"Precisely. So what the hell is he really up to?"
"Until we catch the bastard, that's really an unanswerable question." And a worrying one.
Rhoan shifted, his gaze going to the door I'd entered through. Undoubtedly he smelled the aroma of garbage and death, though it was nowhere near as strong here as it had been in the hall. "Jack's here."
And he wasn't alone, thankfully. I stepped aside as the emergency team from the mica-unit tended the little girl, watching for a couple of seconds to reassure myself she was still alive, then turned and walked down to the steps. Jack had squatted next to the young vampire I'd killed.
I stopped beside him and tried to ignore the smell of death. I felt no remorse over killing the baby vamp—not after spending so long tracking him down. Not after having to deal with the aftermath of both his and his master's feeding frenzies.
Jack looked up. "Did you read his mind before you killed him?"
I shook my head. "Didn't need to. Gautier is his maker."
"If you didn't read his mind, how do you know that?"
"Because Gautier himself confirmed it."
"He was here? And you let him go?"
Jack's voice held an edge of anger, and I held up a hand. "We didn't 'let' him do anything. We had the option of taking a life or saving one. We chose the latter."
"Which was the wrong choice." His gaze slid past me. "Your softer side is going to get you killed one day, Riley."
"Saving a child is never the wrong choice, Jack." And I couldn't have lived with myself if I'd done anything else.
"And yet, because you saved the child, many others may die."
He was obviously trying to make me feel guilty and, in some ways, succeeding. Truth was, it was very possible that others would die because of the choice we'd made here tonight. And yet, what other decision could I have made? None—not if I wanted to retain my sanity, my soul. Surely it could never truly be wrong to try and save such a young life, no matter what the price might ultimately be.
Though I had no doubt that Jack would disagree with such sentiments. Regardless of the fact he was a basically decent guy, he was still a vamp, and they all tended to have strange ideas when it came to the value of life.
"We did manage to have a nice little chat with the creep." I rubbed my arms as I spoke. It was becoming so damn cold in the warehouse that I might as well have been standing there naked. "He said he knows The Cleaver."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "And he offered you the information?"
"No," Rhoan said, as he walked up and stopped beside me. "He offered us a contest."
"What sort of contest?"
"We play a game—the first one to track down and kill the serial killer wins."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Gautier does realize he's no longer a guardian, doesn't he?"
"Oh yeah," I muttered dryly. "And I think you'll discover he's relishing the fact if you take a little look in those back rooms."
"Then why would he make a deal like this? Especially when it benefits the Directorate rather than himself?"
"Maybe all he wants is the satisfaction of knowing he is better than us." I shrugged. "He said you used to rave about how good Rhoan is, and how good I could be. He wants to prove to himself and to us that this is not true."
"Yeah, right." Jack snorted softly and glanced at Rhoan. "Are you buying that?"
"Not in the least. He may well know the identity of our killer, but I fear there's a darker reason behind the offering of this contest. Gautier's a killer, and he's long believed in his own superiority. He doesn't need a contest to prove it He never has."
"Exactly. Which means we need to kill him before whatever plan he has comes to fruition."
Like we hadn't been trying to do that for the last few months? Gautier was the best guardian the Directorate had ever produced—expecting second-raters and the barely trained to hunt him down and kill him softly was nothing short of irrational.
"Gautier's not a fool," I commented "He knows there's an execution order out on him. He's not going to provide us with an easy target."
"No But if either of you do get the chance, I want you to take it." He looked at both of us, green eyes bleak. "Regardless of who or what gets in the way."
Rhoan nodded. I didn't react. On a scale of things I could handle in my life as a guardian, killing an out-of-control baby vamp was stomach-turning but survivable. Ending the life of someone who got between me and Gautier was a totally different thing. I'd killed, there was no denying that, but each time it was in either self-defense or defense of my pack—which, in my case, was Rhoan.
I guess some would argue that blowing Davern's brains out was a cold-blooded action, but then, he'd not only tortured my brother, he was the brains and the brawn behind the whole cloning and crossbreeding venture that had been responsible for so many deaths. Not to mention the reason behind the ARC1-23 drug being injected into my system.
Play with fire and you'll end up getting burned, my mom used to say. Well, Davern had played with me and Rhoan just a little too often, and he'd finally gotten his comeuppance.
"Riley? Did you hear me?"
I looked at him. "I heard."
"And?"
"I won't kill in cold blood for you, Jack."
"Even if it's Gautier?"
"Gautier I'll kill the minute I get the chance. But I won't jeopardize the lives of others to get him."
"Still fighting the inevitable to the very end?"
"And I'm so glad it's still amusing you."
He chuckled softly. "Why don't you two go home and warm up? Report in at nine, and we'll see where we go from here."
Rhoan spun and headed toward the door, but I walked over to check the little girl first. There was still very little color in her cheeks and a lot of frantic activity on the part of the medics. Chill fingers of dread ran down my spine. Death seemed to hover far too close, and deep inside I knew that if I reached out psychically, I would feel her fate. Feel the death that was waiting out there in the shadows.
I shivered and turned away. There was hope yet. I had to believe that, if nothing else.
One of the medics looked up as I moved, and tossed me the coats and sweater. "Get the bastard who did this."
"I will." I walked away. There was nothing else I could do or say. Except hunt Gautier down and blow his rotten brains out.
I caught up with Rhoan, tossing him his jacket and donning my own. The second we stepped out of the warehouse, the weather hit, the wind so cold, so forceful, that it snatched my breath away. Rhoan wrapped an arm around my shoulder, holding me close, sharing his body heat as we made our way through the rain-soaked night.
Unfortunately, neither of us had a car to walk toward, because baby vamps usually didn't use them. I have no idea why, but suspected it might have something to do with the flood of new sensations that enveloped the newly turned. It had to be hard to concentrate on mundane things like driving when the whole world had become a playground filled with blood hunger, lust, and easy targets.
Which meant, of course, that if the vamps walked, we did too. Not that I had a car to drive—I still hadn't replaced the one I'd apparently driven into a tree four months ago—but Rhoan did, and it would have been nice just to climb inside his old Ford and drive home to warmth and safety.
Thankfully for my chilled body, we did eventually find a cab.
"You go," Rhoan said, as the cab drew to a halt outside our apartment building. "I feel like relaxing at the Blue Moon for a few hours."
The Blue Moon was one of the five werewolf clubs in Melbourne, and the one favored by us both. I studied him for a moment, then said, "You should ring Liander."