waiting vehicle outside the government building. A ticker at the bottom of the news video confirmed the senator’s killing and a suspect still at large. The video went split screen to show his mug shot, but Chase only glanced at it. His attention was fixed on something else—something that made his blood run cold in his veins.
He peered closer at one of the cops who was taking Tavia out of the building. Not the detective from the station but another man—a uniformed officer with dark hair and the flat gaze of a mind slave. Holy hell. Just how deep did Dragos’s reach go?
And what did it mean for Tavia Fairchild if his Minions were keeping her close in their sights?
It couldn’t be good.
Chase’s fury spiked as he watched the Minion cop put his hands on her to assist her into the vehicle—the same way it had spiked when he’d seen her stand next to Senator Clarence in the police station viewing room. Although he was far from being anyone’shero, Chase felt the tarnished inklings of his old sense of honor grind to life inside him when he thought of her being anywhere near Dragos or his legion of soulless servants.
The morning news report was easily eight hours old. Potentially eight hours that Tavia had been breathing the same air as the Minion cop who climbed into the car with her and the police detective and drove off. If Dragos had wanted to harm the woman, he’d had plenty of time to get it done. Not that Chase should be the one to save her. Hell, when it came right down to it, he doubted he could even save himself.
But that didn’t keep his blood from surging with new purpose.
It didn’t keep his feet from moving, stepping away from the pub and heading across the street for the shadows. He vanished into the gloom, all of his predatory focus rooted to a single goal: finding Tavia Fairchild.
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER , Chase was crouched like a gargoyle at the edge of the Suffolk County Sheriff’s Department rooftop, his eye trained on the employee parking lot below. After an end-of-shift parade of uniformed officers and shuffling office types trickled down to nil, his patience was strained and he was about two seconds away from storming the place to find the cop he was looking for. But then, at last, pay dirt. He recognized the middle-age police detective as soon as the human exited the building.
This was the man who’d been in the witness viewing room with Tavia Fairchild. The same man who’d accompanied her past the television news camera crews at the press conference that morning. Chase watched the human make his way across the lot toward his car. He aimed the little keyless remote in his hand and a rust-speckled silver Toyota sedan chirped halfway up the row.
Chase dropped down from the roof, his church donation box boots landing on the cold asphalt without a sound.
“Got time for a chat, Detective?” Chase was already in the passenger seat of the vehicle by the time the human had opened the driver’s door and plopped down behind the wheel.
“Jesus Christ!” He jumped, panic flooding his jowly face. Hiscop instincts kicked in at the same time, sending his hands scrambling to the service revolver holstered at his hip.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Chase cautioned.
Apparently thinking better of it, the officer lunged for the door handle beside him. As if he stood any chance of escape. He hauled on the lever but it didn’t release, even after repeated tries to work the electronic locks with his other hand. “Damn it!”
Chase stared at him, unfazed. “That’ll do you no good either.”
Nevertheless, Avery went another round on the locks and door handle, unaware that Chase was holding them closed by force of his Breed will. Then the aging cop suddenly got desperate and dropped his elbow on the horn. The cheery Japanese bleat shot loose like a scream before Chase seized the human’s arm and wrenched him to full attention. “That was unwise.”
“What’re you gonna do?
He peered closer at one of the cops who was taking Tavia out of the building. Not the detective from the station but another man—a uniformed officer with dark hair and the flat gaze of a mind slave. Holy hell. Just how deep did Dragos’s reach go?
And what did it mean for Tavia Fairchild if his Minions were keeping her close in their sights?
It couldn’t be good.
Chase’s fury spiked as he watched the Minion cop put his hands on her to assist her into the vehicle—the same way it had spiked when he’d seen her stand next to Senator Clarence in the police station viewing room. Although he was far from being anyone’shero, Chase felt the tarnished inklings of his old sense of honor grind to life inside him when he thought of her being anywhere near Dragos or his legion of soulless servants.
The morning news report was easily eight hours old. Potentially eight hours that Tavia had been breathing the same air as the Minion cop who climbed into the car with her and the police detective and drove off. If Dragos had wanted to harm the woman, he’d had plenty of time to get it done. Not that Chase should be the one to save her. Hell, when it came right down to it, he doubted he could even save himself.
But that didn’t keep his blood from surging with new purpose.
It didn’t keep his feet from moving, stepping away from the pub and heading across the street for the shadows. He vanished into the gloom, all of his predatory focus rooted to a single goal: finding Tavia Fairchild.
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER , Chase was crouched like a gargoyle at the edge of the Suffolk County Sheriff’s Department rooftop, his eye trained on the employee parking lot below. After an end-of-shift parade of uniformed officers and shuffling office types trickled down to nil, his patience was strained and he was about two seconds away from storming the place to find the cop he was looking for. But then, at last, pay dirt. He recognized the middle-age police detective as soon as the human exited the building.
This was the man who’d been in the witness viewing room with Tavia Fairchild. The same man who’d accompanied her past the television news camera crews at the press conference that morning. Chase watched the human make his way across the lot toward his car. He aimed the little keyless remote in his hand and a rust-speckled silver Toyota sedan chirped halfway up the row.
Chase dropped down from the roof, his church donation box boots landing on the cold asphalt without a sound.
“Got time for a chat, Detective?” Chase was already in the passenger seat of the vehicle by the time the human had opened the driver’s door and plopped down behind the wheel.
“Jesus Christ!” He jumped, panic flooding his jowly face. Hiscop instincts kicked in at the same time, sending his hands scrambling to the service revolver holstered at his hip.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Chase cautioned.
Apparently thinking better of it, the officer lunged for the door handle beside him. As if he stood any chance of escape. He hauled on the lever but it didn’t release, even after repeated tries to work the electronic locks with his other hand. “Damn it!”
Chase stared at him, unfazed. “That’ll do you no good either.”
Nevertheless, Avery went another round on the locks and door handle, unaware that Chase was holding them closed by force of his Breed will. Then the aging cop suddenly got desperate and dropped his elbow on the horn. The cheery Japanese bleat shot loose like a scream before Chase seized the human’s arm and wrenched him to full attention. “That was unwise.”
“What’re you gonna do?
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