Taken by Midnight (24 page)

"So, what's the snag?" Jenna asked, unable to keep from jumping on this new intel trail herself.

"Dementia," Renata replied.

Dylan nodded. "Sister Margaret's been suffering from it for the past couple of years. The house admin said there's a good chance she might not remember much about my mom or her work at the shelter."

"But it's still worth a try, right?" Jenna glanced around at the other women. "I mean, any lead is a good one at this point. There are lives on the line here, so we have to make use of everything we can. Whatever it takes to find those women and bring them home."

More than one head turned with surprise in her direction. If any of the Order's women thought it strange that she was including herself in their efforts to locate the missing Breedmates, none of them said a word about it.

Savannah's gaze lingered on her the longest, a look of gratitude--of friendship and acceptance--shining in her gentle eyes.

It was that easy acceptance, that sense of kindness and community she'd felt from each of these special women from the first day she awoke, that put a knot of emotion in Jenna's throat now. It overwhelmed her, nearly choking her up to feel even for a second that she could be part of something as tight knit and comfortable as the extraordinary extended family that lived and worked in this place.

"All right. Let's get to work," Dylan said after a moment. "There's a lot to be done."

One by one, they all went back to their tasks, some reviewing open file folders, others taking up positions in front of the war room's many computer workstations. Jenna drifted over to one of the unused PCs and fired up an Internet browser.

She had almost forgotten her message to her friend in the FBI Division Office in Anchorage, but as soon as she accessed the email site, she saw the reply waiting in her in box. She clicked the message and quickly scanned what it said.

"Uh, you guys," she said, feeling a little jolt of excitement and triumph as she read her friend's reply. "You know how you've been trying to get some intel on TerraGlobal Partners?"

"Dragos's corporate front," Dylan said, already coming over to see 143

what Jenna had.

Alex and the other women were close behind her. "What's going on, Jen?"

"We're not the only ones interested in TerraGlobal." Jenna glanced up at the eager faces gathered around her. "An old buddy of mine in Anchorage ran a basic inquiry for me. He got a hit."

Savannah blew out a disbelieving laugh as she read the email message displayed on the monitor. "The FBI has an open investigation on TerraGlobal?"

"According to my friend, it's a relatively new one. It's being headed up by someone in their New York office."

Gabrielle gave Jenna an approving smile. "Nice work. We'd better go inform Lucan of what you've found."

The evening was only half over, but already he considered it a triumphant success.

In the dark of his private helicopter, Dragos smiled with deep satisfaction as his pilot guided the sleek aircraft away from the twinkling winter landscape of the busy capital city below and out over the dark water of the Atlantic, heading north, toward the second of his scheduled appearances tonight. He could hardly wait to arrive, anticipation for still another victory making his blood run faster in his veins.

For some time now, he had been cultivating his most useful allies, gathering his assets in preparation for the war he intended to wage, not only against his own kind--complacent, impotent cowards who deserved to be trampled under his boot--but also against the world at large.

Tonight's private receptions were crucial to his goals, and only the beginning of what would be a staggering offensive strike that he was preparing to deliver on both the Breed and humankind alike. If the Order feared that his grasp extended dangerously deep into the power brokers of the vampire race alone, they were in for a very rude awakening. And soon.

Very soon, he thought, chuckling to himself with eager glee.

"How long before we touch down in Manhattan?" he asked his Minion pilot.

"Fifty-two minutes, Master. We are right on schedule."

Dragos grunted his approval and relaxed into his seat for the remainder of the flight. He might have been tempted to call the evening flawless, if not for one small aggravation that stuck stubbornly in his craw--a bit of annoying news that had reached him earlier in the day.

Evidently some lowly desk jockey working for the Feds in Alaska was sniffing around in his business affairs, making inquiries about TerraGlobal 144

Partners. For that, he blamed the Order. No doubt, it wasn't every day that a mining company--fake or otherwise--went up in a hellish ball of flames, as his little operation in the Alaskan interior had done at the hands of Lucan's warriors.

Now Dragos had the added irritation of having to contend with some public servant gas bag or environmental do-gooder trying to advance a career by going after a villainous corporation for God knew what offense.

Let them dig, he thought, smugly secure that he was free from any potential fallout. There were enough layers between himself and TerraGlobal to keep him insulated from nosy human law enforcement or interfering backwoods politicians. Failing that, he had assets in place who would ensure that his interests were protected. And, in the grander scheme, it didn't matter.

He was untouchable, more so every day.

Before long, he would be unstoppable.

That knowledge kept the edge out of his voice when his cell phone rang with a call from one of his key lieutenants. "Tell me where the operation stands."

"Everything is in order, sire. My men are embedded in positions as we discussed and ready to move forward with the plan for tomorrow at sundown."

"Excellent," Dragos replied. "Inform me when it is done."

"Of course, sire."

Dragos clapped the phone closed and slipped it back into his coat pocket. Tonight was a triumphant step toward attaining the golden future he had designed so long ago. But tomorrow's move against the Order--the viper's bite they would never see coming--was going to be an even sweeter victory.

Dragos let the thought settle over him as he tipped his head back and closed his eyes, savoring the promise of the Order's imminent, final defeat.

145

Roughly an hour before dawn, Brock arrived back at the compound alone. He hated like hell to leave a patrol partner behind after a mission, but after a night of searching the city for Chase and coming up empty, he didn't see where he had much choice. Wherever Chase had run following his altercation with the Enforcement Agent earlier that night, he clearly didn't want to be found. It wasn't the first time he'd gone AWOL following patrols, but that didn't make his disappearance sit any better with Brock.

Concern for an MIA brother-in-arms hadn't put him in the best of moods as he opened the door to his shared quarters with Hunter and stepped inside the quiet, lightless room. At home in the dark, his vision sharper here than in the light, Brock peeled off his leather coat and draped it on the sofa before continuing on through the living area to the adjacent bunk room.

The place was so dark and silent, he'd assumed his roommate hadn't yet come in himself--until he entered the bedroom and got an immediate eyeful of full-body Gen One
glyphs
tracking the naked male from neck to toe.

"Jesus Christ," Brock muttered, averting his gaze from the unexpected, and totally unwanted, full-frontal glimpse at his roomie. "What the hell, man?"

Hunter stood with his powerful back resting against the far wall, eyes closed. He was as still as a statue, breathing almost imperceptibly, his thickly muscled arms hanging loose at his sides. Although his lids flicked open at Brock's interruption, the immense, unreadable male didn't appear startled or even remotely disturbed. "I was sleeping," he said matter-of-factly. "I am rested now."

"Good," Brock drawled, shaking his head as he gave the naked warrior his back. "How about you put some damn clothes on? I just learned things about you that I really didn't need to know."

"My sleep is more effective without clothing to confine me" came the level reply.

146

Brock snorted. "Yeah, well, so is mine, but I doubt you'd appreciate looking at my bare ass--or anything else--any more than I want to see yours.

Jesus, cover that shit up, will you?"

Shaking his head, Brock unfastened his weapons belt and dropped it onto one of the two undisturbed beds. He thought back to Hunter's lack of response when initially asked about which of the bunks belonged to him and shot a glance over his shoulder at the Gen One, who was stepping into a pair of loose sweatpants.

The Breed male who'd been born and bred to be a killing machine for Dragos. An individual raised in utter solitude, deprived of contact or companionship, except for the supervision of the Minion handler who had been assigned to him.

Suddenly he understood why Hunter hadn't cared less which bed he claimed.

"You always sleep like that?" he asked, gesturing to the place where Hunter had been standing.

The uncanny Gen One gave a vague shrug. "Occasionally on the floor."

"Sure as hell can't be comfortable."

"Comfort serves no purpose. The need for it only implies and fortifies weakness."

Brock absorbed the flat statement, then swore under his breath. "What did Dragos and those other bastards do to you all those years you served them?"

Unblinking golden eyes met his scowl through the darkness. "They made me strong."

Brock nodded solemnly, thinking about the ruthless upbringing and discipline that was all Hunter knew. "Strong enough to take them down."

"Every last one of them," Hunter replied, zero inflection, yet the promise was as sharp as any blade.

"You want revenge for what they did to you?"

Hunter's head slowly pivoted in denial. "Justice," he said, "for what they've done to those unable to fight back."

Brock stood there for a long moment, understanding the cold determination that emanated from the other male. He shared that need for justice, and like Hunter--like any one of the warriors pledged in service to the Order--he would not rest until Dragos and everyone loyal to his insane mission was eliminated.

"You honor us well," he said, a phrase the Breed reserved for only the closest of kin or the solemnest of events. "The Order is fortunate to have you 147

on our side."

Hunter seemed taken aback, though whether by the praise itself or the bond it implied, Brock couldn't be sure. A flicker of uncertainty shot through the golden gaze, and when Brock reached out to clap his hand against Hunter's shoulder, the Gen One drew away, dodging the contact as though it might burn him.

He didn't explain the flinching reaction, nor did Brock press him to, even though the question begged an answer. "All right, I'm outta here. I need to check in with Gideon about something."

Hunter stared at him. "You're worried about your female?"

"Should I be?" Brock meant to correct the reference about Jenna being his, but he was too busy dealing with the blood that had suddenly gone a bit cold in his veins. "Is she okay? Tell me what's going on. Did anything happen to her while I was out on patrol?"

"I am not aware of any physical issues with the human," Hunter said, maddening in his calm. "I was referring to her inquiry into TerraGlobal."

"TerraGlobal," Brock repeated, dread sitting in his gut. "That's one of Dragos's holdings."

"Correct."

"Jesus Christ," Brock murmured. "You're saying she contacted them somehow?"

Hunter gave a faint shake of his head. "She sent an email to someone she knows in Alaska--a federal agent, who ran a data search for her on TerraGlobal. An FBI unit in New York City responded to the inquiry. They are aware of TerraGlobal, and have agreed to meet with her to discuss their current investigation."

"Holy hell. Tell me you're joking."

There was no humor in the other male's face, not that Brock was surprised at that. "I understand the meeting is already set for later today in the FBI's New York offices. Lucan has arranged to have Renata accompany her."

The more he heard, the more Brock started feeling twitchy and needing to move. He walked back and forth, not even attempting to cover his concern. "Who will Jenna be meeting with in New York? Do we even know if this FBI investigation into TerraGlobal is legit? Good God, what the fuck was she thinking, getting involved in this shit in the first place? You know what--never mind. I'll go ask her that myself."

He was already pacing the room, so it only took a couple of hard strides to carry him out of the apartment and into the corridor outside. With his pulse jackhammering, adrenaline pouring into his veins, he was in no 148

frame of mind to find himself face-to-face with his errant patrol partner.

Chase came stalking up the stretch of hallway at precisely that moment, looking like complete hell. His blue eyes were still shooting sparks of amber, pupils more slits than circles. He was breathing hard, each pull of air dragging through his teeth and fangs. Grime and dried blood caked his face in lurid streaks, still more of it caught in his short blond hair. His clothing was torn in places, stained with God knew what.