“Humans lack the ability to accomplish such a task on their own,” David said.
“Yes.” Rage began to simmer within him.
“Such could only be accomplished . . .”
“With the help of an immortal,” Seth finished for him, speaking the unimaginable.
Had one of their own turned against them?
David looked at the mercenaries in question. “Can you see who did it?”
The mercenaries’ faces contorted with pain as Seth ruthlessly tore through their memories.
“No.”
“We can’t let them live.”
Seth agreed. They had only let the mercenaries live before because their PMC was elite enough that Chris had feared the deaths of both men might draw too much scrutiny. But they had no choice now. No human with any memory of this operation could be allowed to live.
Seth stopped the men’s hearts.
David let them fall to the floor.
An immortal had aided the enemy.
The building around them began to tremble as Seth’s control slipped, succumbing to the fury and, yes, hurt, swelling within him.
A clap of thunder split the night. Then another. Cracks opened in the walls. Sheetrock fell from the ceiling.
David reached out and rested a hand on Seth’s shoulder.
They stared at each other.
Calm seeped into him from David’s touch, dampening some of the fury.
Seth took several deep breaths.
The building stilled.
Utter silence reigned outside for several long minutes.
Gradually, work and conversation resumed.
David shook his head. How could any immortal betray you like this?
Betray us, Seth corrected, feeling sick. Whoever it is has betrayed us all, put us all in danger.
After you helped him adjust to his new way of life and did a thousand other things to improve his existence and foster happiness and contentment.
Or her.
David looked as ill as Seth felt.
Boots struck linoleum, carrying someone up the hallway toward them.
They faced the doorway just as Chris stopped in it, garbed in black and carrying an automatic weapon. “Everything okay?” he asked tentatively. Only he would have the balls to approach them now.
Seth nodded as David dropped his hand.
Wise man that he was, Chris said nothing of the thunder and tremors that had resulted from Seth’s slip. “All is secure. The compound is ours and we’ve already begun the cleanup.” As his gaze strayed to the three dead men, he swore. “So it was them. How the hell did they regain the information? What did we miss?”
“Nothing,” Seth said, unable to tell him yet that they had been betrayed by one of their own.
Chris scowled. “What do you—?”
“Later,” David said with a shake of his head.
Chris looked from David to Seth and gave a slow nod. “Sure.”
The walkie on his shoulder squawked. Chris mumbled something into it as he left and retraced his steps up the hallway.
Silent, Seth and David followed and stepped through the hole in the front of the building.
The air outside was heavy with the scents of smoke and death. The helicopter Krysta had crashed still burned. Network guards carted bodies to the hangars. More walked the fence and manned the gated entryway. The immortals . . .
The immortals clustered together about twenty yards away, smiling and laughing as Krysta recounted Étienne’s antics in the hangar. Some partook of the blood Chris had brought them. None were sorely wounded. All gave the appearance of being relaxed and pleased with the victory they had achieved.
Normally, Seth would join them, slapping backs and congratulating them on a job well done.
Tonight, however . . .
Tonight he knew that one of them had betrayed him.
How could any of them be working against us? David murmured mentally.
I don’t know, Seth said, already dreading the punishment he would have to deliver.
Chapter 20
The next day, Seth stood outside Lisette’s home, procrastinating.
The sun clung to the center of the sky, no clouds creeping past to obscure its light. Birds twittered. Squirrels scuttled about in the detritus, looking for goodies.
No sounds of movement came from within the two-story domicile. If he listened closely, he could hear a single slow heartbeat and the soft sounds of somnolent breath.
Still, Seth hesitated.
He and David had agreed that only a telepath could have aided Donald and Nelson. Bastien was empathic. He could feel and manipulate other people’s emotions, but he couldn’t manipulate their thoughts.
Étienne and Lisette were the only telepaths in North Carolina. And there were none in surrounding states. Any telepaths farther away would’ve had to have been teleported in, and a quick examination of Richart’s thoughts had confirmed that he hadn’t teleported any immortals into the area without mentioning it.
Seth had just left Étienne’s home. He had dropped by on the pretense of checking on them both to ensure neither had suffered any lasting effects of the double dose of stimulant.
They hadn’t, thankfully.
While Krysta had apologized again for the helicopter debacle, Seth had smiled and nodded and examined every nook and cranny of Étienne’s mind, relieved to find nothing more incriminating than some interesting sexual fantasies he intended to pursue with Krysta.
Which left Seth standing outside Lisette’s home, already dreading what he would find in her thoughts. As well as the punishment he would have to deliver when he confirmed she was the deceiver.
Although he would never admit it to anyone other than David, who knew without having to be told, Seth had a soft spot for Lisette. Female Immortal Guardians were exceedingly rare. Most female gifted ones suffered torturous deaths at the hands of vampires before they could complete their transformations. So those, like Lisette, who survived were treasured.
And Seth understood well the burden of guilt beneath which Lisette existed. He understood her, or so he had thought. Being deceived by her in such a blatant, heinous way was a blow from which he didn’t think he would ever recover. He could neither forgive nor forget it.
Nor would he try to.
Hardening his heart, he rang the bell.
Lisette answered the door herself, wearing a pretty pink camisole nightgown and robe. Staying in the shadows, she squinted against the bright afternoon sunlight. “Hi, Seth.”
“Lisette.” He stepped inside and waited while she closed the door. “Where’s Tracy?”
“Shopping, I think.” She yawned and combed her fingers through her mussed hair. He hadn’t seen it unconfined by a braid in years and hadn’t realized it now fell in thick waves to her hips.
“I’m sorry I woke you.”
She offered him a sweet smile that broke his heart and led him into the living room. “Don’t worry about it. Are you hungry? Would you like me to make you a sandwich or something?”
“No, thank you.”
She sank down on the sofa and motioned to the chair across from it. “What’s going on? Is David’s place too crowded today? You’re welcome to stay here, if it is.”
“No.” He watched her draw her long, slender legs up and tuck them under her robe. “I sensed there was something you wished to tell me.”
And there it was. The unease he had expected to see cross her features when she had first opened the door to him.