Return of the Hunters (The DeathSpeaker Codex Book 4) (25 page)

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Authors: Sonya Bateman

Tags: #shapeshifter, #coming of age, #witch, #dark urban paranormal thriller voodoo elf fairies werewolf New Orleans Papa Legba swamp bayou moon magic spells supernatural seelie unseelie manhattan new york city evil ancient cult murder hunter police detective reluctant hero journey humor family, #Fae, #ghost, #god

BOOK: Return of the Hunters (The DeathSpeaker Codex Book 4)

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It was Redfield. Holstered gun at his side, badge clipped to his waist, laminated clearance tag on a lanyard around his neck. And murder in his eyes.

“You seem surprised, Mr. Valentine.” Redfield spoke in a brittle, barely controlled tone. “I suppose that’s my fault. All this time, and I’ve never properly introduced myself. Let’s rectify that.” He slammed his palms on the table and leaned in with a sneer. “Special Agent Redfield, United States Federal Bureau of Investigation,” he said. “And you are?”

He bristled. “You lying son of a bitch.”

“Mr. Valentine, I strongly suggest you remain silent unless I ask you a question. You have no idea what strings I had to pull to put myself in charge of this operation so I could save your worthless hide—and I’m sorely tempted to put a bullet between your eyes, right before I head off to execute the rest of your miserable family. Am I clear?”

“Perfectly,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Good.” Redfield straightened and paced a few steps away. “Now, I have a few questions about your most recent assignment,” he said. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought it was fairly straightforward. Go to Baptise Landau. Collect the Duchenes, and turn them over to me. Get paid. That was all you had to do.”

He drummed his fingers once, rattling the handcuff chains. “We ran into—”

“That was
not
a question,” Redfield snarled. “You’ll know when I ask a question. Even a ridiculously overpaid hick like yourself can recognize the upward inflection at the end of a sentence that signifies a question has been asked. Can’t you?”

“Yes, goddamn it.”

“Very good. You’ve successfully identified a question.” The utter contempt stamped on Redfield’s face should’ve pissed him off…but it unnerved him. “Let’s get back to the point,” Redfield said. “I sent you after the Duchenes. But the Other you captured was clearly not a Duchene. What
you
did was take down and nearly kill a Fae with dark hair, blue eyes, and significant scarring and tattoos. Who then escaped you and somehow managed to launch an FBI raid on your location.”

He managed not to spit out a sarcastic response, but it was close.

“Let me give you a hint. I’m about to ask a question.” Redfield opened the folder, and the first item inside was a photo of the goddamned kid. On top of a two-inch thick stack of documents and pictures. “Is this him?”

This was impossible. With the amount of information they had on the kid, it was obvious Milus Dei had already known about him. That much paper also said that he was extremely important. Why the hell would they be so interested in that little bastard?

“Mr. Valentine,” Redfield said with lethal calm. “I want you to answer my question.”

He breathed out slowly. “Yeah. That’s him.”

There was a long, heavy pause as Redfield leaned in way too close. “You incompetent, brainless, inbred, mouth-breathing backwater
mule
,” he snarled. “I don’t believe this. You had the DeathSpeaker in your custody
.
And not only did you come far too close to killing him, but you
let him get away!
”

“The fuck are you talking about?” he blurted. “That kid’s—”

Redfield kicked the chair out from under him.

His chin smacked the table hard enough to make him see stars, and he landed in an awkward half-crouch with wrenched shoulders from the handcuffs still attached to the surface. “Shut the hell up,” Redfield said as he walked away, taking a phone from his pocket.

With effort, he managed to struggle to his feet. Whatever this was about, he didn’t like the sound of it. At all.

Redfield dialed, waited, and then spoke into the phone. “Wurther. Start getting Elijah prepped for deployment,” he said. “We have a new assignment for him.” After another brief pause, he disconnected.

He waited until Redfield turned toward him again. The angry retort died in his mouth when he got a good look at the agent’s face, and all he could say was, “DeathSpeaker?”

Redfield’s features relaxed the tiniest fraction. “Fortunately for you and your repulsive family, I’ve decided to give you the opportunity to rectify this unforgivable mistake,” he said. “You
will
capture the DeathSpeaker, along with certain individuals he’s known to associate with. And you will bring him in
alive.
I’m not going to ask if you understand, because I’m choosing to believe that I’ve made myself very,
very
clear. You’ll receive more details when it’s time.”

With that, Redfield left the room. No explanation of how long the Feds planned to keep him and his family locked up here. Didn’t even put the chair back.

Fine. He’d take the goddamn assignment. He would hunt down that ungodly little freak who’d had the nerve to play him like a fiddle in the devil’s ass-kicking contest.

And when he found the brat, and whatever friends he had—he’d kill them all.

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