before. “Let me know what you get. I’m heading over to the vamp’s place now.”
“Right.”
I crossed the road and headed back to my car. Once there, I got rid of my bra, which had—as usual—been shredded by the shift into seagull form. One of these days, I thought, flinging it onto the backseat, the Directorate were going to have to pay me for the cost of replacements, because bras were costing me a small fortune. And while Quinn might have bags of money, and had offered more than once to provide for me, I refused to be looked after like that. I might want to spend the rest of my life with him, but I wanted to pay my own way whenever possible.
I got back onto the freeway and made my way down to Mount Martha. The vampire suspect lived in the middle of an estate situated between the Nepean and Moorooduc highways, and certainly didn’t have any of the sea views that the area was famous for. The house itself was a standard brick veneer—the type of house that could be seen in dozens of different estates all over Melbourne. But the gardens were well kept, the grass cut, and there was a average-looking station wagon parked in the carport. I wondered if the neighbors were even aware that they had a vampire living amongst them.
I parked several houses down from the suspect’s, then climbed out and walked back. The curtains were all drawn in the front of the house, and even the glass near the front door was covered. Which was no surprise, given the owner was a vampire.
I walked through the carport and headed for the front steps. From inside the house came the sound of voices overlaid by music, meaning our vamp was up and watching the TV. I recognized the ad. I pressed the doorbell and resisted the urge to peer through the windows via the gap in the curtains. When there was no immediate response, I pressed it again, leaning on it a little longer this time.
There were no answering footsteps, but my skin crawled with awareness, and several seconds later, a wary voice said, “Yes?”
“Mr. Surrey?”
“Who wants to know?”
Was it my imagination, or had a whole heap of tension just crept into that quiet, wary voice?
“Riley Jenson, from the Director—”
I didn’t even finish my sentence before he was running. I swore and spun, bolting for the backyard. I leapt the picket fence dividing the two yards one-handed and ran around the back of the house, looking for the rear door. I’m not entirely sure why he’d run this way, because if he was a vamp, then he wasn’t coming out in this sunshine anytime soon without doing himself serious damage.
The back door was locked. I swore again and thrust a shoulder against it, smashing it open. As the door hit plaster, punching a hole in the wall, I ran through the laundry, following the thick scent of vampire.
It led me to a bedroom.
And to a bolt hole.
I swore yet again then knelt down beside it, peering cautiously into the hole. It was a tunnel, and little more than two feet in diameter, barely enough for a man of any decent size to navigate. It dropped about eight feet down through the concrete and into the earth, widening out just enough to turn, then it disappeared sideways into the earth. The hole barely looked big enough to crawl through.
It could be a trap. I could drop down into that hole and find myself staked or shot. But the sour smell of vampire was retreating, and really, anyone who’d bolted at the first mention of the Directorate didn’t really seem the type who’d stand by ready to kill.
I took a deep breath, then gripped the rim of the bolt hole and dropped down into it. No stake surged out of the darkness. The vamp was on the run, not hanging about to get rid of unwanted visitors.
With the scent of rich earth thick in my nostrils, I squatted down and had a look at the side tunnel. It appeared even smaller from this angle than it had from up above, and I really didn’t think my shoulders would fit through it all that well. Which meant that either he was smaller than I was, or he also had an alternate shape.
Like a rat, I thought. This certainly seemed the sort of standby escape a rat-shifter would have.
I shifted shape, then in wolf form squeezed into the hole, following the scent of vampire. But even as a wolf, my body was too large, and little rivulets of earth cascaded down every time I brushed the sides or the ceiling. I found myself fervently hoping the vamp had known what he was doing when he’d dug this bolt hole, because right now, it felt like the whole thing was going to collapse on top of me.
Of course, it would have been better if I’d chosen my seagull form over my wolf, but if something jumped out at me, my wolf had a better chance of fighting back. The seagull was useless for that sort of stuff.
The tunnel stretched on. My paws made little sound on the soft ground, but my panting seemed to echo loudly. I had no real sense of direction, since the darkness and the heavy feel of the earth seemed to blind my other senses.
Then my nose caught a change in the flow of air. It was sharper, cooler, smelling less of earth and more of oil and car exhaust. And those smells were accompanied by the sound of a car starting up.
The bastard had not only an escape tunnel but an escape vehicle.
Which didn’t mean he was guilty of the crime I’d come here to question him about, because lots of vampires had either safe rooms or escape hatches built into their homes. But the fact that he’d used his certainly wasn’t pleading his innocence.
The wolf couldn’t move any faster without running the risk of making the tunnel collapse around me, which meant it was time to shift shape.
In seagull form, I exploded out of the tunnel, sweeping upward on silvery-gray wings. Only to find myself in a garage, staring at the back of a fast-disappearing van.
It was a white Ford transit—one of those big square vehicles with no side or rear windows, and tinted front windows. The perfect vehicle for vampires, in other words.
Surrey drove at breakneck pace onto the Nepean and headed back toward Frankston, weaving through the traffic like a madman and running most of the lights. He slowed down as he neared central Frankston, moving off the Nepean and onto a series of side streets, until he reached an industrial area. Finally the van slowed as it approached a line of basic, gray-painted warehouses. The heavy steel door of the warehouse in the middle began to roll up, and the van pulled inside. I swooped in after him and flew up into the ceiling, perching on one of the rafters as the van came to a halt and Surrey climbed out.
He looked like a man in a panic. Sweat beaded his face, and the scent of fear was so intense I was aware of it even in seagull form.
He paced the length of the van several times, running his hands through his thin hair and generally looking like a man possessed, then stopped and dug his phone out of his pocket.
“Come on, come
Whoever he was calling didn’t answer. “Fuck,” he said, then spun, throwing the phone at the wall. It hit with force, smashing into a hundred different plastic and metal bits before it even hit the floor.
I wondered if Cole and his team would be able to pull information out of them. It probably depended on whether the main chip had survived the impact.
He swore again and stalked toward a small office tucked into the far corner. I leapt off my perch and flew down to the van, shifting shape as I neared the ground, landing lightly and silently at the rear of the vehicle.
Surrey remained in the office. He might have been a vampire, but he obviously was in such a state of panic that he hadn’t yet registered my presence.
I crept forward and peered in through the driver’s window. There were guns on the front seat, which meant Surrey himself was more than likely armed.
I wasn’t. All my weapons were locked securely in my car.
I slid my fingers under the door handle and flicked it upward as carefully as I could. The resulting
“Who’s there?” Surrey demanded.
I reached in, grabbed one of the guns, then said, “Riley Jenson from the Directorate, Mr. Surrey. Put down any weapons you’re holding and come out of the office with your hands up.”
He didn’t reply, but the tension and fear riding the air seemed to ramp up several degrees. I glanced down to check whether the gun was loaded, then flicked off the safety and wrapped a finger around the trigger.
I didn’t want to shoot him, but I didn’t want to take any chances, either.
