But not via the Directorate.
Not via a gun.
It could never be that easy.
No, I had to kill Blake the same way he'd killed my grandfather.
With my wolf.
It was the only way to keep the pack from coming after me and Rhoan and everyone we loved.
Chapter 15
Twelve hours later, with Evin and Lyndal safely tucked away in the West pack's heartland and with Harris's promise to keep them safe at all cost, Quinn and I walked into the day division's tiny conference room.
Sal was the only other person who'd arrived, and she was working at the terminal and frowning at the images flickering across the remote screen. She spun around as we entered, and her smile was wide and genuine.
"Well, well, if it isn't our lost wolf," she said, voice droll but humor crinkling her eyes. "Enjoy your holiday, did you?"
"Totally." I plunked down on the chair next to hers. "I'd love to say I missed your cheery face, but the truth is, I couldn't even remember it."
"I heard that. Shame you didn't also forget you worked for the Directorate. It's been so peaceful around here without you."
I grinned. "So you were bored shitless, huh?"
"Totally. So do try not to get kidnapped again." She glanced at Quinn, and her expression became more formal - which surprised the hell out of me. "Would you like some coffee?"
"Yes, thank you," he said, the barest hint of amusement in his voice.
I glanced at him as she rose and walked across to the coffee machine - which was sparkly new, and had obviously been installed during the time I'd been missing.
I'm an old one, he said, the amusement that had been barely evident in his words bubbling through his mental tones. Sal's merely showing the respect we old ones are due.
I gave a mental snort and he added, with another burst of amusement, Of course, it also helps that she's been asked to become an official member of the Melbourne vampire council and I happen to be one of those who have the deciding vote.
But Sal hates the council. She said that months ago.
Things change. In this case, I believe the change of heart goes by the name of Norman.
Norman? What a staid old name. I hope he's not.
Oh, trust me, Norman's not staid.
Well, good, because she deserves better.
Careful. That almost sounds like you care.
She's bringing me coffee. Of course I care. I glanced around as said coffee was plunked in front of me and I gave her another grin. "Should I inspect it for arsenic?"
"In deference to you being returned to the fold, I left it out. But don't drink tomorrow's coffee." Her tone was amused as she handed Quinn his coffee then headed back to her computer.
I took a sip, then asked, "Why are you fiddling with the computers in here?"
"It's quieter. Jack doesn't want anything distracting me once the operation starts."
A comment that would no doubt be explained once Jack got here. As if on cue, he and Rhoan walked in, both of them looking tired and more than a little rough around the edges. Both carried large cups of coffee, although given the bags under my brother's eyes, it was going to take more than a bucket of the brown stuff to keep him awake and alert.
"Got the systems hooked up yet, Sal?" Jack asked.
"Finalizing it now," she said briskly. "Just a few minutes more."
Jack grunted and slapped several folders on the desk as he sat down opposite us. Rhoan just perched on the table's edge, his posture reflecting his tiredness. Obviously, he couldn't be bothered walking any farther.
"Remember me saying that I thought the name Daskill sounded familiar?"
I nodded, and he pushed a folder forward. Quinn stopped its slide across the desk and opened it. I'd been expecting a rundown of whoever Daskill was, but what we got instead were photographs. Vivid, bloody photographs of the remains of what I presumed were a woman and child. They'd been so torn apart it was hard to tell. Only the remnants of their nightdresses gave their sex away.
"Bobby Daskill's wife and child were murdered in their beds while he was on a business trip. The main suspect was Bobby's business partner, Henry Kattram, who had apparently been having an affair with Bobby's wife for over a year. She refused to leave Bobby and apparently broke it off. Those pictures are the result."
"Then why is Kattram still listed as a suspect?" Quinn asked. "Why was he never charged if the police are so certain he was their murderer?"
"Because Henry Kattram was found dismembered in his bed twenty-four hours later." Jack indicated the photos.
"In a manner eerily similar to the way Jenny and Evie Daskill were killed."
"Daskill obviously was the main suspect, so why was he never charged?" I asked.
"Because he was one hundred miles away with friends at his country retreat. One of those friends was a high court judge."
"Convenient," Quinn murmured. "But from what I've heard about Kattram, he'd be the sort to have closed circuit TV both inside and outside. What did that reveal?"
"A shadowy figure wearing a mask, gloves, and some sort of shoe covering."
I raised my eyebrows. "Surely not a demon costume?"
Jack half smiled. "No. It was just a black mask and padded clothing, but the idea is the same. If they leave no prints, and you can't see their face or body shape, it's hard to make any sort of ID."
Quinn closed the folder and pushed it back to Jack. "If he is behind these murderers for hire, he surely wouldn't be stupid enough to use his own planes or helicopters."
"He might if it was an emergency and there was no obvious link back to him. Daskill owns a private jet and helicopter charter service catering to remote areas. The helicopter Harris downed was hired by one Harry Jones - who is not the vamp and who actually doesn't exist."
"Charter services these days have to have cameras and facial recognition software installed in their offices, so what did that come up with?"
"Again, nothing. We suspect he might have been a Helki wolf, because the one capture we got of his face showed their distinctive eyes."
I nodded. If you were going to use fake ID, then what better person to use than someone who could physically alter their human shape? Not so much their size or actual shape, but their physical characteristics. Hair, minor facial shifts, teeth, easy stuff like that. They could also change their eye color, but that apparently took more effort and drained their energy faster. "So what's the plan? We have no obvious connection to the man, just our suspicions."
And Jack never moved on suspicions alone. Well, rarely, anyway.
He gave me the sort of smile that a shark might have a heartbeat before he attacked. "Every bad guy makes one mistake. In Daskill's case, he keeps records."
I raised an eyebrow. "I'd imagine such records would be extremely well protected."
"They are, but we have some of the world's best hackers in our employ." He glanced Sal's way. "Sal, for instance, is a genius at hacking into security-sensitive areas."
"Which I've just completed." She glanced over her shoulder. "We now control Daskill's security systems in both his house and his Melbourne office."
"Excellent. And the computer files?"
"Randy is still downloading. There's a lot of information, and it's all coded." She paused, glancing briefly at the screen and flicking a button. The screen divided into four, each one showing a different section of what looked to be a grand mansion. "Initial investigations on one of the earliest files downloaded indicate intensive records concerning the movements of a man who was found murdered three days after his release from jail. If he isn't the brains behind this scheme, he's certainly involved."
"And that is all we need to go in and get him." Jack glanced at me. "Daskill has been going home to have lunch with his new wife every day between one and two-thirty - "
"Obviously he doesn't trust the new missus not to take a lover," I murmured. "Which says a lot about the power of his loving. Or the lack of it."
Maybe he just fancies his new missus, Quinn commented, eyes twinkling as he glanced at me. Hell, when the company is fully transferred to Melbourne, expect me to be breaking up a boring day by coming home for a quick bit of loving quite frequently.
That's because you hang out with a werewolf, and the randiness has finally rubbed off.
"The reason doesn't matter, just the result," Jack said. "He has a security force of eight men who rotate on twelve-hour shifts, as well as the cameras."
"Having eight security guards on standby is a bit of overkill, isn't it?" Rhoan said, frowning. "Even for a man whose first wife was murdered."
"They work in teams of four," Jack said, "which makes the numbers more even. And given he's either in charge of, or involved with, an organization that runs a stable of some extremely well-trained hit men and women, then no, I wouldn't think his precautions are over the top."
"If we move on Daskill, that stable of killers may just melt into the woodwork."
Jack glanced at me. "He's the brains and the money behind it, so he's the one we need to take out first. The others can be found in time."
Fair enough. "Then what's the plan?" He obviously had one, because he wouldn't have called Quinn here otherwise.
"We're going in at one-thirty. Quinn will take out the guards, as neither myself nor any of the other guardians is able to venture out at that hour."
Even Quinn was pushing it.
I'll be fine, he said. At worst, it'll give me a nice tan for our wedding night.
You'll be naked on your wedding night. No one is going to care about your tan.
I'll be wearing trousers. I may not be quite as old-fashioned as I used to be, but Liander is not going to get the joy of a full frontal. Not when I'm getting hitched.
Amusement bubbled through me. Who said I was talking about the ceremony?
"Riley," Jack said heavily, "stop mind-talking to Quinn and concentrate on the business at hand."
"It takes two to talk," I commented. "And I am listening."
He gave me a disbelieving look, then continued. "You and Rhoan will hit the house once the guards are taken out. He does keep two rottweilers inside, so you'll have to watch out for those."
"A good stun gun will fix those quickly enough," Rhoan said dryly. "But someone this security conscious is going to have standby systems we don't know about."
"And a gun by the bed, no doubt," I said.
"No doubt, so be careful." Jack was looking at me rather than Rhoan when he said that, which wasn't exactly fair. Rhoan tended to be more reckless. The only problem was, the bad guys just didn't seem to enjoy munching on his body as much as they did mine.
Jack opened another folder and passed several sheets of paper to me and Rhoan. "These are the house plans. Memorize the layout while you're heading down to the armory."
Rhoan barely even looked at them before standing, but he was good enough at his job that he probably didn't need more than that. "Which we'd better do now if we want to get to Brighton with sufficient time to spare."
"Just weapons," Jack warned. "Don't grab body armor. If some overwatchful guard spots you before you near the property, we don't want them suspecting anything is up."
"The minute we drive up with Directorate plates, any watchful guard is going to know the jig is up," I commented. "And we have body armor? Why was I never told?"
"Which is why we'll be using false plates. Be down in the parking garage in - " He hesitated and glanced at his watch " - ten minutes. And you've never been given body armor because someone who can move with the speed of a vampire rarely has any use for it. It's for nonguardian personnel, like the cleanup teams."
He'd obviously forgotten about all the bullet holes I had in my body. "I've never seen Cole or his team in them."
"No, but they have them in their cars." He glanced at Sal. "Keep me updated on any movements. Quinn and Riley, you'll need to be fitted with external earpieces, seeing we haven't the time to fit internals to either of you."
For which I was extremely glad - and not only because my poor ears were still recovering from the previous ones being hacked out.
Jack rose and headed out the door. I glanced at Quinn. "Do you want a gun, as well?" Jack hadn't suggested that, but I couldn't see him objecting.
"I'd rather not." He touched a hand to my back to guide me out the door, and a warm shiver ran down my spine. But it wasn't really sexual, more a rightness. A feeling of being protected.
And that was nice.
We headed down to the armory to suit up, and ten minutes later were down in the underground parking lot climbing into unmarked Directorate cars.
The drive to Brighton was quick. Daskill's house was located in Cosham Street, which, according to those in the know - namely Quinn and Jack - was one of the area's most sought-after streets.
And that in itself had to be a pointer to the fact that he was making his money via means other than the aircraftfor-hire business. The current downturn in the economy meant airlines the world over were suffering from a lack of passengers. Even Quinn's business had nosedived - but he'd been around long enough to have investments in lots of different arenas. Daskill hadn't - although if he was behind the murder operation, I guess it could be said that he had diversified.
We pulled up several houses away, Jack in an SUV and the rest of us in a black four-door sedan that didn't look out of place in this neighborhood. The street was lined with old trees and the houses were a mix of old and new. Daskill's was the latter - a series of big white concrete and glass boxes surrounded by a huge, black concrete fence. Even from where we sat in the car, the security cameras were very noticeable. His wasn't the only house in the street that had them, either.
