expecting.
She licked her lips, her gaze now having settled on the folder that Adam held. “Are you telling me that Godrick Osborne is now on his way to kill Craig Brandt?” She asked. Might as well get the facts straight.
“Aye, luv. That, he is.”
Annabelle took the folder. She straightened and squared her shoulders. “Where are they?”
Adam Night grinned.
Jack floored the gas pedal, deftly steering around cars and pedestrians as he made his way through the streets of London. Beside him, in the passenger seat, Alex gripped the oh-shit bar for all he was worth. He wasn’t sure that terrifying news could literally sober a person up when they were loaded, but he was willing to bet that, despite Thane’s penchant for hell bent driving maneuvers, he probably wasn’t feeling very inebriated at the moment. More like angry as hell.
And scared. Alex could feel waves of the strange emotion coming off of Thane. It wasn’t something he’d witnessed before. It was actually quite frightening, in and of itself.
Several more intense minutes passed and Jack pulled up in front of the apartment building. He threw open the door just as the doorman came forward to greet him. When the doorman saw the look on Jack’s face and the speed with which he was moving, he simply amended his actions to step to the side and let Jack by without pause.
Alex followed on his employer’s heels as they raced to the stairwell and began taking the stairs three at a time. It was a long climb up, but they managed it in short time, both barely breaking a sweat with the effort.
At the top, Jack inserted his key into the lock leading to his flat, and turned it. Two more doors and he was rushing into his foyer. And Simon Jeremiah was sitting against the wall, one leg bent, one straightened out in front of him. He had one hand pressed to his stomach and his other arm lay useless at his side.
Jack scanned the room with practiced eyes and then bent beside his employee. “What happened, Simon?”
Simon blinked up at Jack and licked his lips. His nose was bleeding, but there seemed to be no signs of struggle anywhere on his body.
“Night drugged us, sir. Then he killed Mrs. Albrecht and left with Miss Drake.”
Jack processed the information, noting the name Albrecht and remembering that it was the name of his massage therapist.
“I called Victoria for Miss Drake, sir,” Alex said from behind him.
Jack placed his fingertips to Simon’s neck and felt the pulse there. It was erratic and faint. His mind scanned the knowledge he had of different poisons until he had the right one and then he stood.
“Alex, get the antidotes. They’re in the vault.” He took off his watch, which appeared to be an ordinary, if not gorgeous, Ulysse-Nardin, and handed it to Alex. “Take the date to eighteen and turn on its light; the vault will open. You want the green metal syringes marked ‘66’.”
Alex nodded, took the watch, and disappeared. Jack knelt back down beside Simon, pressing his fingers to the man’s neck once more. The pulse raced at what had to be more than one hundred and thirty to one hundred and forty beats per minute and was rising. Jack took a deep, calming breath and grabbed Simon under the arms, lifting the man until his legs were under him.
Simon moaned and pulled them both toward the wall, where Jack braced his arms to keep them up. He looked around as he did so. He could see outlines of two other men laying in the room beyond the foyer. They were unconscious.
The poison his men had been given must have been laying in wait in something that Adam knew they would ingest at the exact moment he wanted them to. Something like… The sodas that were open beside still-wrapped sandwiches from a sandwich shop down the street.
Okay. So, they knew how to detect poison in food, but had utterly ignored the possibility that there might be something in a foreign drink, despite the fact that it looked un-tampered with.
If they survived, he would have to enlist Sam’s help in a little training with these guys.
At the moment, however, Jack concentrated on trying to keep Simon’s blood pressure down. The poison was designed to initially knock its victim out. But, then the pain it caused as it wreaked its havoc on the body would wake the victim up.
So far, Simon was the only one conscious. He must have been the first to drink. He was the one who’d called Alex’s cell.
“Simon, where did they go?” Jack asked, needing the information, despite the man’s poor state. But before Simon could answer, Alex was beside them again, handing the syringe of antidote to Jack. Jack didn’t hesitate before grasping one side of Simon’s neck and inserting the needle into his carotid artery on the other side, unloading its contents smoothly and quickly.
Simon bucked in Jack’s arms, but Jack held on tight, lowering Simon to the ground as the antidote reached the man’s heart and spread throughout his body. At first, he went rigid with what seemed like pain, but then his muscles relaxed and his breathing evened out. He was once more unconscious.
Jack released him and stood, taking the remaining syringes from Alex and moving toward the other two fallen men around the corner. Two more quick and efficient injections, and all three men were still unconscious but, at least now, they would most likely live.
Jack sat back then and ran a hand through his hair. He felt like shit. His body was hot and cold at the same time, his head was pounding, and he felt like vomiting everything he’d ever eaten. He was never, ever, ever touching alcohol again.
Which was what he’d said last time.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and stood again, making his way to the rooms where Annabelle had been staying. The first thing he did, almost automatically, was scan the room for evidence. What was missing? What had Annabelle taken with her? Were there signs of struggle?
He took in the collapsed massage table and a white sheet puddled at the entrance to her walk-in closet. He noticed the used bottle of massage oil on one of the lamp stands, and a small, unopened vial of what looked like shimmering oil beside it.
He noticed the dying fire in the hearth and listened as rain and surf sounds played over the intercom system. He followed the sound to its source, opened the closet, and shut the CD off.
Then he listened.
The shower was running. He moved down the hall, through the master bedroom, to the massive bathroom beyond. He opened the door, pulling his weapon as he did so, just out of habit.
Victoria Albrecht was taking a shower. Of course, she was fully dressed and utterly drained of blood as she was doing it, but the hot water had managed to steam up the room nonetheless.
Jack opened the shower door and leaned in to shut off the water. Beneath him, Albrecht’s wrists and neck had been slashed – the deep gashes clean and cruel, made with an extremely sharp blade and very quick movements.
A large white ball had been shoved into her mouth to hush any initial protestations.
Jack turned away from the grisly picture she made and peered around the rest of the bathroom. A robe was missing. A used towel hung, still damp, on a nearby hook.
Jack left the bathroom and made his way to the walk-in closet, where he’d seen the sheet discarded earlier. He opened the door and entered the closet.
He didn’t have to look very far to find a clue to where Annabelle had gone once he was in, because a folded white piece of paper with his name on it was hung with a piece of tape from an empty hanger.
Jack pulled the paper off of the hanger and unfolded it.
Jack swore under his breath and spun on his heel. He raced through the flat to his quarters and then ran through the master bedroom and to a small room that opened up off of one wall, which contained nothing but a vault.
