Taken by Midnight (38 page)

"Nice place," Jenna remarked as Renata wheeled the Rover along a stretch of shoreline road that led to a cheery yellow Victorian secluded on a jutting peninsula of rocky land.

The big house sat on about two acres of land, a postage stamp compared to home sites in Alaska, but clearly a luxury setting here on the coast of Cape Cod. With snow filling the yard and clinging to the rocks, the steel blue ocean sprawling out to the horizon, the bright canary Victorian looked as wholesome and inviting as a spot of warm sunshine in the midst of so much cold and winter.

"I hope we have better luck here," Alex said from beside Jenna in the backseat, peering out at the impressive estate as they followed the white picket fence in front, then turned into the narrow driveway.

As Renata parked the Rover near the house, Dylan pivoted around from next to her up front. "If she can't help identify some of the missing women from the New York shelter, maybe she'll be able to tell us the names of the Breedmates in the two new sketches Claire Reichen has given us."

Jenna got out of the back with Alex, both of them coming around to the front of the Rover, where Renata and Dylan now stood. "I didn't realize we had new sketches."

"Elise picked them up from her Darkhaven friend yesterday."

Dylan handed Jenna a manila file folder as they walked toward the gingerbread-style veranda and front porch of the house. Jenna opened the folder as she followed her companions up the creaky wooden steps to the front door. She glanced inside at the artist's renderings, which were based on Claire's recollections of faces she saw some months ago, when her talent for dreamwalking had given her unexpected access to one of Dragos's hidden labs.

Dylan rang the doorbell. "Cross your fingers. Hell, say a prayer while you're at it."

A housekeeper appeared a moment later and politely informed them that they were expected. Meanwhile, Jenna studied the two sketches a bit closer ... and her heart dropped like a stone into her stomach.

An image of a young woman with sleek dark hair and almond-shaped eyes stared back at her. The delicate face was familiar, even in the pencil drawing that didn't quite capture the full impact of her exotic beauty.

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Corinne.

Brock's Corinne
.

Could it really be her? If so, how? He had been so certain she was dead. He'd told Jenna he'd seen the Breedmate's body after she had been recovered from the river. Then again, he'd also mentioned that it had been months since she'd vanished before her remains had been found, and that all they had to identify her was her clothing and the necklace she'd been wearing when she disappeared.

Oh, God ... could she actually be alive? Had she somehow ended up in Dragos's hands and been held captive by him for all this time?

Jenna was too astonished to speak, too numb to do anything more than follow her friends into the house after the housekeeper invited them inside.

One part of her was squeezed tight with the hope that a young woman presumed to be dead might, in fact, be alive.

Yet another part of her was gripped with a dark, shameful fear--the fear that this new knowledge might cost her the man she loved.

She had to tell Brock as soon as possible. It was the right thing to do--he had to know the truth. He had to see the sketch for himself and determine if Jenna's suspicions might be correct.

"Please, make yourselves comfortable. I'll go tell Sister Grace that you're here," said the pleasant little woman as she left Jenna and the others alone in the front parlor.

"Alex," she murmured, giving a little tug of her coat sleeve. "I need to call the compound."

Alex frowned. "What's wrong?"

"This sketch," she said, glancing at it once more and feeling utterly certain now that Claire Reichen had seen Corinne during her dreamwalk into Dragos's lair. "I recognize this woman's face. I've seen it before."

"What?" Alex replied, taking the folder to look at it herself. "Jen, are you sure?"

Renata and Dylan moved closer, as well, all three of Jenna's companions huddling around her in the quiet front room of the house. She pointed to the delicate face of the dark-haired young woman in the sketch. "I think I know who this Breedmate is."

"By all means, dear," said a cool, female voice. "Do tell."

Jenna's gaze snapped up and clashed across the room with a pair of calm gray eyes that stared back at her from a lined, outwardly kind-looking face. With her long silver hair caught in a loose chignon, Sister Grace Gilhooley's pale blue floral housedress and white cardigan made her seem like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting.

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But it was those eyes that gave her away.

Those dullish eyes, and the prickling of Jenna's new senses, which lit up like a Christmas tree as soon as the woman entered the room.

Jenna held the sharklike stare, realizing in an instant just what the good sister was.

"Holy shit," she said, recalling the same peculiar look in the eyes of the FBI men who'd tried to kill her and Brock in New York just days before.

Jenna glanced over at Renata. "She's a fucking Minion."

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That's about the tenth time you've checked that thing since we came down here." Brock smirked at Dante as the warrior--the anxious, expectant father--broke away from the group in the weapons room to look at his PDA.

"Damn, my man, you're about as jumpy as a cat."

"Tess is napping in our quarters," Dante replied. "If she needs anything, I told her to text me."

Apparently finding no messages since his last look about five minutes ago, he set the device back down on the table and returned to the firing range where Brock, Kade, Rio, and Niko waited to resume their target practice.

As Dante swaggered back to his place among his brethren, Niko peered at him with mock intensity, getting up close and staring at his face before finally giving an exaggerated shrug. "I'll be damned. Nothing there, after all."

"What?" Dante asked, his black brows crunched into a scowl. "What the hell are you doing?"

Niko grinned, baring his twin dimples. "Just looking for a nose ring or something. Figured Tess might have had one installed on you to go along with that short leash she's got you attached to."

"Piss off," Dante said around a deep chuckle. He pointed a finger in Niko's direction. "I'm gonna remind you of this when Renata's the one who's eight and a half months pregnant and it's your turn to worry."

"No need to wait on that," Kade put in. "Renata's already got him trained to jump on command. Probably got him on a leash of her own, too."

"Yeah?" Niko reached for his belt and made a show of starting to unbuckle it. "Give me a second and I'll show you."

Brock shook his head at his brethren, not quite feeling part of the jokes and lighthearted smack-talk about Breedmates and babies soon to be on the way. He couldn't help thinking about Jenna, and about how he might find a way to make a future for them together.

She wasn't a Breedmate, and that troubled him. Not because of the 229

fact they would never have offspring together. Not even because of the absence of a blood bond, which would connect them to each other inexorably for as long as both of them lived.

He didn't need a blood link to strengthen what he felt for her. She was his mate already, in all the ways that mattered. He loved her, and although he wasn't sure what their future would look like, he couldn't begin to imagine living it without her.

He looked to the other warriors in the weapons room with him, and knew that he would die for Jenna if it came down to that--the same as any other blood-bonded Breed male.

As his gaze traveled past Kade and Niko and Dante, he realized that Rio had gone quiet in the past few minutes. The scarred, Spanish-born warrior leaned against the nearby wall, staring at nothing in particular as he idly rubbed his fist in a small circle at the center of his chest.

"You all right, Rio?"

He glanced over at Brock and gave him a vague shrug. His fist kept circling, directly over his heart. "What time is it?"

Brock checked the clock at the other end of the facility. "Almost three-thirty."

"The women ought to be calling in any minute now," Kade said. His gaze seemed preoccupied, as well, his silver eyes glinting with a note of unease.

Niko set down his weapon and grabbed his cell phone. "I'm going to call Renata. Something doesn't feel right to me all of a sudden."

"Yeah," Kade agreed. "You don't think anything is wrong, do you?"

Although Brock wasn't liking the suddenly serious vibe that was coming over his brethren, he assured himself that everything was fine. The day trip Jenna and the other females were on was just a quick drive to the Cape. A visit to a seventy-year-old nun, for crissake.

Jenna had a weapon on her, and so did Renata, and both of them knew how to handle themselves. There was no reason at all to be concerned.

Dante walked over, frowning darkly, while Niko waited in prolonged silence for his mate to pick up his call. "Any answer?"

"No," Niko replied quietly.

"
Madre de Dios,
" Rio blurted as he pushed away from the wall.

"Something has Dylan frightened. I can feel her fear in my veins."

Brock registered the alarm traveling through each of his brethren now.

"The both of you, too?" he asked, shooting a grim look at Kade and Niko.

"My pulse just kicked into overdrive," Kade said. "Ah, shit.

Something bad is going down with Alex and the others."

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"It won't be dark for another hour, minimum," Dante reminded them, sober with the warning.

"We don't have that long," Niko said. "We've got to go after them now."

With Dante looking on, Brock fell in alongside his three fellow warriors, feeling lost and adrift, dependent on their instincts to help guide him toward whatever threat was now facing Jenna and the other males'

Breedmates.

Holy hell
. Jenna was in danger and he'd had no clue.

She could be dying that very moment, and he wouldn't know until he was standing over her body.

The realization was as cold as death itself, reaching into his chest and seizing his heart in an icy fist.

"Let's go," he barked to his brethren.

Together the four of them raced out of the weapons room, gathering their guns and gear as they went.

At the same instant, Jenna and Renata both had their pistols drawn and leveled on the smiling nun--the Minion, whose dead eyes looked through them as though they weren't there.

As though they were nothing, meant nothing.

Which to this woman, Jenna knew without question, they weren't, and didn't.

Behind Sister Grace, two bulky men now stood. They'd been lurking in the shadows of the hallway at her back, summoned forward even before Jenna and Renata had raised their guns to shoot. The men's eyes held the same cold stare as the nun's. Each of them held a large pistol--one aimed at Renata, the other leveled on Jenna.

The standoff played out in wary silence for a long moment, time that she used to calculate possible ways of disabling one or both of the men without putting either Alex or Dylan in harm's way in the process. But damn, it didn't seem viable. Even if she hoped to use the implant-enhanced speed her reflexes seemed to have now, the risk to her friends was too great to chance it.

And then, more bad news.

From somewhere to her left, another male Minion stepped up and rested the cold nose of a revolver against her head.

The nun smiled her false smile. "I'm going to have to ask you girls to put down your weapons now."

Renata didn't budge. Neither did Jenna, despite the metallic
click
of turning gears as the Minion at her side chambered a round.

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"How long have you been working for Dragos?" Renata asked the female mind slave. "He's your Master, am I right?"

Sister Grace blinked, unfazed. "One more time, dear. Put down your weapon. The rug you're standing on has been in my family for more than two hundred years. It would be a pity to ruin it by having Arthur or Patrick here blast a fucking hole in your chest."

Jenna's own chest constricted with fear at the thought of any of her friends being hurt by these Minion assholes. She waited in tense, terrified silence, watching as Renata's lean arm muscles lost some of their tautness.

Jenna thought she was about to comply, but the subtle, sidelong glance Renata gave her seemed to indicate otherwise.

Jenna acknowledged that look with a barely discernible shift of her own gaze. There would be only one chance to make her move. A split second to either make it work or lose everything in an instant.

Renata exhaled a resigned-sounding sigh.

She started to lower her gun ...

As she did so, Jenna seized on every bit of speed she could summon from the tendons and sinews of her human limbs. She pivoted with blinding swiftness and snapped the wrist of the Minion holding her at gunpoint. He screamed in pain, throwing the whole room into a state of chaos.

In what seemed like slow motion to Jenna but probably played out in fractions of seconds, she leveled her pistol on the fallen Minion and put two bullets in his head. Renata meanwhile had shot one of the others behind the nun. As the second Minion spurted a bloody fountain from his chest and dropped to the floor, Sister Grace turned to dash for the hallway.