farmer expression that made Mirren want to throttle him. Once the man got that look on his face, he’d made up his mind and wouldn’t back down. But Mirren could be stubborn, too. “Reynolds can stay here, and I’ll go with you. I want Greisser as much as you do.”

“Won’t work.” Cage said. “I don’t have the loyalty of the people here the way you do. If you and Aidan are both away, and God forbid something happens here—Fen shows up and burns something down or hangs up posters, or worse—Penton’s dead. Everyone will leave. Mirren, if you’re out and about where people can see you, they won’t panic.”

“I’m not the master of this scathe.” Mirren pushed himself off the sofa and prowled around the seating area. “I didn’t ask for it. I don’t want it.”

“Don’t fight me on this, Mirren.” Aidan’s voice held a warning, and Mirren didn’t hear that tone often. When he did, he always listened. He respected Aidan too much, and owed him too much, not to.

But he didn’t have to like it.

He took a deep breath and nodded. “What’s your plan?”

“We go armed, and we play it by ear.”

Damn it all to hell and back.
“That’s not a plan, A. That’s a fucking suicide mission.”

Aidan ignored him. “In the meantime, you work with Robin on patrols. Nik needs to recuperate. If you find Fen Patrick, don’t kill him. If I’m not able to get to Frank tonight, we might need him.”

Mirren glanced over at Cage, who couldn’t hear Patrick’s name without looking as if his head might explode. He could empathize.

“Of course,” Aidan said, “if you want to make him suffer a little on Cage’s behalf, feel free.”

Now that, Mirren would enjoy.

  
CHAPTER 31
  

F
or all his claptrap about finding a home in Penton and settling down, Cage loved the feeling he got before a mission. His senses sharpened, filtering through every pedestrian they passed on the streets of Atlanta. Every tinted back window of every limousine got a moment of his attention. Each cab, bus, cyclist. All the scents, sounds, rhythms.

On the drive from Penton in Aidan’s sedan, they’d talked strategy. Possible scenarios. Trying to anticipate the unexpected. They were as prepared as they could be on virtually no notice.

In case anything looked amiss on the drive toward Peachtree, Cage had the Smith & Wesson in his right hand, the smaller automatic on his lap. This wasn’t like the frustration of trying to chase down ghosts in Penton, which had been wearing them all down. They had a target, or targets. They might not know what he or she looked like. They might not know if Frank’s minions would be shifter or vampire or some fucked-up combination. But whoever it was, if it could be shot, it could die.

If it turned out to be Fen Patrick, all the better.

Cage hated uncertainty, hated not being able to identify his enemy. If it hadn’t been for Robin, he’d have gone mad this past week. She’d distracted him, amused him, exasperated him, shocked him, and somehow burrowed under the hard shell of his heart to a place he hadn’t known was still alive.

And all in a single week. She’d been an unexpected gift, his little bird. He didn’t know what the future held for them. He was at heart still in love with the adrenaline rush, as was she. They both had secrets, although he’d certainly spilled some of his major ones last night.

But it didn’t matter what lay ahead. He hoped they could face it together, but if his years of lonely wandering had taught him anything, it was that happiness, for whatever time one could claim it, was to be treasured.

For now, however, the time for thinking of happiness had passed. He wrapped his thoughts of Robin in a neatly tied package and tucked it away in a part of his brain to be taken out and enjoyed later, when there was time for reminiscence and reflection.

For now, there was an enemy to deal with and a man he wanted, above all else, to keep safe.

“Think Greisser will even be in town, or if that was a ruse to get you in place for the setup?” Cage leaned forward and scanned the bag of a pale woman crossing in front of the car at the red light. Possibly vampire, but absorbed in her own thoughts, not alert enough to be an assassin or even a spy.

Not that an assassin would be vampire. Frank Greisser had money and power at his disposal; he could hire anyone. In fact, he was likely to go with a human. Less risk, and disposable.

“Doubt it.” Aidan turned right at the light and continued their slow progress through streets dense with restaurant patrons, tourists, and shoppers. “He’s probably not even in the country—I couldn’t track that call back. Will might have been able if he’d been here, but there wasn’t time. Greisser knows that Meg’s people will rally eventually. He just wants to make sure it’s not me they rally around.”

Cage had been thinking the same thing. In Greisser’s shoes, he’d want Aidan taken out at the earliest opportunity and the news spread as quickly as possible. And the way to catch him at his most vulnerable was to get him out of Penton.

They’d be expecting Mirren to be his backup, however, which gave Aidan and Cage an advantage. If they were looking for a six-foot-eight, three-hundred-pound Scotsman, they might not notice the Everyman with the .45-caliber weapon skulking in the shadows.

In a perfect world, anyway. Not that a boil on the arse of vampiredom like Greisser would exist in a perfect world.

Finally, they arrived within sight of the Mirage, a towering mirrored rectangle overlooking a forest of shorter towering circles and squares. Cage had scoped out the floor plan on his phone during the drive. It had three lobby levels; the one they’d be approaching from the street was the middle level. Above the second level, the rooms rose around an open atrium fifty-two stories tall.

Lots of places for a sniper to hide, in other words. Way too many.

“Here’s our spot.” They’d decided that Cage would get out of the car two blocks down and walk into the hotel, assessing as much as he could. Aidan would enter on the second level from a neighboring hotel that was linked via a skywalk.

Aidan pulled a small device from his pocket. “Got your headset?”

“Roger.” Wasn’t that what all the Yanks said? “Who was Roger anyway?”

Aidan grinned. “I don’t know, but if we live through tonight, I’ll research it.”

They’d gotten the headsets from Nik and Robin, it being a popular means of communication among Ranger types, apparently. The earpieces were small, undetectable except at close range, and even then, looked like a regular cell-phone set except they were tuned to the same frequency.

Not quite as convenient as psychic communication between master vampires, but it would have to do.

“Right, then. You’re going to circle until I give you the go? Then I’ll shadow you from the skywalk entrance.”

“Roger.” They exchanged smiles filled with all the things guys didn’t say to other guys, and Cage exited onto the street, crossing quickly to the sidewalk and walking toward the hotel. If they’d had time, he could have dyed his hair a few shades darker. He and Aidan were of similar size and build; he even wore the man’s clothes. He would’ve been a useful decoy.

Cage suspected Greisser had set this meeting time carefully, though. He’d know how long the drive from Penton to Atlanta would take, and he had given Aidan virtually no time to prepare. He just wished to hell they had a clue as to what the old bastard had in mind. Why stage a setup in a hotel in the most crowded part of an overcrowded city? At the same time, it had to be a setup—in what world would Frank have any kind of “strategic discussions” with Aidan?

Either Greisser underestimated Aidan’s intelligence, which Cage doubted, or he planned some public spectacle that would force Aidan to travel to an isolated area or even outside the city—somewhere Aidan would never go without incentive.

Cage reached the hotel’s curved drive, which was lined with taxis and hotel customers loading and unloading baggage from personal vehicles. He maintained a steady but slow gait, scanning the vehicles, the people, the bags. The .45 rested in a shoulder holster under his jacket. In his right jacket pocket, he clutched the semi-automatic with the safety within easy reach. Just a normal bloke, heading back to his hotel after dinner with a couple of firearms.

Inside the hotel entrance, he noticed an alcove to the left of the doorway with an automated teller machine, so he parked there, pressing buttons while eyeing the wide rectangular lobby. He slipped on the headset and pressed the activation button. “I’m inside. Clean thus far.”

“Got it. Stay in touch and be careful.”

A pair of escalators rose in the part of the lobby nearest the entrance; farther back stood an elevator tower, with glass-encased lifts rising up and down floors at a speed that made Cage a bit queasy. A glass lift was not in his plans.

The trick, Cage realized as he studied a dark-suited man standing near the far escalator, would be telling any of Frank’s people from hotel security. Getting arrested while traipsing around a crowded hotel lobby with two guns and several pockets of ammo clips was also not in his plans.

Finally, he stepped out of the alcove and entered the main lobby, circling the outside areas before hopping the escalator to the second level. As he rode up, he knelt and pretended to fiddle with his boot; it made him a smaller target. A third thing not in his plans was dying tonight; watching Robin fly had made it to his bucket list, and it was a sight he hadn’t yet enjoyed.

The open atrium towered above him, surrounded by fifty-two sets of hallway balconies behind whose rails untold sharpshooters could crouch.
Don’t get paranoid, Reynolds.
Next to the elevator tower on this level was one of those clubby bars where young professionals gathered after hours, flirting and swapping business tips around tall tables with no chairs or on low-slung ottomans scattered in tasteful groupings.

Two of the young professionals, however, looked a bit too professional. They were looking around at everything but each other, not talking. One had a bottle of water in front of him; the other, nothing.

“Spotted a couple of possibilities,” Cage said softly. “Hang tight.”

The guys looked nervous; they also looked human. “No fangs,” he said.

“Have they spotted you?” came Aidan’s voice through the headset.

“Not yet . . . yep, they have me. Moving.”

Water Bottle Guy punched his buddy on the arm, and they both turned toward Cage, but before they moved, Cage had ducked into a darkly carpeted corridor lined with meeting room doors.

Not the sharpest guys in the world.

“Status?” Aidan’s voice was muffled by traffic noise.

“Number One is making a phone call. Finding backup, maybe.”

“They’re not trying to find you?”

Cage frowned. They hadn’t tried to find him, actually. They’d spotted him, jumped up, and then made a phone call. “No, and I’m not liking—”

A muffled boom sounded from the lower lobby, and Cage instinctively crouched. Frick was still on the phone, but Frack spoke into a headset not dissimilar to Cage’s. Another boom, and the odor of smoke reached him, and people began to scream. “Bloody hell, they’ve set off a bomb. First-level lobby.”

“Meet me at the front of the adjacent hotel. Wait—shit. Hang on.”

While Cage slipped down the hallway and found the corridor that led to the skywalk, he listened to Aidan’s side of a phone conversation. It was pretty easy to guess at the other half.

“Frank, yes, I got your message, if you mean a bomb at the Mirage. What do you think that’ll get you?”

Aidan sounded much calmer than Cage would have.

“You twisted bastard. So you’ll set off a bigger bomb if I don’t show up at your little party?”

Cage had guessed right; Frank was using innocent humans as motivation to get Aidan to walk into a trap.

“And if—
Shit
!”

Damn it. Cage couldn’t worry about drawing attention to himself; Aidan’s last words had ended in a gunshot and a screech of tires.

He raced along the glassed-in skywalk, looking below at the street, where crowds of people were huddled, smoke pouring from the lobby entrance to the Mirage.

The Gravier Hotel looked exactly like the Mirage, so as soon as he exited the skywalk, he headed for the street side of the second level. Sure enough, escalators.

Thank God it was late enough for most of the shops and boutiques on this level to be closed. Cage was able to run down the escalator, realizing only when a dark-suited guy pulled his jacket back to reveal a shoulder holster that he might be mistaken for a bomber hurrying away from the scene. The real bombers, as far as he knew, were having a leisurely phone conversation in the neighboring hotel.

“Just a moment, sir. I need to ask you to wait a minute. You’re in an awfully big hurry.”

Cage shrugged, treating the guy to a fangless, charming smile. The man wore a Gravier Hotel name tag that read Douglas Banks. “So sorry, Mr. . . . Banks, is it? I’m late for a business dinner. Is there a problem?”

“Are you a guest here at the Gravier, sir?”

Terribly polite, these hotel security guys. But he didn’t have time for a chat. He held out his hand to shake. “Frank Greisser, sir. I’m visiting from Vienna—lovely city you have.”

He made eye contact with the soon-to-be-confused Doug Banks, who made the mistake of looking back. In seconds, his eyes grew unfocused and his jaw slackened.

“Sorry, mate. Must run. Remember the name Greisser. Vienna.” Cage pulled his hand back and left the enthralled Mr. Banks to stand aimlessly behind. Handy vampire trick, enthrallment.

Cage paused at the street entrance, trying to figure out which way to go. If Aidan had a chance to get away, he hoped he’d take it. Cage could make his way back to Penton. If Aidan had been hit by that gunshot, he’d be somewhere in this area.

Scanning the street for any sign of a dark-blue BMW, Cage began walking toward the nearest corner.