I cursed softly.
Amusement played around his mouth.
There was no probably about
I blew him a kiss, then ran across the carefully manicured garden, my steps so fast and light I didn’t disturb any of the rocks.
The security box near the front door sat in the alarmed position, and I hesitated fractionally before grabbing the handle and opening the door. No alarms sounded. Sal had done her job well.
I closed the door and looked around to get my bearings. The entrance hall looked bigger in life than it had on the plans, the ceiling double height and dominated by a massive gold chandelier. Four doors led off the entrance and a glass staircase complete with a gold banister curved its way up to the first floor. The scent of unknown werewolf was coming from the living area, which was the door on my immediate right, and from the back of the house came Rhoan’s familiar tang as well as the soft hint of roses. Given that it was accompanied by the mouthwatering aroma of freshly baked bread, I was betting it belong to the chef.
I headed for the stairs. Rhoan reappeared as I reached for the banister, and I raised an eyebrow in question. He raised a finger, then folded it half down. Meaning the chef was out for the count.
And if the crumbs on his shirt were anything to go by, so was whatever he was baking.
We climbed the stairs swiftly but silently. There were six doors leading off the overly large hallway, one of which was the bathroom, one a study, and the others were bedrooms. Daskill’s was the last one on the left.
We crept forward, every step swallowed by the lush thickness of the carpet. Obviously, no one had told him shag pile had gone out of fashion with the Dark Ages.
There wasn’t a whole lot of noise coming out of the bedroom. Daskill and his wife were obviously quiet types. Either that, or they’d finished—although the scent of lust and desire riding the air was increasing, not fading.
I glanced over my to brother and motioned to the other side of the double door frame. He nodded and moved past me, his movements a blur as he raced across the open space.
There was still no indication that Daskill and his missus had any idea something was wrong.
Rhoan raised three fingers and began counting them down. I got my laser out but didn’t fire it up. The damn things were noisy and, in the hush surrounding us, would have been too obvious.
The last finger went down. We moved as one into the room, Rhoan going to the right and me to the left. Like everything else in the house, the bedroom was white and gold. The only spot of color was Daskill’s ass, and the black and silver of the guns sitting on either bedside table.
Daskill really
She saw us first, and her eyes went wide. As she opened her mouth to scream, I fired up the laser and heard its echo from the other side of the room.
“Bobby Daskill,” I said, slipping my free hand into my pocket and withdrawing my ID. “You’re under arrest on suspicion of murder. Please move away from your wife and stand with your hands up.”
For the barest of moments, he froze. Then he did the stupidest thing possible and lunged for his weapon. I fired, as did Rhoan. The twin beams of light cut across the room, hitting Daskill’s reaching hand. The smell of burning flesh stung the air as the lasers severed then cauterized the first three fingers on his left hand.
His screams joined his wife’s. Rhoan glanced at me, his expression one of disgust as he shook his head and walked forward. That’s when the wife moved. One minute she was screaming like a banshee, and the next she had a gun in her hand and was aiming it at Rhoan’s head. There was no time for finesse. I simply shot.
I meant to get her hand, but she was moving too fast, and the beam took off her arm instead. Her severed limb plopped inelegantly to the bed, and the weapon—thanks to the fact that her finger was still curled around the trigger—fired. The bullet skimmed past Rhoan’s nose and thudded into the wall behind him.
The wife went back to screaming. High-pitched, wailing sounds of horror, but I wasn’t feeling any sympathy. Not when the bitch had just tried to kill my brother.
He glanced at me, blinking, the tip of his nose somewhat blackened. “Damn, that was close.”
“Totally.” I strode forward, grabbed Daskill by the scruff of his neck, and dragged his wobbly pink butt off the bed. “Bobby Daskill, consider yourself under arrest. Now get your scrawny ass down those stairs.”
“But I’m naked—”
“Like I care.” I pushed him toward the door, my finger still on the trigger and the laser whining ominously at his back.
Rhoan hauled the still-screaming woman up by her good arm, grabbed the sheet, and threw it roughly around her body. Then, with his hand still clamped around hers, he forced her to march forward.
We headed down the stairs, then outside. I couldn’t sense Quinn near, but almost before I could form a question, his thoughts were flowing through my mind.
His laughter ran through my mind, warm and light.
Daskill had finally realized we were going out into the main street and balked as we neared the gate. But a hard nudge in the back with the laser soon put an end to that.
The two vans sat several houses away, one holding Jack and the banks of computers that were controlling Daskill’s security system, and the other for the transfer of our prisoners.
The prisoner van door opened as we approached, and the stench of vampire wafted out. There were at least three guardians inside. Jack wasn’t taking any chances.
We handed over our prisoners and stepped back as the door slammed shut. Even though the van was reinforced, I could still hear the wife’s screaming as the vehicle took off.
“Well, that was almost easy,” Rhoan said, sounding more than a little peeved.
“And it makes a nice change,” I said, rubbing my arms. The time had come to talk to Jack, and I really wasn’t looking forward to it.
“Riley, Rhoan,” Jack said into my ear. “Go through Daskill’s house and see what you can find. Another van is on the way to take care of the guards. They’ll remain neutralized until then.”
Meaning Quinn had messed with their minds and told them to stay. I pressed the little earpiece and said, “I need to talk to you first, boss.”
He hesitated, then said, almost reluctantly, “Come on in, then.”
Rhoan gave me a smile and a quick shoulder squeeze for support, then spun around on his heel and headed back to the house. I took a deep breath that did little to calm the twisting in my belly, then strode forward determinedly.
I slid open the van door, stepping inside and shutting it quickly so there was no risk of sunlight touching Jack. Not that it would have, given he was down at the far end of the van, sitting in front of a bank of monitors.
“What is it, Riley?” he said without looking up.
“I don’t want to be a guardian anymore.” I said it in a rush, because any other way and the words would have stuck in my throat.
He leaned back in his chair and raised his hands, crossing his fingers on the top of his head. There was little surprise in the green of his eyes.
“You can’t leave the Directorate. The drugs are still affecting you, and we have no idea what direction the changes are likely to take.”
That sick feeling in my stomach increased, rising up my throat and momentarily preventing me from breathing. It was all going to hell—all my hopes and dreams of walking away turning to ashes simply because I knew what he was saying was true. And yet, that stupid, stubborn part of me refused to give up. “But—”
