The Breeds hadn’t done it. The information they had gathered said the pureblood societies hadn’t done it either. That left but a few suspect paramilitary groups, but the Breeds had no sources within those organizations who could help them reliably finger those responsible for the explosion.
One thing was for certain: there were too many people looking to use Kita as leverage against her father. Get the girl, and the research could be theirs.
The Breeds desperately needed that research to go along with information provided just weeks before by the daughter of a Breed scientist. Storme Montague had hidden certain research on mates, primal fever, and a vaccine created in a little known lab in the Andes before the Breed rescues had reach that area. The vaccine mimicked one created in Russia for the coyotes and the men and women who worked with them. The vaccine, originally intended as an anti-body against a feared contagion associated with feral fever, was now revealing itself as a much-needed component in the mating and ability to conceive within the Breed community.
Piece by piece they were gaining answers to their questions about their own biology and the mysteries surrounding their creation and their abilities to procreate. They couldn’t afford to lose what little research hadn’t been destroyed because they hadn’t realized the danger it could later represent.
And Creed couldn’t afford to lose the only woman who had made him feel . Who made him realize he was more than just a Breed. She made him realize there might be a chance, however small, that he could be a man as well.
THREE
She managed to slip away from him.
A growl slipped past his throat as one of his human partners gave a loud, exaggerated cough before turning to stare at him in shock. They were standing in the center of Kita’s bedroom as her father braced his arms on her opened balcony door.
“I paid you to keep this from happening.” Horace Engalls turned on them as though it were their fault she had escaped. “You were to protect her.”
“We were hired to keep anyone from getting to her. You didn’t inform us she would end up running away,” Creed pointed out.
“She’s always slipping out,” Horace snarled back at him, his brown eyes flickering with red rage. “You knew that.”
“And we’ve always been aware of the nights that was happening,” Creed replied with far more calm than he felt. “She’s obviously far quieter than her friends have been when they’ve picked her up.”
When it came to stealth, those women were like children in a candy store. All big eyes, giggles, and feminine charm.
“She’s been taken then.” A tremor vibrated through Horace’s voice as he wiped his hands over his face. “God, they’ve taken her.” He lifted his head, his eyes damp now with a father’s tears. “Who could have taken her?”
To feel pity for this man went against everything Creed knew of him. Yet, the pity was there. In Horace Engalls’s face, his eyes, his scent, there was only love and fear for his child.
“We’ll find out,” he promised, knowing she hadn’t been taken. She had run.
The slap to her face the day before, two years of seclusion and fear, and she had had enough.
It would no doubt relieve Horace’s mind to know this, but Creed had a far different agenda than bringing her home.
“How will you find out?” Horace swallowed tightly, visibly shaking now as the fear began to coalesce inside him. “There’s no ransom note. There’s nothing.”
“But there will be,” Creed assured him. He turned to the two men working with him. “Stay here, put a tap on the phone. I’ll see what I can find out and report back.” Turning back to Horace, he hardened his expression and his voice. “Stay here by the phones. Someone will call, and I doubt it will take long. The moment you hear something, one of my men will contact me.”
He turned his back on the father and moved quickly down the hall to his own small suite and the leather bag he kept packed for emergencies.
A change of clothes, weapons, ammo, and a small medical kit were included. Pulling leather riding pants, a black long-sleeve shirt, and a leather jacket out of the closet, he tossed them on the bed before reaching for the black riding boots.
He was dressed and moving down the steps in five minutes flat. He ignored the three men walking into the study: Horace and the two human enforcers assigned to Covert Operations with the Bureau of Breed Affairs.
The lethal black, specially designed motorcycle sat innocently in the drive. Its frame was based on one of the less powerful touring cycles, but every aspect of its functionality had been adapted with Breed technology. Straddling it quickly, Creed pulled the full-face helmet over his head, strapped it beneath his chin, then started the ignition with a flick of his fingers.
Before pulling from the drive, he set the helmet to full security mode and then spoke into the voice-activated controls.
“Activate Engalls, Kita, tracking protocol on all tags.”
The digital display came up on the inside of the visor as the computer answered. “All vehicles presently accounted for, and all but one deactivated and located in the main garage. Vehicle three is being tracked through both automotive tracking as well as electronic tag detected in Engalls, Kita wallet. Location currently identified and highlighted on your screen.”
The digital display reconfigured to show the small red dot identified as Kita’s vehicle at approximately five hours ahead of him.
“Computer, display routes to intersect in quickest possible time.”
The map reconfigured once again. He could shave two hours off his time and catch up with her well before evening.
“Onboard navigation detected in vehicle,” the computer spoke unexpectedly. “GPS programmed and displaying onboard directions to destination.”
God love her heart, Creed almost smiled. Kita liked to say she was directionally challenged. She loved that GPS, which was the reason he had tied the trackers into the navigation on each vehicle her father owned.
The computer came back seconds later with the address of her destination, and this time, he couldn’t help but smile. She was driving right into the thick of Breed territory and didn’t even know it.
He loved it. He couldn’t have asked for a better destination himself.
“Call Wyatt,” he ordered the computer as he turned onto the interstate and began heading out of New York toward Virginia. The coordinates the computer laid out would have him arriving at her location before she did. A small Tennessee community that barely numbered in the hundreds during the tourist off season. And it was definitely not tourist season for that area right now.
“Wyatt is currently unavailable,” the computer replied.
“Call Wyatt. Verification pass, tango, seven.”
The computer paused for long seconds before replying. “Verification pass approved, Enforcer Raines. Director Wyatt will be on the line momentarily.”
He didn’t have to wait long.
“Wyatt,” Jonas answered shortly.
“She’s on the run,” Creed informed him immediately.
“The Engalls brat?” Jonas growled. “Do we have a situation?”
“We can make it a situation,” Creed replied before quickly launching into his explanation. He could almost hear Jonas thinking hard and fast on the other line.
“I’ll have him contacted,” the director finally stated thoughtfully. “Keep her incommunicado until further notice. I’ll put the plan in effect and see if we can get Engalls to cooperate.”
Which meant Brandenmore wasn’t cooperating. The deranged CEO of Brandenmore Research had become so twisted, so pure evil and cunning that even as his mind was being eaten away, he was still scheming to destroy the Breeds.