Moon Sworn

Chapter 3

I silently counted to three then surged to my feet and ripped open the door, almost pulling it off its hinges in the process. The man jerked sideways, his fist swinging in reaction. He was fast, but not wolf fast, and while his scent wasn’t human, I didn’t think he was entirely nonhuman, either.

I avoided his blow, grabbed a fistful of shirt, and hauled him out of the car. He came out swinging, making me duck and weave as I thrust him back against the rear door.

He grunted but otherwise showed little reaction to the force of my push. He really was a man-mountain, his stocky, muscular body matching his thick shoulders and boulder-like arms. But I was a wolf and a vampire. He had no hope against me.

I held him pinned with one hand, then caught one swinging fist in the other. The smack of flesh against flesh sounded like a gunshot.

Even this close to him, I couldn’t tell if he was human or not. He didn’t seem to have any particular scent, which made me wonder if he was using a scent neutralizer—though I’d never heard of one that actually erased the markers of your species.

“Enough,” I said, squeezing his fingers. Even though my hand wasn’t large enough to entirely cover his, I could still cause some serious damage if I wanted to. And he was smart enough to realize it.

“What fucking right have you got to haul me out of the car like that?”

“Scum who are spotted trailing guardians don’t have any rights. Why are you doing it, and who’s paying you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was just sitting there drinking my coffee.”

My gaze flicked briefly to the inside of his car. He did indeed have a travel mug sitting in the center console, but I seriously doubted the rest of his story. There was too much tension emanating from his body for an innocent man.

“We have two options here,” I said, squeezing his hand a little harder. I could smell the sweat on him so I knew it had to be hurting, but there was no sign of fear or pain on his face or in his eyes. A tough man, through and through. “I can beat you to a pulp and then get my answers, or you can simply give me the answers I want and walk away without broken bones.”

He considered it for several heartbeats, then said, “How do I know you’re a fucking guardian?”

I shifted my grip slightly and pulled out my badge, showed it to him, then put it away again. “Now, why are you following me?”

“Because that’s what I’m being paid to do.”

“By whom?”

He shrugged. “I’m just a contractor.”

Meaning there was some sort an underworld job agency hiring out thugs? I’m not sure why I was surprised, given all that I’d seen over the last few years, but for some reason I was.

“So give me your boss’s name and we’ll call it quits.”

He snorted, spraying fine particles of snot over my hand. Charming. “Get real. He’ll kill me if I did that.”

“And I’ll kill you if you don’t.”

I wouldn’t—and couldn’t if he was human, thanks to the law—but it never hurt to make the threat. Both the general public and the criminals we hunted know so little about what guardians can and can’t do that making threats was often the easiest way of getting results.

“Fuck.” He shifted his stance a little, and I tensed, half expecting him to try and kick me. But he didn’t. “Okay. I’m not getting paid enough to mess with the likes of you.”

“So he didn’t tell you I was a guardian?” I reached out telepathically and lightly connected with his thoughts—

not enough for him to sense me but more than enough to tell truth from lies.

“No.” His voice was hostile, indicating he wasn’t too happy with his boss right now.

“And the plate number didn’t make you realize?” I mean, the Directorate, like all government departments, had their own plates. It would have been a little hard to miss the fact that he wasn’t following an ordinary car.

“Well, yeah, but you could have been an office worker for all I knew. I didn’t know we had female guardians who weren’t vamps.”

Few people did—mainly because I was the only one. “So, the name of your boss?”

“Henry. Henry Bottchelli.”

“And Bottchelli didn’t tell you why he wanted me followed?”

“Nope. Just that I had to follow you for the next couple of days, providing regular updates about your location.”

That bit of news sent a chill down my spine. “Did he say why he wanted this information?”

“Nope. I’m paid to do a job, not ask questions.”

And I was thinking it was more a case of “the less he knew, the less he could blab.” “Is Bottchelli his real name?”

“Yeah.” He hesitated. “As far as I know.”

“How do I find him?”

He moved again, and the quick desire to lash out ran through his thoughts. He dismissed it, but not easily. I squeezed his hand harder, making him concentrate on me and the pain rather than the escape he was contemplating.

“I’ve only got a cell number. He contacts me with the job, and I contact him when the job is done.”

Meaning whoever the boss was, he was extremely cautious. Which sounded very much like Blake.

“When did he contact you about this job?”

“Yesterday morning.”

“How did you find me in Melton?”

“Cell phone scanner. Heard them call you to the murder, so I just waited out of sight.”

Meaning I’d have to change my number, pronto. “Give me the number you use to contact your boss.”

Again he hesitated. And this time, the need to retaliate surged into action and he lashed out with a booted foot. I jumped away from the blow, but the tip of his steel-capped boots skimmed my shin with enough force behind it to make pain shimmer up my leg. But I didn’t let go of him and my sudden movement unbalanced him, pulling him away from the car. His free arm flailed as he tried to regain his balance, but I released his other hand and gave him an additional shove.

He landed heavily on his hands and knees. I planted a heel on his back and forced him into the dirt.

“Now, shall we try that again?” I said, voice cold. “Or shall I drive this stiletto right through your spine?”

“Bitch,” he muttered—though his thoughts were a whole lot more colorful and creative.

“Phone number,” I said, barely resisting the impulse to smile. Only to have the impulse die almost as suddenly as it had risen.

What had happened to the reluctance to do this job? What had happened to the fear that I could one day take it too far?

But I didn’t ease the pressure of my heel on his back. I might fear what I was becoming, but I feared whatever Blake had planned more.

He gave me the phone number. I shoved it into my memory banks, then said, “And your name?”

“Rudy White.”

His thoughts said he was telling the truth. They also told me where he lived, so I could find him again if I needed to.

“Well, Rudy, I suggest very strongly that you give up trailing, because you’re not very good at it.” I stepped away and he scrambled to his feet with surprising dexterity for such a big man. “And if I spot you following me again, I’ll throw your ass in jail and throw away the key.”

“You can’t do that—”

“I can do anything I want with scum like you. Remember that the next time you take on a job that involves Directorate personnel.”

He scowled but didn’t say anything.

“Now get into the car and drive away,” I added.

He obeyed. I waited until he’d left the parking lot, then pressed the com-link button and said, “You heard all that?”

“Yep,” Sal said, “Jack’s already applied for a new cell number for you. We should have it within an hour or so. The phone number White gave us is listed as belonging to a Frank Wise. Who, according to our records, was beheaded several months ago in a robbery gone wrong.”

Interesting. “What about Bottchelli?”

“He’s another man with no official records of any kind.”

I might not have any proof, but I’d bet my very last dollar that Blake was the man behind both identities.

“Meaning he has unofficial ones?”

“Actually, no. But his name has been linked to a number of armed robberies, including several that ended up with fatalities.”

Not a bad effort for a man who apparently didn’t exist. “Meaning we haven’t got as much as a license picture or an address for him?”

“No. Jack’s just given the go-ahead to break into the phone records of both men to see if we can find any connecting numbers. That’ll give us a starting place.”

Which meant Jack was taking this situation seriously, because even he could get into considerable trouble for doing that without approval from the higher-ups. Not that that had ever stopped any of us 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 on,” he muttered, his voice crackling with anxiety.

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 click was soft, but it still seemed to echo across the silence as sharply as a gunshot.

“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.

“Come out of the office,” I repeated, when there was no sign of movement from within the small room.

“What do you want with me?” His voice was edged with panic.

I’d dealt with many vampires over my years as a liaison and a guardian, and I’d never come across one who was so afraid. Which suggested he at least had some involvement with the murder.

“I just need to talk to you,” I said.

“What about?”

“About a murder that happened in Melton.” As I spoke, I reached out telepathically, feeling for his thoughts. If I could break through his shields and get to his mind, I could not only freeze him but find out once and for all whether he was actually guilty of this morning’s murder.

Only what I hit wasn’t the buzz of shield but rather blankness. This vamp was mind-blind, just like my brother. Which meant no one, no matter how powerful, could read or control him telepathically.

I cursed silently. So much for trying to do it the easy way.

“I don’t know anything about no murder.” And yet the anxiety staining the air ramped up several more notches, belying his words.

“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.” I scanned the warehouse quickly. There was a whole lot of space between me and the office, and while there were no windows looking out in this direction, he didn’t really need them. He was a vamp. Not only did he have infrared vision at his disposal, but he’d hear my heartbeat and feel the rush of blood through my veins. “Just come out and talk to me, Mr. Surrey.”

He didn’t answer. I blinked and switched to infrared myself. Vampires tended not to have a lot of body heat, although they were far from cold—especially the older ones, like Quinn. Surrey was a deep, dark-red blur huddled in the corner of the office.

What the hell did he think he was doing? There was no escape from that room—and if he’d had another bolt hole, he would have used it by now. So why was huddled there like a cornered rat?

Was he waiting for someone?

It was certainly possible. He’d had ample time to phone for reinforcements while driving.

I swept my gaze through the shadows again. There was a door at the rear of the building, but even from here I could see the padlock. Meaning the only way in or out was the still-open roller door. I backed around the van, keeping my eyes on the office and my senses attuned to the open door behind me. When I reached the driver’s side, I reached in and pressed the remote. The door began to rattle closed.

“What are you doing?” Surrey all but yelled. “Why are you closing the door?”

“I’m just making sure no one can sneak up on me, Mr. Surrey.” I edged around the car door and made my way to the van’s snub nose. My gun was still aimed at the office, but I doubted he was coming out. More than likely, I’d have to go in and get him. “There’s no reason to panic.”

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” His voice was becoming shriller. “That’s why you closed the door, isn’t it?”

My gaze switched from the deep-red blur that was Surrey to the office door. It would only take me a heartbeat to get there, but once there, I was a sitting duck. Surrey might be panicking, but he was still a vamp and still had reflexes as fast as mine. Was I willing to bet my life on the fact that his panic would make his aim less perfect?

The answer to that was a categorical no. “Mr. Surrey, I just want to talk to you. If you have nothing at all to do with the crime, you won’t get into any trouble.”

“You’re lying. I can taste it!”

“Mr. Surrey, please calm down. I promise—”

I didn’t get the rest of the sentence out. Surrey finally moved, launching himself through the doorway and firing his weapon in one swift, deft movement.