Nocturnal Part 23

"Sara, listen"-Finnegan's rough Brooklynese was unmistakable. How he got my unlisted number was questionable, but his obvious panic was enough for me to put aside my bristling at his lack of professional ethics-for now-"you've got to come down to my office. Something's gone wrong. Please, I need-s.h.i.+t! They're coming!"

A few seconds of recorded scuffling and a series of heavy thumps were followed by the sound of someone picking up the receiver. They didn't say anything, just breathed into the phone. A click, then nothing. The message ended; it had been left a couple of hours ago.

I sat in silence, chilled to the bone. I had the sinking feeling the AOA was behind this. Joe could be hurt. Maybe dead. As much as I disliked the guy, I couldn't ignore the fact that he'd called me for help.

Enough time had pa.s.sed that the a.s.sailants were likely long gone. Chances were good there was something at Pro-Detection doc.u.menting what the AOA was after, too. I knew Arnold and I should check it out. If nothing else, maybe we would find some clues that would lead us to where Russell Morgan was hiding.

We couldn't report it-calling authorities over the break-in might mean losing our only shot at finding out where the AOAs were and what they really wanted. The red tape tying up the investigation would take too long and the police would be looking at break-and-enter charges, not a murder rap. Whatever else happened, I needed to track down enough information to tie Russell Morgan to the dead kid outside of The Underground. The cops could be called in-after I got the evidence I needed to solve the case. I got the evidence I needed to solve the case.

That in mind, I rushed down the stairs. The dogs jumped up, barking excitedly and following me around the living room as I collected my purse and keys. "Finnegan's in trouble. Let's go."

"Wait, hold on a sec!" Arnold exclaimed, pulling back as I grabbed his arm. "Who is he? What do you mean, he's in trouble? Where are we going?"

"I just got a message from him that he left a couple hours ago. He's the PI the AOA hired to look into Royce's business. Sounded like someone broke into his office. Come on, we have to get down there and see if he's okay."

Arnold shook his head, frowning. "That's not a good idea. What if it's a trap? We should call the police."

"I'd rather not. This might be our one chance to find out exactly where the AOA are hiding." I gestured at all the papers spread out on the table, not bothering to hide my frustration. "We've been at this for hours. There's nothing here that will help us-but Joe would've had Morgan or whoever from the AOA fill out paperwork to do the job. He'll have something that says how they can be reached, maybe even what they've been looking for all this time. I want to get to it before the police do."

Arnold eyed the paperwork. Rather than argue, he shrugged and came around the coffee table to join me. "Okay."

I blinked, surprised. "Okay?"

"Yeah. Let's go." He put his arm around my waist, smiling at my fl.u.s.tered expression. "What, you expected me to argue?"

"Well, yes," I stammered. "Mark would've."

He leaned in to press a kiss to my temple. "I'm not Mark. Don't worry, I've got your back."

His words sent a little thrill through me. No, he wasn't Mark. Nothing like him.

Things didn't seem quite so dire on the trip to Finnegan's. While I was concerned, I wasn't so afraid or feeling a constant pressuring need to justify my actions.

It was a short trip to Levittown. Pro-Detection was located in a squat, boxy building with a tiny parking lot, sandwiched between a liquor store and an optometrist's office. There was a beat-up sedan parked in front with tinted windows and a faded b.u.mper sticker reading: IF WE ARE WHAT WE EAT, I COULD BE YOU BY MORNING! Clue enough the car was Joe's, but Pro-Detection's windows were shuttered and dark.

"Wait," Arnold called out when I reached for the front door, giving me pause. "Let me go first. I'll see if there's anyone inside."

When I stepped aside, Arnold didn't do as I expected. Instead of trying the door, he knelt down in front of it, cupping his hands and whispering something under his breath. A few seconds later, a tiny black mouse peeked from between his fingers.

"Go check it out. See if anybody's inside."

The mouse squeaked and hopped to the ground, scampering over to the door and squeezing between the cracks.

"Forgot you had Bob," I said, chuckling. I'd only seen the familiar a handful of times, and hadn't realized he could do reconnaissance.

Arnold winked and stepped back to wait. "Of course. He'll let me know in a sec if anyone's in there."

It didn't take long. The mouse crept out from under the door, shaking his tiny head. He made a few squeaks and clicks, whiskers twitching, before rus.h.i.+ng out and climbing up Arnold's outstretched arm to perch on his shoulder.

"He says there's the smell of a cat and rat poison inside, so he didn't go very far. It looks like the front is clear of people."

"Okay. Let's check it out."

Arnold shrugged and tried the door. It was unlocked, swinging open on creaky hinges. Papers rustled on the floor and the streetlight outside didn't offer much illumination in the dark room. Arnold fumbled for a switch but no lights came on when he flipped it.

He lifted his hand, saying something that sounded like a weird mix of Latin and Greek. "Smael leukos handus." "Smael leukos handus."

A ball of blue-white light formed in his palm, illuminating the office. A large gray tomcat hissed at us. It was in the corner, back arched and fur fluffed out.

Baleful yellow eyes glared at us as we looked over the papers and Rolodex cards on the floor and scattered on the desk. The line to the phone was cut, the computer monitor smashed on the floor. A large reddish-brown smear on the papers and desk was worrisome, but there was no sign of Joe.

Another door leading to the back offices was closed. I dropped the file I was looking at when a muted thump came from behind it. Arnold and I looked at each other before he extinguished the light, closing his fist around it. We waited, but aside from the cat hissing at us and Bob's disapproving chitters, there was no other sound.

Arnold moved first; I could hear his footsteps shuffling through the papers, even if I was still too light-blinded to see him do it. I held my breath, listening and straining to see. The door he opened clicked but the hinges didn't squeal like the front door's. It was dim in the hallway but a light from an open door at the end of the hall illuminated a figure gagged and bound, slumped in a chair.

Despite the five o'clock shadow and blood that had trickled from a wound at his scalp, drying to a tacky coat on half his face, I recognized the craggy features under the mess.

Joe.

Arnold pa.s.sed through the door, reaching for something in a pocket. I didn't have enough time to call out a warning when a slender shadow whipped out from between the wall and door, cracking him on the back of the skull.

As Arnold collapsed, I backpedaled and fumbled for my cell phone. The dark shape broke away from the door and came at me too fast. Before I could reach the phone to call for help, the guy had my wrists in a bruisingly tight grip.

My knee connected to his groin and he gasped a curse, one hand losing its hold on me as he grabbed at his family jewels. I shoved at him but he refused to let go, pulling me off balance as he simultaneously cradled himself and tightened his grip on my wrist. He didn't let go until I kicked him in the stomach.

He wasn't alone. In the time it took for me to break away, half a dozen more burly men dressed in dark colors and ski masks had surrounded us. They swarmed out of one of the offices to drag Arnold deeper into the trap, taking me with him.

Chapter 12.

While Arnold was unconscious, two of the men took their time binding his legs, tying his hands at the small of his back, and gagging him as they had Joe. They emptied his pockets, dumping his keys, wallet, cell phone, and a small bag onto a rickety break-room table. The bag contained a few colored dice, nothing more. One of the guys snickered at the sight.

I was given the same treatment, save for the gag. I kept my mouth shut as they shoved me into a chair, watching as they poked through our IDs and credit cards and examined our cell phones. A gasp escaped me when one of the men tugged his ski mask off, smiling genially. That warmth never reached his eyes.

"Ms. Halloway. I thought I made myself clear back in your office. What are you doing here?"

My voice stuck in my throat. No plausible lies came to mind. The man with the scarred palm reached for me and, though I shrank back, there was nowhere for me to go. His fingers curled in my s.h.i.+rt, jerking me forward and bringing to mind visions of the bright glow of a cigarette held up to my eye.

"Are you the one Joe called? Is that it?"

At my mute nod, he laughed and shoved me back. My chair tipped precariously before righting itself. Ace gave the other PI a look of bemused tolerance; Joe was semiconscious. His glazed eyes watched us from the hallway, bound fists clenching in his lap. One of the other hunters stepped out of the room to give him a smack on the head, making me wince in sympathy.

Ace reached for my cell. He tapped some b.u.t.tons on it while he talked, looking at the screen instead of watching us.

"Why would he call you? You're the compet.i.tion. Trying to stop him, I'll bet. That's what you were doing with that file outside The Underground, wasn't it?"

"Yes," I said, my voice coming out as a harsh whisper. Him. He was the one who'd tried to slit my throat. "He knew I was looking for you."

The hunter's gaze was suddenly sharp upon me. "Were you, now?"

"Yes," I said again, stronger this time. "Royce wanted to know what you were after. He hired me to do it. I'm doing my job."

"That's truly a pity. I was hoping he'd called those monsters to tell them what we were doing. Well, plans change. I suppose you'll do just as well."

"What do you want me for?"

"Bait, Ms. Halloway. You're not a donor but I a.s.sume you're invested enough in the leech's mess to warrant him sending a few people to look for you, given reason."

"Hey, should you be telling her that s.h.i.+t?" one of the other hunters queried. Ace didn't look pleased at the interruption.

"She needs to know enough to pa.s.s on to the leech before we get rid of her."

The other guy shrugged, adjusting his shoulder holster before leaning back against the door frame. "Just doesn't seem like a good idea, man. What if she gets away? She knows what you look like. We haven't found the stuff yet. She could get the cops before we finish the cleanup job."

"How about you just shut the f.u.c.k up and let me work?"

The guy lifted his hands in surrender, looking away. "Sure, whatever."

"Now," the man with the scarred palm said, pinning me in place with the intensity of his gaze, "you don't have to die tonight, Ms. Halloway. Play your part in our little game, and you can walk away from this."

"Is that your choice to make, Ace?" a new voice drawled. A large man stood in the doorway, radiating the kind of presence I was more accustomed to feeling around Others. His chiseled features were too roughly hewn and muscular, the tangled mane of dirty brown strands too unkempt, to be considered handsome. As he swaggered into the room, the s.p.a.ce seemed to get smaller, retracting around his strangely graceful bulk. "You should've told me you caught a donor. And a spark to boot!"

"I'm not a donor," I muttered, though at this point I wasn't sure I wanted to call attention to myself.

Ace backhanded me and blood gushed into my mouth as pain exploded across my jaw. I shut my eyes against the tears of pain, refusing to cry out. His tone was as casual as the way he wiped my blood off his knuckles and onto my s.h.i.+rt. "Russ, this is Sara Halloway. That investigator the master leech hired."

Ace edged out of his way as the big man moved closer to kneel in front of me. One calloused thumb wiped at the blood trickling at the corner of my mouth. I jerked back from the touch, but he kept his hand at my cheek.

"You're not a donor, you said? Not contracted?"

I didn't answer, just glared. His fingers dug into the bruise forming on my jaw, making my eyes water.

"If you want to live to see morning, sweetheart, answer me."

I spat blood in his face, but he didn't flinch. "I'm not a f.u.c.king donor, a.s.shole! What the h.e.l.l does that have to do with anything?"

He wiped his face with one ham-fisted hand, examining the red streaks. He touched his tongue to it, tasting my blood. Ugh, gross.

"Not contracted, and no taste of fae or sucker high in your blood. Lucky girl. That means we don't have to kill you. The leeches run out of willing food, they'll have to start hunting people who aren't contracted. They do that, and the rest of this doped-up nation will wake up to the fact that they've been holding hands with monsters. Maybe this time it'll be enough to spur the government to do the job of getting rid of them for us." He grinned at my startled look, thick fingers brus.h.i.+ng the hair out of my face, meeting my gaze. The intelligence I saw there clearly wasn't enough to counter the insanity of his plan. "Looks like you get to see sunrise, pretty lady."

He rose to his feet, towering over me as he took the rag Ace offered him and rubbed his face clean. Morgan toed Arnold's p.r.o.ne form, not getting so much as a groan out of him. He was still out like a light.

"This must be the spark. You feel that crackle in the air? He cast something recently."

"He won't be casting anything else," Ace a.s.sured him. "We might need him, though. He's been working with the girl."

Morgan nodded. He gestured to the other men in the room. They all snapped to attention. "Let's head up and move out. We've got a lot of work to do tonight if we're going to hit the next batch of donors before the leeches catch on. Bring the girl and the spark; we'll see if that's enough to keep security at the club distracted."

With my wrists and ankles bound, there wasn't much I could do to brace myself when one of the goons pulled me out of the chair. He hefted me over his shoulder and filed out behind a few of the others. I could only watch, cursing quietly to myself, as Ace collected our stuff from the table, putting them in his pockets. Others picked up Joe and Arnold, carrying their limp forms in a fireman's carry.

These guys were certifiable-but also wickedly clever. Their trap had worked for us, and the next one might work just as well on the vampires. Angus, John, and Royce had all shown some concern for my well-being, which meant they might actually fall for the plan the AOA had to use me as bait.

If they succeeded in keeping the vampires distracted, they would target the unprotected donors. The hunters would kill the donors just as surely as they had murdered that poor kid whose only crime had been working as a valet for a vampire-run club. If they killed enough donors-and, judging by Morgan's comment and John's very overt advances toward me, they must have already succeeded in getting to a few-the vampires would have no choice but to break the law in order to feed and survive.

The Other-Citizen Amendment to the Const.i.tution, Article XIV-1(B), said that any Other born or turned in the United States or living within the United States since September 11, 2001, was awarded citizens.h.i.+p under the amended terms of naturalization. It also provided strict regulations on their feeding habits, hunting methods, and turning humans into one of their own.

It also meant Morgan was right. The only thing that gave vampires the same rights as people was that strict set of laws requiring them to keep their fangs very much to themselves-unless the victim was contracted. If a bunch of them started feeding on people who weren't...well, it might be enough to spur another amendment, changing vampires from private citizens to an exception to Article XIV-1(B). "Varmint" laws allowed for killing Others who went rogue and broke the rules-and Others who broke the rules tended to take their hunters down with them. Mark had spoken about it occasionally, when liquored up enough, after some of his buddies on the force were injured or killed while bringing in a werewolf who had savaged someone outside of a contract. Though he'd never stated it outright, I was sure that was why Mark had always pushed me so hard to stay away from Others.

If Royce and the few hundred vampires who answered to him were labeled rogue, it would be a bloodbath.

Chapter 13.

The AOAs took us out through a back door and into a dark alley, dumping Arnold, Joe, and me through the double doors of a van. Ace and a couple of other hunters got in the back with us. Morgan and the rest took separate cars.

n.o.body said much, except when Ace gave the driver directions now and again. My fear didn't lessen when I recognized the route he was taking. We'd end up somewhere near The Underground. New York City was big, but I knew my stomping grounds well; we'd be within blocks of the vampires' club.

Judging by the tightness of his expression, Arnold must have been coming around. I scooted as close to him as I could get. It didn't accomplish much other than to get a vicious kick from a hunter who growled a command to stop moving.

Though he was grimacing and gasping for air, I managed to note that Arnold opened his eyes to thin slits. Fae light glimmered in their depths, but there wasn't much he could do with his hands bound and his mouth stuffed with cloth.

Bob was peering out from under the collar of Arnold's light jacket, the mouse's beady eyes glinting in the dark. He crept down Arnold's s.h.i.+rt and scuttled up by my head. If the guards noticed him, they didn't do anything about it.

I flinched when I felt the little furball moving around in my hair, though, stifling the urge to jerk away. Before long, he was inching down my arm instead, the barely there pressure turning into a tiny, warm body creeping between my fingers. I cupped my hands around him when I felt a minute tugging on the ropes. He was chewing his way through.

After what felt like an interminable ride, the van ground to a halt. Bob stopped his efforts, worming his way up one of my sleeves while the hunters got to their feet and filed out.

A cold wash of air and the brackish scent of the river entered the van when they opened the back doors. We were somewhere out in the warehouse district, in the rapidly shrinking section that hadn't yet been overrun by overpriced boutiques, restaurants, and nightclubs, but not so far off that I couldn't detect the sound of heavy ba.s.s coming from somewhere down the street.

When I was dragged out of the back and hefted up on someone's shoulder-now becoming an uncomfortably familiar position-I spotted the Statue of Liberty far off across the water. We were close to some docks, too. At a rough guess, we were maybe a mile away from The Underground. The time it would take for Angus and the others to get here would be more than enough for Morgan and the other AOAs with him to sneak into the club and carry out their plan.

We were carried inside the warehouse. Someone had brought lanterns, their electric glow only making the deeper pools of shadow around us emphasize how large and empty the place was. The copper scent of old blood lingered, even though this place couldn't have seen any meat to pack in a decade or more. Enough dust puffed up to make me sneeze. Joe, Arnold, and I were dumped unceremoniously on the floor, the cold cement giving me the s.h.i.+vers. It was all I could do not to drop Bob, who fell into my hands after the jarring landing.

Joe made an inarticulate sound behind his gag and was cuffed for it. Once again, I huddled against Arnold, who rested his brow against mine before closing his eyes. The marks on my arm started tingling again, but I was more concerned about Bob. He'd stopped moving, though I could feel his whiskers tickling my palms.