Do you know me yet? Do you feel my breath down your neck, my fangs scrape your skin? Next time you won’t get away. Very soon I’ll tear you apart, just as I did your mate when I ripped out her throat so long ago. Just as I will your precious daughter. She won’t escape me a second time.
His blood ran cold. “Fuck! Where the hell are these e-mails coming from?”
“Micah’s hopeful he can trace this one.”
“You think this really is the bastard who killed your mate and destroyed your family?”
Rage and agony waged war on the commander’s face. “And he’s going to attempt to finish what he started.”
“We’ll stop him. That son of a bitch isn’t getting his hands on my mate,” he growled. His wolf bristled, ready to do battle. All he needed was the enemy.
“Zan—”
“No. I know that tone, and don’t even think about telling me to stay on the sidelines,” he said in a low voice. “I can hear now, and I can fight. It’s not gonna happen.”
Before the commander could protest further, Jax came into the study, followed by Micah, who was toting his own laptop. Both men looked excited, especially Micah. Zan hoped like hell the gleam in the younger man’s eyes was a natural high, and instantly, he felt bad for even thinking it. The Dreamwalker was working hard to regain his place on the team.
“We’ve finally got that bastard. He fucked up!” Micah proclaimed loudly, hurrying over to plunk the computer onto the desktop. “Wait till you see this.”
Nick scooted his equipment over to make room, and Micah opened the lid on his laptop to wake it up, then typed in his password. The desktop screen came to life and displayed a photo.
“What’s this?” Nick’s brows drew together as he studied the picture.
Then a car drove by in the background, and Zan realized they weren’t looking at a still photo—it was a video.
“It’s a live feed of a Motel 6 about twenty miles from here. And guess who’s inside?” Micah was practically bouncing in place.
“Elvis?” Zan joked to lighten the somber mood.
The Dreamwalker snorted. “Close! Only these guys really are undead. There’s a whole nest of rogue vamps enjoying the fine comforts of the place where they ‘leave the light on for ya.’”
Jax broke in, absently stroking his goatee. “Despite those amenities, why would they pick this particular venue as their base?”
“Hide in plain sight?” Zan guessed.
“Maybe. But it requires them to pass themselves off as human, which is an unprecedented level of restraint for such a large group of rogues.”
“They have a leader,” Nick said. “Someone strong. Cunning. Any hits on who that might be?”
Micah nodded, gesturing to the commander’s laptop. “That’s how we found the rogue we think is the head honcho—through the e-mails you’ve been getting from the asshole. I traced the IP address and tracked it to the motel, and—”
“Wait a second,” Nick interrupted, pushing to his feet. “You’re saying you think the bastard who’s been harassing me is leading all of the rogues?”
“Yeah, boss. That’s what I’m telling you. After we honed in on the location, Tarron’s men did some recon and got us the footage. I’ve got some still pics, too.”
Bending, Micah clicked on a file and opened a series of black-and-white shots taken outside the motel. Then he clicked through the pics. Most of them showed a group of males surrounding a figure who walked slightly ahead of the rest, like they were his entourage.
“See this guy?” Micah tapped the screen. “He’s the one running the show. The others are there to protect him.”
“How can you be sure this vampire is the same one sending me the e-mails?” Nick pressed.
“See this?” Micah pointed to an object in the vamp’s hand. “He’s the only one who’s brought a laptop case in and out. It’s an educated hunch, based on the notes themselves and how the others defer to the vamp in the pictures.”
Zan studied the photo, or more accurately, the leader in it. He was tall, a bit broad through the shoulders. He carried himself like a powerful male, head up, acknowledging no one around him. His light hair, perhaps dark blond or sandy brown, was pulled into a ponytail at his nape.
“He’s wearing a suit,” Zan murmured to himself.
“Huh?” Micah looked at him in confusion. Jax and Nick waited, curious.
“The leader is wearing a damned suit, and so are the members of his posse. The rogues who’ve been attacking unsuspecting citizens in outlying areas haven’t been dressed this nicely. In fact, the others were wearing holey jeans and torn shirts at best.”
“So why the nice threads?” Jax mused, following his line of thought. “What makes these fuckers so special?”
“Exactly. The groups we’ve dealt with were starving, sloppy, their bodies unkempt and unwashed.” Zan flicked a hand at the screen. “Somebody’s taking real good care of this group, but who?”
“Wouldn’t the leader be doing that?” Micah frowned. “Maybe he’s got a tighter rein on the ones in his immediate circle.”
Nick paced the study. “Yeah, but how? That brings us back to them being too well organized, too controlled to be regular rogues. They almost resemble a mafia.”
“Could be that’s exactly what they are, in a sense,” Zan speculated. “And in that case, this guy answers to somebody higher up, because there’s always another asshole above you in the food chain.”
Nick looked at Jax. “Can you get a read on the leader from the stills or the video? His name, at least?”
“I may be able to answer that last question.” Tarron’s form materialized from nothingness, and he stepped forward.
“Jesus, that creeps me out,” Micah complained with a shiver. “Do you have to sneak around like that, walking through walls and shit?”
Tarron’s mouth quirked. “This is my home, pup. Get used to it.” Ignoring the younger man’s discomfort, he walked to the laptop and peered at the screen. Immediately, his humor vanished and he blew out a breath. “I had to be sure, but there’s no doubt. Their leader’s name is Carter Darrow. He used to be a member of my coven, long ago. He eventually went rogue, and to make a long story short, he’s been my enemy ever since. I’ve hunted him for a couple of decades, only to have him turn up within arm’s reach now. That in itself is quite troubling.”
“He’s not here just to get at me,” Nick said, staring hard at Darrow’s image. “This is much bigger.”
Jax shifted on his feet. “I can try for a reading, but I can’t do it from a video or a photograph of him. It has to be an object he owned, or something he touched. It doesn’t have to be of particular monetary value, either. I just need his essence, if you will.”
Everyone was quiet for a moment, and then Tarron got a strange look on his face. Quickly, he strode to his bookcase. “I may have something.”
After searching through a few shelves of old books, the prince withdrew one carefully and studied the cover. Turning to face the group, he held it out to Jax.
“A vintage copy of The Count of Monte Cristo,” Jax said, running a hand over the lettering in appreciation. “A man is wronged, is tossed into a cell, and bides his time for years to bring down his enemy and exact vengeance. One of my favorite stories ever.”
“Mine too,” the prince agreed. There was something wistful in his expression. A bit sad. “The book was a birthday gift from Darrow more than twenty years ago, when he was still among my coven. I always wondered if the gift was symbolic on his part.”
“Maybe.” Jax opened the cover. “He inscribed it to you. His writing will definitely help with a reading.”