"Oh my God," Alyssa repeated. "Sean is going to go ballistic."
"We have to tell him," Emma said.
Alyssa scoffed. "Don't look at me. He said I could go out of town, and I am out of here."
She rushed to her desk and gathered papers. "He's going to go berserk."
Emma had to agree. How on earth would she break the news?
Never trust anyone or anything. Sean Whelan had learned that the hard way. And when you added vampires with their mind-controlling capabilities into the mix, then anyone could be turned against you. Anyone.
After his daughter's betrayal, Sean had hoped to recapture her by staking out Roman Draganesti's townhouse on the Upper East Side. He'd left a surveillance van parked across the street for the first few weeks, but the damned vampires had caught on. His tires had been slashed, and his surveillance equipment stolen. He'd tried a variety of cars and SUVs, but parking was such a bitch, he couldn't always find a place close enough.
So, eight months ago, he'd rented a small room catty-corner across the street. It was damned expensive, but Homeland Security had gladly footed the bill when he'd explained he was observing a terrorist cell.
He strode into the tiny room and with a swipe of his arm, he cleared a space on the small table for his laptop. Empty take-out containers tumbled onto the floor, and he reminded himself for the jillionth time to take out the trash. Later.
For now, he was anxious to see what the video camera had recorded the night before in his absence. The camera squatted on top of a tripod by the window, its lens carefully positioned to peek between two slats of the blinds. Sean peered out the window.
Draganesti's house was usually quiet this early in the evening, and tonight appeared no different.
He removed the camera's memory card and quickly downloaded Sunday night's recording. Then he inserted a fresh memory card into the camera and pushed record. Back at the table, he settled into a rickety chair and started watching the video from Sunday night. Boring. He pushed fast forward and poured himself a cup of coffee from his thermos. This was so damned boring, and it was getting him nowhere. Shanna could be dead by now.
His cell phone rang, and he flipped it open. "Whelan, here."
"This is Garrett. There's a… problem here in Brooklyn, sir."
With a sigh, Sean rose to his feet and looked out the window. Still no activity outside Draganesti's house. "What kind of problem?"
"Our bugs inside the Russian coven were destroyed."
"Dammit." Sean paced across the room. "Is the van all right, and our surveillance equipment?"
"I'm in the van now. Everything's fine, but all I get is static from the Russian house."
Sean muttered another curse. "You need to get back in. Plant some more bugs."
"That's kinda hard when the place is crawling with mafia thugs during the day."
"Is that my problem?" Sean snarled. "When did they discover the bugs? Did you get any recordings at all for the weekend?"
"Yes, I've been listening to them. The bugs went dead on Saturday night, right after Katya received a visitor. Some guy from Poland."
"Did you get his name?"
"Yeah. He introduced himself, said he was a friend of some guy named Casimir who was unhappy with Katya for killing Ivan Petrovsky. Then he said she needed to find the slayer or she was toast."
Sean walked back to his chair. "Slayer? What slayer?"
"I don't know. It seems that some vampire dude's been killing off some of the Russian vampires."
"That's good."
"Yeah." Garrett laughed. "I wish they'd all kill each other off. Anyway, it looks like this Janow dude will kill Katya if she doesn't deliver the slayer."
Sean froze. "What? Did you say—" His throat constricted. He couldn't say the name.
"Who—who did you say he was?"
"Jedrek Janow. Some Polish dude."
The phone tumbled from Sean's hand and clattered on the floor. He collapsed into the chair. Sweat popped out onto Sean's brow, and a stabbing pain pierced his gut. The bastard was back. The one who had wreaked revenge on Sean after he'd killed a vampire in Russia. The bastard hadn't attacked Sean. No, he was too cruel and sick for that. Sean doubled over as the pain wrenched his gut. He covered his face to shut out the memory. Poor Darlene. How could he forgive himself? He'd controlled his wife's mind for so many years. Just to help her, of course. To help her adjust to living overseas, so she could be happy. It had been for her own good, but it had left her brain so easy to manipulate, to control.
Jedrek Janow had discovered her weakness. He'd called her to him, and like a robot, she had complied. Then Jedrek had delivered her back, naked and so drained of blood, she'd barely been alive. Thank God she'd recovered and had no memory of that hideous night. But Sean remembered. He remembered every damned day.
Slowly he became aware that Garrett's voice was yelling on the phone. With a shaky hand, he picked up the phone. "Yes?"
"Sean, are you okay?"
"I—no." He glanced at the video still going in fast forward on his laptop. A black four-door sedan stopped in front of Draganesti's house. "Just a minute." He slowed the recording down.
Two kilted Scotsmen emerged from the front seat of the car. They peered around the neighborhood, then opened the back doors. On the street side, Roman Draganesti climbed out.
"Bastard," Sean growled.
"Who, me?" Garrett asked. "Hey, I'm sorry about the bugs, but—"
"Quiet." Sean leaned forward to watch the second person emerge from the car onto the street. Whoever it was, he appeared to be getting assistance from a Scotsman. A blond head appeared.
Shanna! Sean caught his breath. "She—she was here! Sunday night."
"Who? Shanna?" Garrett asked.
Sean's mouth fell open as his daughter stepped away from the car. He blinked several times. It couldn't be true. She walked toward the steps to the townhouse. He quickly rewound the tape. It had to be a mistake. Maybe she'd just gained a lot of weight. He replayed the section where she was getting out of the car, then froze on the image of his daughter. His very pregnant daughter.
"That bastard." This was it. Draganesti had gone too far.
"Sean, what's going on?"
"Get over here." Sean jumped to his feet. "No, go to the office first. Arm yourself. I want weapons, silver bullets, handcuffs, and a battering ram."
"Are you serious?"
"Yes, and bring the girls with you. I want you all here in thirty minutes." Sean strode to the window and looked through the blinds at Draganesti's house. "We're going in."
CHAPTER 11
"I don't think this is a good idea," Emma murmured from her crouched position behind an old dented Chevy with a mismatched passenger door.
"Don't be a wuss." Sean checked his pistol one more time, then stuffed it into his belt behind his back. He peeked over the Chevy's rusted trunk. "Coast is clear. Go, Garrett!"
Garrett dashed across the street, carrying the battering ram, and stopped, partially hidden behind the black Lexus four-door sedan parked in front of Draganesti's townhouse.
"Those bastards will pay for what they did to my daughter," Sean growled. Emma groaned inwardly. This was a classic case of good news, bad news. The good news was she didn't have to tell Sean about his daughter's pregnancy because he already knew. The bad news was Sean was determined to break into Draganesti's house at night.
She considered urging her boss to invade during the day when the vampires were dead to the world, but she held her tongue. What if Angus was sleeping there during the day and Sean staked him?
"Do you have any evidence that your daughter is still in there?" Emma winced when Garrett tripped on the first stair leading up to Draganesti's front door. Any vampire with superior hearing would have heard Garrett's stumble and muttered curse.