Checking the ten-round magazine, she slammed it home, then worked the slide, chambering a round. Going hot was what her firearms instructor had called it. It saved a few seconds on the first round, and a few seconds, he’d emphasized, might be all she had.
Sliding the Glock into the elastic, and putting her spare mag into its own special pocket, she pulled her long-sleeved T-shirt over it, but left her hoodie unzipped for now. Feeling slightly gunfighterish, she paced back to the hallway and down to the elevator, where she spent a few minutes staring up at the floor display, until the steadily lit number “1” began to flicker in her sight. She blinked rapidly and decided it wasn’t going to change. No one was storming the battlements, at least not while she stood there waiting. And besides, she was getting hungry again, and she’d left her pitiful allotment of energy bars on the coffee table in the lounge area.
Grabbing a fresh bottle of the water from the fridge, she settled back on the big leather couch and squirmed around a bit, before finally finding a position where the gun didn’t dig into her belly or scrape against her hip bone. She unwrapped the first energy bar, flipped on the TV, and felt her eyes begin to droop almost immediately. She hadn’t gotten more than an hour’s sleep last night. Setting aside the tasteless energy bar, she settled into the thick pillows and let sleep take her.
Sid came awake with a jolt, her heart racing as she stared at the unfamiliar room, taking in the giant TV screen which currently showed a bunch of hyperactive game show contestants celebrating mutely. Aden’s office, she remembered. She was in Aden’s office, and something had woken her. She sat up and checked the time on her cell phone. It was barely noon. Long hours stretched ahead of her, and she was beginning to hate the isolation of being locked in here.
She was reaching for her bottle of water, her fingers not yet touching the plastic, when she heard the very last sound she’d expected to hear. The elevator dinged faintly, as if the car was on its way up and she was hearing its progress through the lower floors. Was that what had woken her? It was so quiet in here that the smallest noise would seem loud.
She stood, listening. And heard it again. Maybe the elevator was simply moving up and down between the lower floors. Maybe she’d misunderstood what Aden had said about the car being locked down. Or maybe Earl Hamilton was coming up for some reason. Yes, that was probably it. Maybe he knew she was here and was checking on her.
Smoothing her T-shirt down and patting the gun for reassurance, she walked softly through the receptionist area and back to the hallway, where she paused. Sticking just her head through the doorway, she peeked down at the elevator and waited.
Nothing. Not even the earlier dinging she’d heard. That was good, right?
Feeling somewhat cowardly hanging back in the office, she ventured out into the corridor. Sticking close to the wall with the elevator on it, one hand running along the smooth surface, she approached the elevator cautiously. She could hear the hum of the car’s movement, the rumbling slide of the thick cables.
Standing there next to the elevator, she cursed herself for an idiot. She should have called Hamilton from the office. He was probably on speed dial, or if not, she had his number stored in her cell from the other morning.
She was just turning to head back for the office when the thunk of an arriving car froze her in her tracks. She backed away, staring, afraid to breathe as she watched the elevator doors slide almost soundlessly open.
Men poured out of the elevator, their faces and clothes bloodied, guns much bigger than hers already in their hands. She screamed, her hand going to the flat bulge of her gun, but it was too little, too late. One of them swung a closed fist, striking her hard enough that she spun around and slammed face-first into the wall just outside the elevator. She tasted blood in the back of her throat and felt her nose swelling shut from the force of the blow. Behind her, someone grabbed her by the hair and yanked, torqueing her neck as he pulled her back to her feet and held her upright. Someone else wrenched her hands behind her back and zipped a plastic tie around her wrists, jerking it so tight that the plastic band cut into her skin. She barely had a chance to cry out before a wet cloth was pressed against her mouth. Unable to breathe through her swollen nose, Sid sucked in a breath through her mouth and nearly choked on the sharp, acrid taste, fighting not to throw up. Primitive instinct had her drawing a second breath, and stars dotted the blackness behind her eyelids.
Her last thought was that they wanted her alive, and that was a good thing. But she couldn’t remember why.
Chapter Seventeen
ADEN WOKE TO a rare fury. His eyes opened, and he leapt from the bed, swallowing his howl of rage as he scanned the empty room, searching for whatever danger had his fangs splitting his gums, his fingers curling into claws. Nothing. The room was dark and silent. Searching farther, he sought out and found all four of his offspring, each just beginning to wake as the sun dropped deeper below the horizon.
He straightened from his defensive crouch, his heartbeat slowing to normal and his breathing evening out as the adrenaline drained away. He glanced over at the empty bed and thought of Sidonie. Reaching out again, he exerted his power in a search of the offices beyond the safety of his rooms, seeking the frail beat of her human heart.
She wasn’t there. Or she wasn’t alive.
Grabbing a pair of sweats on the fly, he ran for the door and input the release code, pulling the pants on as the shutters retracted slowly, as the bolts slid into the wall with the heavy thunk of solid steel. He didn’t wait, but ducked under the still-moving shutters as soon as the bolts were clear and the door could open.
The smell of blood hit him like a cudgel, knocking him back half a step before he raced down the hall and slammed through the security doors, following a scent he knew well. He’d taken Sidonie’s blood. It flowed through his veins, it pulsed in his heart. Her scent drew him not to the office as he expected but all the way to the end of the hallway, to the closed doors of the elevator and the smear of her blood on the wall.
The phone started ringing as he crouched down. Sidonie’s blood was in the carpet, too, and it wasn’t alone. There was other blood there. Human blood, and more than one person. But the scent was too faint to tell him who or even how many, as if they’d carried the blood on their clothes and lost only trace amounts when they struggled . . . with Sidonie.
He closed his eyes and tried to reconstruct what had happened, using only what his nose could tell him.
The phone stopped ringing. He heard an authoritative voice leaving a message, but didn’t bother to listen to the words. Nearly silent footsteps and the unique awareness of his offspring informed him that Bastien was awake and functioning and now stood in the office doorway, listening to the message.
That same awareness told him a moment later that his lieutenant had come into the hallway and was waiting.
“What is it, Bastien?” Aden asked quietly, as he dipped his fingers in Sidonie’s blood.
“That was the police, Sire. The caller didn’t say so, but the lobby doorman is dead. I heard someone else discussing it in the background. They’re interviewing tenants and are very unhappy that they cannot access our two penthouse floors.”
“Where’s Hamilton?” Kage asked, loping down the hall in time to hear Bastien’s statement.
That was the question, Aden thought to himself. Where was his daylight security chief, and why wasn’t he the one who’d called to report instead of the police?