“You,” she said jerking her chin toward Lazy. “Call the tower and tell the snipers to stand down. Then call the gate. I want it wide open.”
Lucas couldn’t help but add, “And for the love of all that’s holy, will someone kill that fucking alarm? It’s giving me a headache.”
Lazy’s arm trembled noticeably, but he did as she asked, conveying her demands using the radio clipped to his belt.
The alarm cut off abruptly and the ensuing silence allowed Lucas to hear the rapid thundering of the guards’ hearts, and the steady, slow heartbeat of his kidnapper. Interesting.
She jarred him out of his musings by nudging him toward the door. To the guards, she said, “Face down on the floor. Hands behind your heads.”
“You’ll pay for this, bitch,” Hairy jeered as he got down on the floor.
She didn’t answer, but Lucas felt her entire body tense as they made their way through another set of double doors and into yet another long corridor. He wrapped his hands around her forearm, partly because he hoped to offer her some measure of comfort, and partly because she was really strong and every time she tensed up, he lost a little more oxygen to his brain.
“You know,” he began casually, “we weren’t leaving without you. No matter what Daniels said, you were coming with us. Kidnapping me wasn’t really necessary.”
“I couldn’t take that chance.”
“I get that.”
Her forearm tightened again. “No, you don’t,” she hissed through obviously clenched teeth. “You have no idea what goes on here. The experiments.”
His stomach turned at the thought of what an unscrupulous doctor with a ward full of supernatural mental patients could do when no one was watching. When no one cared. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again,” he promised. “Neither will Vi.”
“Why would you care?”
“Your family sent Vi and me to get you. They want you back.”
She snorted. “I don’t have any family. And if I did, I doubt they’d want me back. Not now. Not after…”
Not after everything I’ve done.
Seven hadn’t finished her sentence, but Lucas had heard her answer just the same. During his time with the force, he’d interviewed bad people who’d done bad things, and good people who’d done bad things. The bad ones had no remorse, and sometimes no reason for doing what they’d done. The good ones…well, guilt and remorse had been carved into the good ones. It showed in their eyes. Aged them.
Seven had old eyes. The oldest he’d ever seen.
“You’re wrong,” he whispered. “You do have family. A brother, a sister-in-law, and a niece. They’ll love you, no questions asked. They’re that kind of people. The best I’ve ever known.”
Her gun hand wavered, then lowered. She slid soundlessly to her feet behind him. He turned around to face her as slowly as possible, not wanting to spook her.
Her brow was knit in confusion as she glanced up at him. “A…brother? My brother?”
He nodded. “He’s been looking for you. He didn’t know you existed until last year, but he’s been looking ever since he found out.”
She raised a hand and rubbed her temple. “You’re not lying,” she murmured. “Your heartrate and breathing…they’re steady.”
“I’m not lying,” he confirmed, while thinking, shit, you can hear that? He knew dhampyre senses were enhanced, but that was ridiculous.
“If I went with you…”
He did a mental fist pump.
“…what would I do? What would my job be? My purpose?”
Great. Now he felt bad for the mental fist pump. The concept of anyone wanting her around just for her was completely foreign to her. Her whole life, everyone had wanted something from her.
“Well,” he began, “your sister-in-law, Harper, runs a paranormal PI firm. They also do some skip-tracing. I’m sure you could help with that.”
That’s when he saw another emotion light her eyes. Hope. And damned if it wasn’t one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen.
They stared each other down for another minute. She must’ve found what she was looking for in his gaze because she handed him the gun, which he quickly pocketed. No need to test their uneasy truce by leaving her armed, he thought.
But their little moment was pretty much decimated as the sound of combat boots pounding across industrial-grade tile heralded the arrival of another guard at the end of the corridor. The guard—a kid who couldn’t be more than nineteen—yelled at them to stop and aimed a Glock at them with hands that looked none too steady.
Lucas twisted slightly at the hip so that his body better shielded Seven. “Calm down, kid,” he said. “Just turn and go back the way you came and we won’t hurt you.”
He continued white-knuckling the Glock, his eyes going wide. “I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.”
Behind him, Seven sighed and said, “I don’t like guns being pointed at me.”
Before he could stop her, she reached inside Lucas’s jacket, yanked the hunting knife from his belt loop, (fuck him, how had she even known that was there?) stepped out from behind him, and flung the blade overhand at the guard’s head.
The knife handle—thank God she hadn’t tried to kill the hapless little fuck—struck the guard precisely in the center of the forehead. He blinked twice, his eyes crossed, then he passed out cold, falling flat on his back, arms and legs spread comically wide.
But unfortunately, when he fell, he tossed the gun. And because the dumbass hadn’t had the safety on, the impact squeezed off a round, which ricocheted off the wall.
Before he could even think about hitting the ground to avoid the ricochet, Seven’s hand shot out and fisted an inch in front of his face. Her eyes held his as she opened her palm and let a bullet drop to the floor.
Well…shit. That was unexpected.
Dhampyres couldn’t catch bullets with their bare hands.
Lucas grabbed her hand and turned it palm-up, expecting to see raw, ravaged flesh. Her skin was smooth, unmarked, and flawless. He could feel her eyes on him as he traced a line down the center of her palm—where there should be a bloody, gaping hole, damn it—with his index finger.
After a moment of loaded silence, he raised his gaze to hers. “Who the hell are you?” he whispered. But more importantly, he thought, what the hell are you?
She blinked at him and pulled her hand out of his, rubbing her thumb into her palm as if she could scrub away all traces of his touch. “I’m Seven.”
He nodded, completely nonplussed. “Sure. Okay.”
He supposed that was as good an answer as any.
Chapter Five
Seven took careful stock of her situation, just as Sentry had trained her to do all those years ago.
She refused to let her guard down, but even she had to admit her circumstances had just drastically improved.
Thanks to Dr. Marchand—or, Violet, as she wanted to be called—Seven was officially free of Midvale and wouldn’t face any repercussions for hurting Dr. Daniels or any of the guards.
Violet had caught up with them just as they were ready to pull out of the prison’s front gate, and from what she’d told Lucas, Seven assumed she’d blackmailed Daniels into letting her go by threatening to expose his illegal and unethical practices to not only the Council, but also the press. Daniels would lose his medical license and face prison time if Violet reported him.
He’d face way worse than that when Seven got ahold of him. And she would. One day, she would. He deserved nothing short of a slow, painful death for everything he’d done to her and so many others behind the rotting walls of that damned prison. And Seven intended to give him everything he had coming.
But not today. Today she was going to meet her family.
Family. The whole concept seemed so…surreal to her. She’d always been on her own. Cleaners didn’t work with anyone. Didn’t form attachments. It was easier that way. Attachments impaired judgement. Created questions that didn’t ha
ve answers. Questions like is what I’m doing right or wrong?
Am I good or evil?
Right and wrong, good and evil…these were things that didn’t matter to a cleaner. Watchers could sort out that mess. Cleaners just followed orders. Orders kept everything neat. Uncomplicated.
Most of the time, at least.
But Sentry was gone. She might even be the last living cleaner. She’d have to adapt if she wanted to survive in this new world. Fitting into a family would be a good start.
And if the whole concept of family was strange to her, the idea of her actually fitting into a family was damn near unfathomable. Why would a nice, normal family want anything to do with a trained assassin who’d been locked up in a prison’s mental ward?
Well, she thought resolutely, she’d just have to treat fitting into her family as an assignment. A mission. She was a good operative. The best Sentry had ever had, by all accounts. She’d just do what she did best. She’d survey the targets. Find out what motivated them and how they operated, learn their schedules, quirks, strengths, and weaknesses. Look for ways to insinuate herself into their lives. Become invaluable. Maybe then they’d accept her. Forgive her for everything she’d done.
Forget what she was.
And as it turned out, if Violet was correct, in addition to being a supernatural assassin, Seven was also a dhampyre, like her brother. Which explained why she’d been faster and stronger than most of the other cleaners. But according to Lucas, it didn’t explain why she could catch bullets with her bare hands.
She glanced up from her seat in the back of the Camry Lucas was driving (she’d bet anything she owned—which was nothing, really—that he would never drive anything as boring as a beige Toyota. The car must belong to Violet.) and looked at him in the rearview mirror.
He was a mystery to her. Violet, she understood. Violet was dedicated to her job and wanted to help as many people as she could. Seven had encountered people like Violet before. They were few and far between these days, but they were out there. Good, decent, nice people. But Lucas? She wasn’t so sure he was nice.
He was obviously a shifter. Wolf, if she hadn’t missed her guess (and she never, ever missed her guess). The way his eyes flared yellow every now and again when his emotions got the better of him was a dead giveaway. But she didn’t sense in him the same general desire to help people she saw in Violet.
So why had he come for her?
Narrowing her eyes, she glanced over to Violet as the two of them made quiet, polite conversation with one another.
The two of them looked good together, she decided. Like they were two halves that would make for an intriguing whole.
Violet was petite and slender with icy blond hair and equally icy pale blue eyes. She was polished, refined, and elegant. But there was also a warmth and compassion in her that naturally put people—even people like Seven—at ease.
Lucas was Violet’s antithesis.
His dark blond hair was far removed from his last haircut, and worn in a style that could only be described as disheveled. There was a barely contained, almost feral quality in his eyes that made him look like he was ready for anything. And the way he carried the two hundred or so pounds of lean muscle on his six-foot-two frame let her know he was not only ready for anything, but he could handle himself in any situation. He wouldn’t be the type to underestimate an opponent based on size or gender, like so many of the men she’d fought in the past. He wasn’t someone she’d want to meet in a dark alley, that was for sure.
And while his eyes were a warm, rich shade of brown that reminded Seven of coffee with just a splash of creamer, they didn’t convey Violet’s warmth and compassion. In Lucas’s eyes Seven saw cynicism. Pain. He’d seen the worst the paranormal community and humanity had to offer and it had shaped him, carved him into a man who was hardened and could be cold. Not unfeeling, but definitely not welcoming. While Violet put her at ease, Lucas made her a little edgy.
But even while he made her a little nervous, Seven couldn’t deny he was good-looking. Exceptional-looking, really. She could see why someone like Violet would want him.
Which brought her back to why she imagined Lucas might have helped Violet rescue her from Midvale.
Seven waited for a lull in the conversation before asking, “Are you two having sex?”
Violet had just taken a sip of Diet Coke, and promptly spewed it all over the windshield.
Lucas took one hand off the wheel to brush some of the errant moisture off his shirt sleeve. “Jesus, Vi,” he muttered.
“Sorry,” Vi sputtered, grabbing a wad of napkins out of the glove box to sop up the mess. “I just wasn’t expecting that.”
Seven glanced between them, wondering if anyone was going to answer her, or if she’d offended them somehow. She had no idea how to figure out what they were thinking or feeling. Situations like this were exactly why cleaners avoided social contact with normal people.
Lucas caught her gaze in the rearview mirror. “No, we’re not,” he answered, not sounding at all offended. “Why do you ask?”
Seven tilted her head to one side, studying him. He was telling the truth again. So, he hadn’t come after her because Violet asked for his help. “I’m trying to figure out why you’re here. Why you’d help me.”
“Your brother’s wife—your sister-in-law—asked me to find you.”
OK, that made sense. And he was telling the truth, but his voice sounded strange when he talked about her sister-in-law. Harper, Violet had said her name was. “Then, are you having sex with Harper?”
Violet barked out a startled laugh and Lucas cursed under his breath.
“No,” Lucas said, sounding like he was gritting his teeth. “I’m not.”
“Did I ask something I shouldn’t have? Is that an…” Seven paused, searching for the right word, “…awkward question?”
Lucas opened his mouth to answer, then snapped it shut again. Violet offered her a gentle smile.
“It’s a fair question,” Vi said. “But you should know that a lot of people do find it awkward to discuss their sex lives. Sometimes to get around that, people might…filter their questions a bit.”
Seven leaned forward. Now they were getting somewhere. People had always been uncomfortable around her. Maybe Vi could help with that. “And this filtering makes people more comfortable answering my questions?”
Violet nodded. “It can. For example, instead of asking Lucas if he’s having sex with someone, you could ask him if he’s…seeing anyone. If he has a girlfriend or wife.”
Seemed like filtering was very similar to beating around the bush, which she’d never been any good at, either. But, she supposed it was worth a try…
Seven turned back to him, “Lucas, are you—”
“No,” he interrupted. “I’m not seeing anyone. No girlfriend, no wife. I came with Violet because Harper asked me to.”
Truth.
Then he added, “Harper’s a friend. Nothing more.”
Seven sat back in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest. Well, that was a first.
He’d just lied to her.
Lots of people had lied to her over the years. People claimed they hadn’t seen anything in order to get her to leave them alone. (If she was questioning them, they’d most definitely seen something.) People said they weren’t scared of her. (They always were.) People told her all the tests and experiments they were running on her wouldn’t hurt. (It always hurt. Every single time.)
But she quickly found out that having Lucas lie to her felt different than anything she’d ever experienced before.
It made her feel…wait, was this…sadness?
No one had ever had enough power over her to make her feel much of anything. She didn’t like it. Not one bit.
“Lucas, can I trust you?” she asked quietly, but in a voice sharp enough to separate skin from bone.
He met her gaze steadily in the mirror. “Yes. I’d never hurt you.”
Truth.
<
br /> She nodded slowly. “I guess that’s really all I can ask for at this point.”
But later? Later was another story.
She’d get the truth out of him eventually. She’d never failed to get a target to talk.
Never.
Chapter Six
Harper Hall Investigations occupied the second floor of a historic brownstone in downtown Whispering Hope. Harper was fortunate enough to own the whole building, and had converted the first floor into a wide, open lobby area. The basement was a full, walk-out apartment unit that Harper rented out.
That basement apartment used to belong to Hunter, but once he took over the Vampire Council with his new wife, they moved into one of the fancy, gated townhouse communities just outside of town where all the homes had windows with special tinted glass, allowing vampires to see and feel the sun without, well, bursting into flames.
After lucking into a parking space right in front of the building, Lucas helped Vi out of the front seat, then opened Seven’s door and offered her a hand. She looked at it as if she was expecting an attack.
It’d been a while, but when he was on the force, he’d been known to play a pretty decent “good cop” when interrogating perps. He was out of practice being charming, but he was pretty sure he could still pull it off.
With that in mind, he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’m a Southern boy. Where I come from, gentlemen are raised to open doors for ladies and help them out of cars.”
A frown line knit Seven’s brow as she took his proffered hand and climbed gracefully—as gracefully as a woman without shoes and blood splatter on her tank top could manage, anyway—out of the car.
“You don’t look like a gentleman,” she said in the matter-of-fact tone he’d come to appreciate in their short time together.
He couldn’t help but bark out a surprised laugh as he took her elbow to lead her into the building. “Don’t tell my momma, OK?”
Her frown line deepened. “It’s unlikely I’ll ever meet your mother. And even if I did, I doubt I’d insult her by saying she’d failed to raise a gentleman.”
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