The officer shook his head. “I have orders to escort your group back. You’re not Scottish law enforcement, so we must treat you as civilians. You can’t be part of the investigation. Sorry, Ms. Sloane.”
Ms. Sloane. The words felt like a slap across the face. I was no longer First Lieutenant Sloane of the Bureau, was I? Here I was, a highly trained soldier, and I could do nothing to help Dorian or my friends.
“Understood,” I managed tightly. This feeling of powerlessness sent a wave of frustration through me, but these officers were just doing their job. I couldn’t argue right now. It would only slow them down.
“We can carry the problem child,” Kane added dryly, grabbing Dorian’s legs and securing them with a rough motion.
The officer’s face relaxed slightly, though his lips never moved an inch. I could recognize tightly concealed discomfort in a soldier. How often had I felt the same way myself? It was a relief for the officers not to have to restrain a vampire.
We headed back to the plaza, our pace slowed on the return journey by Dorian’s weight, until he recovered enough to stumble along with us. An ambulance siren wailed in the distance, and my stomach filled with ice. The shots had injured someone, possibly multiple people. I remembered the blood on the ground. I hadn’t seen who it belonged to.
“Any fatalities?” I asked the officer.
He shook his head. “Don’t believe so, Ms. Sloane. Someone is down, though.” He tapped his comm. “Major Morag called for medics.”
I hurried alongside them. The scene had changed drastically in just the last several minutes. The crowd now stood in a cordoned-off area to talk to police officers, who were covering people in emergency shock blankets. A circle of guards surrounded the plaza area where we’d held the press conference. The officers helped us get through, citing their orders.
I hurried to the stage, where I found Roxy and Colin huddled around Sike. Sike sat on the ground, clutching someone. A numb sensation came over me when I saw the end of a tidy strawberry-blonde braid. Louise.
Sike cradled Louise, who stared at him in a daze, moving her mouth slightly with nothing coherent coming out. Roxy knelt beside him, pressing her folded coat to Louise’s left shoulder. Blood stained the faded denim and dripped down Louise’s arm.
“You’ll be all right,” Sike whispered shakily. “I need you to keep your eyes open, Louise. Please.”
Louise blinked blearily up at him. She twisted her mouth painfully. “My head hurts,” she breathed. Her weak voice alarmed me, and I looked around, trying to see if paramedics were close. Police officers stooped by several other wounded people who were strewn about the plaza and on the road. A camera lay smashed on the ground. A poster with a heart drawn around Kane’s face slowly turned to mush in a pool of water. Sobs and babbling voices drifted through the air.
Bryce was tying a tartan handkerchief around his sister’s arm. Major Morag leaned against the podium, cradling the arm with its bloodied blazer sleeve. There was only a small amount of blood, meaning she’d likely been grazed, but Bryce was wearing the brittle smile he wore when he was afraid and trying to hide it.
Somewhere nearby, vehicle doors opened. A voice shouted to make way through the crowd.
“That’ll be the paramedics,” Morag announced. Despite her injury, her tone was solid as a rock. “We need to get Louise to the hospital right away,” she said, talking directly to Sike, who held Louise against him.
“If you hadn’t pushed her away in time, it would’ve punctured a lung or worse,” Roxy muttered. Sike’s usually tan face was pale, but he nodded. Louise moaned in pain but kept her eyes open. I felt a swell of fear inside me. I couldn’t watch another member of my team die.
“Major Morag! What do you have to say about this situation?” a reporter cried out behind me. I turned, unable to stop my glare as a towering man with sparse blond hair attempted to shout over the guards. Kane slowly turned in the man’s direction, his fangs still fully descended. The reporter’s face immediately paled.
“My comment is that I’ve just been hit by a bullet, so I need a minute,” Morag snapped. “Guards, keep the media at bay. See that they don’t pester the public too much.”
The guards fanned out. I watched as the men and women in their intimidating black clothes stepped farther into the crowd, pushing the media back. Most of the reporters fell back, but a stubborn woman with disheveled hair attempted to yell requests for statements. The officers only parted to let half a dozen first-responder paramedics rush through. Two headed toward us carrying a stretcher, while the other four fanned out to the other wounded.
“We’re here,” a red-headed woman said as she rushed over to Louise. “We’ll take her to the Royal Hospital. It’s the closest hospital with an emergency center.”
Morag nodded. Sike reluctantly released his grip on Louise as the paramedics carefully moved her onto the stretcher.
“Wait,” Morag muttered to her brother. Her pale face twitched with alarm. Bryce helped his sister to her feet as she clutched her blazer to her bloody wound. “They haven’t caught the shooter. I want to send guards in a car after the ambulance.”
“We’ll send them,” Bryce promised Morag. “We can transfer her to the compound’s med bay once she’s in better shape.”
“Understood,” the medic said. “But they’ll have to explain to hospital security themselves.” They ferried Louise off the stage on the stretcher with Sike sticking close to her side. Morag barked into her comm, and three guards followed the medics through the crowd.
“Our turn,” Roxy said and grunted. She rolled up the bloody coat underneath her arm, a grisly souvenir from our press conference.
With Bryce beside her, Morag managed to give commands to the guards. They helped us fight through the reporters, gawking members of the public, and a barrage of police cars and ambulances to reach our black Range Rovers. As soon as everyone was in, the doors locked and our convoy of cars peeled out, heading toward the airport.
Sitting in traffic snarled by the incident, frustration choked me in the quiet interior of the car. I couldn’t speak. I ran my fingers across the sleek interior of the seat beneath me, trying to ground myself as my body surged with adrenaline. Dorian sat beside me, now fully in control. He appeared stormy about recent events. The light shadows beneath his skin moved. He watched me carefully with his sharp gaze.
It pissed me off that I could do nothing. Lieutenant Sloane reduced to an onlooker, barred from the hunt for the sniper who shot my friend and wounded innocent civilians. I dug my nails into my thigh, irritated by the very presence of a dress on my body instead of military fatigues.
The Bureau’s restructuring had left our careers and lives in a tumultuous limbo. The government had offered us our jobs back, but at the request of my team and the vampires, I’d asked for more time to decide, citing the uncertainty of our situation with Scotland. They had agreed, saying that we could negotiate for other positions within the reformed Bureau, take up our old jobs, or leave voluntarily to pursue other opportunities instead of being fired as the original board intended. Since I was no longer employed by the US government and I would serve as a witness, I had zero sway over the investigation into the Bureau beyond giving an occasional testimony. Temporary asylum in Scotland was good, but I had no real authority here. I was a liaison and consultant for vampires, but not a soldier. The Scottish government paid for our human presence in terms of room and board here while it was still useful. But how long would that last? How long would I last in a position that offered me no real way to wield my strength and assets for our allies?
Others now protected me when I should be working alongside them. I couldn’t stand for that much longer—I would have to be useful in whatever way I could. I might not be able to be a pair of boots on the ground in the physical hunt, but maybe I could offer something just as valuable: knowledge. Someone had to know something. Someone with a vested interest in making sure our press conference failed dramatically.
&nbs
p; Alan’s face and his ominous parting message at the end of the Chicago battle immediately appeared in my mind’s eye.
“I need to see Alan,” I muttered. “He might have had something to do with this.”
Dorian squeezed my hand, then let go after a moment. “You’ll have to do it alone,” he said grimly. “After this, I’d be even more tempted to kill him than usual.”
I stared at his face, at the pale shadows moving sluggishly across it. He was clearly joking, but also hungry enough for that to be a real concern.
Fine. I would go alone. I hoped the three board members were ready to talk, because I was ready for answers.
Chapter Five
The helicopter flight from Edinburgh to the VAMPS compound felt longer than ever before. Barely anyone spoke. As we trudged into the compound in the bright afternoon light, the rotor blades of the choppers slowing to a halt, I spotted a few people gathered at the entrance to the barracks. News of the attack at the conference had apparently preceded us. I wondered if everyone back here at camp had watched the news in silent horror.
I steeled myself for the onslaught of questions. Luckily, the gathered vampires focused on Dorian, Laini, and Kane. Tahn trailed behind them looking weary and shaken. I wanted to shake my head over the time and effort we’d put into his outfit in preparation for this event. Who could’ve predicted a shooter?
Zach and Gina barreled out of the communications trailer, and I gave them a quick wave to let them know I was all right before I slunk away to let my other teammates tell the tale. There was somewhere I needed to go first.
On the side of the compound, there was a stone building with its own concertina wire fence. The military had originally used it to store munitions and weapons, but over time it had become a mock prison for interrogation practice. There were three holding cells in the building. Three prisoners, three cells—it was perfect for our needs.
A guard with a neatly pressed uniform greeted me at the front.
“I’d like to speak with the prisoners,” I told her.
She nodded and opened the door using a complex pin system on the heavy-duty lock. The steel door opened. She followed me inside, her rifle held loosely before her.
Alan and the other two board members lived here now, in confinement. Each concrete cell had a bed, a desk, a chemical toilet, and not much else. The prisoners were taken one at a time every other day for a shower in the communal block, then marched straight back to their quarters. I scowled at the small TV mounted opposite the cell doors, a new addition to the bare walls. They didn’t deserve access to television. Even letting them watch a small slice of the outside world through a bulletproof window in the door was too much luxury, if you asked me.
Alan sat at his desk. He glanced at me with a perfectly neutral expression. No surprise. No anger. No remorse. No misery. In return, I felt like he was a stranger to me. No rage. No grief. No love. The guard pressed a button on the side of the door, and a crackle sparked in the small speaker embedded in the wall.
“I saw the news,” Alan said, and though his face was bland, his voice was smug. “Shame about your little press conference.” He gestured with a small remote toward the news coverage that was currently playing.
The guard cleared her throat. “They can’t make a weapon from the devices,” she assured me.
That was naïve thinking. Alan needed nothing but his mind to be a weapon. I doubted anyone was willing to take that away from him.
“You know why I’m here,” I said, finding I was angry after all. It simmered beneath my words. “What do you know about the attack?”
Alan shrugged casually. “Nothing at all. How could I?” He gestured to his cell with a feigned expression of interest. “I’m being denied basic human rights here. Doesn’t that sound familiar?”
There was no internet, no phone. Yet with the television, he was still getting news. If he’d had safety plans in place before we took him into custody, one of his operatives might be continuing his work. I could easily see Alan planning events and attacks months in advance.
He tapped his fingers on his desk. “Is being treated like a performing parrot for the benefit of vampires getting old yet?”
I stepped away from the door. I wouldn’t get anything useful out of him now that he’d started his mind games. My goal was to slowly teach him that manipulation meant I would leave. If he wanted to talk to another soul, he’d have to behave himself. I was tempted to question him until he said something useful, but that would probably be futile and frustrating, and I’d ruin whatever progress I’d made with him. I could try again later.
The guard swiftly cut off the speaker, and we made our way to the next door. On the other side of the window, the elegant figure of Elena Bradley sat on her bed. She was writing in a small notebook with a pencil. Her long dark hair looked dull and tangled. She refused to look up.
“Ms. Bradley,” I said after the guard pressed the button to talk. “I’d like to ask you some questions about the conference today.”
She waved her hand in the air, dismissing me. “I don’t know anything.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Was there a Bureau backup plan to sabotage any potential vampires’ reception?”
Bradley lifted her gaze to mine. Heavy bags rested beneath her eyes. She sighed heavily. “How could I even have known that you and your traitors would blast news of the supernatural all over the world?”
“Noted,” I said crossly and pressed the button myself. Funny how prison only seemed to make their attitudes worse. I’d thought yanking them from their fancy Bureau offices and lives of powerful luxury would be enough to break them.
The wiry man, Calum Jones, was next. When I looked through his window, he was sitting at his desk. I pressed the button. He leaned his head on his hand and stared blankly back at me. There was no confidence, no careful dignity like Alan or even resignation like Elena Bradley.
“I don’t know anything about the press conference,” he said, correctly guessing the reason for my visit. He pressed his lips together. If he wanted to add something, he’d found a reason not to. I tapped my toe on the bare concrete floor. What else could I ask him?
“Do you still have colleagues working for you?”
His eyes flashed dangerously. “You don’t understand. It doesn’t matter what I tell you. My allies have power beyond belief.” He paused, and his eyes drifted to the television. The screen flashed with more coverage about the press conference. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re waging war against the vampires in public.”
“Your immortal allies?” I pressed. The guard shifted beside me. It wasn’t good to visit them for longer than necessary.
Jones stood slowly, then walked closer to the window. His dead blue eyes stared at me, holding me fixed with their hollowness. “The dark energy weapons were just the beginning. You’d think me a fool if I told you the truth. I may not know everything, but I know what’s important.” He scrunched his face into a disgusted snarl. “The vampires are a scourge on this earth. They’ll do anything to get what they want. And you know what? You got what you deserved for getting involved with these creatures. Creatures who are, and always will be, subhuman.”
A cold anticipation ran through me as Jones leaned on the windowpane, his breath fogging up a spot.
He pointed an accusatory finger at me. “Whatever is coming for your friends, more will come soon.” His blue eyes widened. “And it’ll be worse than a few warning shots at a press conference. I promise you that.”
I tried to get more details out of him, but he refused to say anything useful, instead devolving into insults and vague threats.
I switched off the intercom and forced myself to walk away despite his bone-chilling warning. It could be a mind game. It could be the ravings of a madman who was used to power and privilege. Due to their powerful positions, no one had ever denied these people anything before we took them to task. Why should I trust them?
Well, that was wonderfully unproductive a
nd anxiety-producing.
The guard opened the door, and I walked out into the honeyed light of late afternoon. Everyone had moved inside, and the camp had gone strangely silent, as if recovering from the events of the day. No one was at the shooting range. No sounds of sparring drifted from the open windows of the gym. The sound of Corporal Fraser banging on her pan to announce dinner hadn’t come yet.
In the silence, fatigue finally sank its claws into my skull, and I wanted little more than to sleep and forget about today for a few hours. My brother found me on my way back to my room.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his eyes searching me for injuries. I nodded wearily.
“Exhausted.” I squeezed his arm. His watch beeped. He glanced down at it with a frown. He had a meeting with Bryce for a public relations statement. I promised to catch him up later, and he left, assured that I was alive and well. I hugged him tight before he went.
I snuck the rest of the way back to my quarters, but when I arrived at the plain green door, my hand hovered over the knob, unable to turn it. Louise wouldn’t be there. Her sensible sunset-yellow flannel pajamas would still be folded on her pillow, and the book on FBI history she was reading in hopeful preparation of securing an interview with them would still be lying open and face down on her bedside table because she always lost her bookmarks and preferred to bend the spine than dogear the pages. The thought of her hooked up to beeping monitors in a narrow hospital bed with a weary Sike holding vigil at her bedside made me drop my hand and back away from the door. Even small actions I took somehow reminded me of what I had lost and what I stood to lose.
There was someone who would understand what that felt like. I knocked at Dorian’s door. We could do with one less lonely room.
Dorian opened the door to let me in. “That frown tells me you’re thinking. I take it nothing useful came from talking with the board?”
“A cryptic warning about allies, but nothing much.” I threw myself onto the narrow couch next to the door and instantly regretted it. Cushioning and comfort weren’t the military’s specialties.
Darklight 3: Darkworld Page 6
